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. Whichever you prefer."
   "I think I'll just stay a few more minutes, then leave." She
nodded by way of assent, and went out. He could hear the people on
the lawn greet her with loud cheers and yelping, then start on
another familiar tune, a quiet, almost sorrowful melody this time.
Glancing out, he saw that she was leaning against Joe, Brace on the
other side of her like a hulking, faithful shadow. Suddenly, he
felt very lonely. He started to make his way to the front door, the
words of the song drifting to him through the glass.
      Well I've been afraid of changing
      'Cause I built my world around you
      But time makes you bolder
      Even children get older
      And I'm getting older too
The refrain repeated itself as he transmuted and rose off the
ground in a wide arc, setting off for his home at the hangar.

On the lawn, the revelry continued unabated. "Has the Tight-Assed
Shadow left?" Win asked.
   "I think so," Katze said. "He said he wasn't going to stay much
longer."
   "You were in there for ages," Joe said. "Has he been hassling
you?"
   "No, not at all. We just talked." They played some Sass Jordan
and David Lindley, Win taking over where the voice part was either
too high for Angel or in the wrong language. As a comical
intermezzo, she sang "V Moskovye Sady", dropping her voice to a
Russian baritone. Katze, who could follow every word, grinned
fearsomely as Win progressed through all eight verses. After Win's
rendering of "How Sweet to be an Idiot", she slammed her fist into
the palm of her other hand and exclaimed: "I'm brilliant! I am
utterly and totally brilliant!"
   Knowing this to be her personal version of "Eureka", Joe asked:
"Why, what is it, hon?"
   "I've just figured out what to do about the stabilizers. Joe,
sweetie, I'm off to the computer room for a bit. I'll be right
back." She dashed off through the kitchen door.
   "That's the last we'll be seeing of him tonight," Win commented.
Angel nodded, and nudged Joe. "Make sure he *eats*, will you?"

                      Change - part 3

   "So, how'd it go?" Win asked. The four of them were sitting in
the garden again, agreeably warmed by the morning sun.
   "Fine. Sent the last file off this morning, arrival confirmed,
so I know they got it. I'm free!! I've yet to see if it'll hold out
under testing conditions, but that's their problem, not mine. I
just worked out the specifications."
   "I see ISO is rapidly corrupting you," Rayek said, smiling. "But
is there any reason that you know of why it shouldn't work?"
   "If I knew one, I could work my way around it," she said. "No,
the problem with simulations is that you can never program in all
the variables. That's why we rarely used them in Galactor. If ISO
ever built a Flying Dungbeetle Mech, it would probably break up in
mid-air... I always stick a standard disclaimer on the end,
something like: `This is a computer simulation, it is not, repeat
NOT intended to be reliable in real-life situations...' But I get
so tired of always having to repeat it to them. They'd skip the
testing stage altogether if I let them."
   "Maybe now you can get some reading done," Win suggested.
"Unless Nambu decides to stick in some work before you leave."
   "Didn't tell Nambu I was finished," Katze said lazily, lying
back on the grass. "With a bit of luck, I can get my holiday *and*
have the weekend off." A small, smoke-grey head peeked out shyly
from behind the juniper bush. Katze extended a hand, making little
meowing sounds to lure the cat out of hiding. It approached,
cautiously, eyeing Angel and the twins, then hoisted itself onto
her body with a little jump and curled up on her chest.
   "That wasn't very clever," Katze gently admonished it,
scratching the soft grey fur. "How'm I supposed to get up now, you
silly animal?" Grey Hunter responded with a purr, and Win laughed
gaily. "That's it, Sharkey. You're pinned till feeding time."
   "Didn't expect to see her again, after last night's din," Angel
said. "Thought we'd scared her off forever."
   "You don't scare Grey off that easily. Sorry about Ken, by the
way. I was just so pissed off."
   "Ken's been a bit of a pig yesterday," Win said. "I've half a
mind to knock some sense into him."
   "And how much good do you think that would do?" Rayek asked.
   "None at all. That's why I haven't done it yet." Win also lay
back, folding her arms under her head to compensate for the hump.
   "Ken's a sexist bastard," Angel said. "I wouldn't mind seeing
him get the One-Eye treatment. He needs to get laid, anyway." Rayek
refrained from commenting. "Are you sure you'd wish that on him?"
Katze asked.
   "Well, almost. Why does he have to keep badgering you? I'll tell
him to clear off if you want." He said it in a way that indicated
he wouldn't restrict himself to the verbal level, if he thought the
message wasn't getting through.
   "Don't. He's a killer. You'd get hurt." Her hand was lovingly
caressing the curve of the dozing cat's back. "Anyway, I should
stop running away. This is something I'll have to deal with
myself." Angel shrugged, while Win, going sleepy in the sunlight,
mumbled something like: "Atta girl!" Rayek was watching the cat
with interest.
   "You said she's a stray?"
   "She'd have to be. The last owner had no pets."
   "Looks like a pure-bred Russian Blue to me," Rayek observed.
"They're generally too expensive to end up in the street."
   "Maybe someone didn't want her," Win proposed. She sat up. "Hey,
by the way, did you see that documentary programme on mutant cats?"
   "Mutant cats???" Katze said, raising her head, although taking
care not to disturb Grey. "What is this, another nuclear leakage
scandal?"
   "No, it's a naturally recurring mutation," Rayek said. "You know
what a black panther is, don't you? Well, it appears that, in
addition to jaguars and certain species of jungle cats, the common
house cat is prone to the same phenomenon. Not only that, but the
increase in size is amazing. Some black cats were accidentally
killed in a road accident in Wisconsin. They were the size of
lynxes. The people who found them initially believed they had
discovered a new species. However, medical examination revealed
them to be simply mutated forms of the Felix domesticus."
   "Bummer," Win nodded. "Anyway, remember how Laura Ingalls Wilder
always mentioned black panthers in her books? I remember thinking:
don't be stupid, woman, this is America. There *are* no black
panthers here, militant ethnic groups aside. But now I think she
may have meant pumas - do pumas have a black form?" she asked
Angel.
   Angel creased his brow in thought. "She must have meant
jaguars," Rayek said.
   "No, anyone'd recognize a jaguar, they're the feline equivalent
of pitbulls. She described the panthers as a larger version of her
cat Black Susan, so they must have had small heads, at least. Oh,
never mind. Anyway, it's striking how these mutations always have
either too much pigment or none at all. Albinos - now there's
another one for you. I saw an albino tiger once, all white with
black stripes. I thought it was quite funny."
   "Albinism is a universal mutation," Rayek said. "It occurs in
any species. Take white mice, for instance."
   "Or white rats," Angel added. Katze laughed. "Jaime and his
Amazing Mutant Rat!"
   "And how about this one: Rita and her Amazing Mutant Carp! Or
whatever these fish were called before the Chinese got hold of
them. Most new species started out as mutations from the old ones.
Indeed, mutation was the only possible way of evolution, before we
invented sex." Rayek flicked a blade of grass at his sister, who
grinned back widely. "I even read somewhere that all dogs are
really mutants, which would account for the diversity in breeds. I
mean, no single species on this planet comes in as many variations
as dogs do. Our dogs don't, that's for sure."
   "Angel's a mutation," Rayek said. Angel frowned in surprise. "I
am??"
   "All the Nordic - or, to use the infamous and horribly incorrect
term, `Aryan' - types are mutations, preserving the lack of pigment
found in newborns. Blue eyes are, in fact, colourless; all human
babies are born with blue eyes, and the iris normally takes on its
definite colour shortly after birth."
   "That's not a mutation, that's a recessive gene!" Angel
protested. "That's a blow for yer ego, innit?" Win hollered,
earning herself a whack.
   "Albinism is also recessive," Rayek countered, "but it is a
mutation nevertheless. The fact that it has become encoded in the
genes merely means that it is recurrent, rather than spontaneous
and unique. Don't you remember the fruit fly experiments in biology
class?"
   "Hiya, mutant," Katze called to Angel from her lying position,
waving a hand. "And what about you two, are you mutations?"
   "No, we're just hideously overgrown."
   "Mum was a mutant," Win suddenly said.
   "Was she?" Rayek said. "I'd say she was a member of an ethnic
minority with distinctive hereditary traits. A kind of true-
breeding subspecies, like the Morgan horse."
   "Yes, but the founding ancestor must have been a mutation," Win
persisted. Katze was puzzled. "What are you talking about?"
   "Our mother was of redmane stock," Rayek said.
   "No kidding! So you're related to One-Eye?"
   "That makes us very distant relatives," Win said with a smile.
"But, yes, we actually carry a drop of redmane blood in our veins.
Doesn't show, except in Jon's funny fringe - eh, brother? And in
the height, of course. Our younger brother and sister are even
taller than we are. Couldn't get off the ground to save their
lives."
   "You have brothers and sisters? I never knew."
   "Only one of each," Win said. "Sis joined the merchant navy.
Bruv's living in a place called Swirling Waters, happily married to
a papermiller."
   "Interesting name," Katze said, although she knew it was only a
translation. Rayek snorted. "With our tides, name me a place that
*isn't* called Swirling Waters."
   "You live close to the sea, don't you? I remember Gabi telling
me there was a beach, although I never actually saw it."
   "Behind the tree fringe. Your sweetie's getting up," Win
remarked.
   "You can hear that from here??"
   "I can hear the grass growing," Win declaimed mystically. Her
brother kicked her. "No you can't."
   "No, I can't," she admitted. "Which is just as well, else the
advantages of digital recording would be utterly lost on me."
   Katze knew that the acuity of Waveling sight and hearing was
greater than that of humans, although their sense of smell was
poor. "Could you hear the difference between analog and digital
recording?"
   High up in the house a window opened, and Joe leant out with
tousled hair and a stubbly jaw.
   "Morning, dear!" Katze called up at him. "I can see your belly
button from here!!" Win yelled. Quickly, Joe's torso retreated a
little.
   "What're you doing out there?" he called down.
   "Taking a break! Work's finished, coming down?" Grey looked up
briefly to see what all the commotion was about, then curled up
again. The form at the window debated with itself. "Maybe!" he
finally answered, and the window closed again.
   "Tsk," Katze commented.
   "Not an early riser," Win agreed. "But, to answer your question,
yes. It makes the sound dull, muffled. Not that scratchy records
are my idea of heaven."
   "Must sound strange," Katze said. "Especially compared to live
music." Win shrugged. "It's something we grew up with. He's getting
up," she added. "He's stumbling towards the shower."
   "You should have been a sports commentator," Rayek remarked,
irritated. Win instantly rose to the challenge: "And he's going for
the showers, ladies and gentlemen, yes, yes, he's reaching for that
bottle of shampoo and now he's turning on the tap, yes, he's turned
it on and by Jove, I think he's gonna make it!!" Grey, shaken awake
by the sudden heaving of the chest on which she lay, quickly jumped
off and disappeared.
   "Oof!" Katze said, sitting up straight. The effort of repressing
her laughter had caused the blood to rush to her head, and she put
her hands against her cheeks to cool them. Angel grinned in
sympathy.
   "Are you in fact a mutant?" Win asked, after some reflection.
"Or are you just a rather grotesque Siamese twin?"
   "Interesting question," Katze said, reaching out to whack Win,
who sprang backwards like a grasshopper. "Well, I'd better be, else
I'd have suffered thirty-odd years for nothing. Heck, I don't know.
Rayek?"
   "He said he was *genetically* engineered," Angel volunteered.
"Though I don't know why - I mean, he was changed physically, and
he's sterile, so what would genes have to do with it?"
   "Genes are the body's blueprint," Rayek said. "They don't serve
solely to form new bodies, they also keep the old body stable. Any
physical change requires a corresponding alteration in the genes,
otherwise the body will irrevocably revert to its former state. In
Nature, most mutations will take place between conception and
birth, as the fully grown body generally contains so much genetic
information that it is almost impossible to change every gene
within it; there will always be backup copies, so to speak, which
is why most adult life-forms can withstand a certain amount of
radiation. It is, however, possible to alter all of a person's
genetic material: a rather gruesome example of this is fallout
disease. Usually, though, the damage is passed on to the next
generation."
   "Ah," Angel nodded.
   "So you can actually mutate after birth?" Katze asked. "I always
thought a mutant was something you were born as."
   "Weren't all the comics mutants mutated after birth?" Win asked,
with a certain disdain. "Exposed to space radiation, hit by a
Maximizer beam or whatever, to mysteriously change into
supercreatures?"
   "And forget not that old classic, the Hulk," Rayek said.
"Characters we would tend to call shape-shifters, rather than
mutants. Yes, you're quite right. In real life, mutation after
birth rarely has such a positive effect, tending instead to disrupt
the natural balance and wreck the tissue. For someone with the
ability, however, it is possible to change a living person's genes
and, thereby, appearance. That's what happened to Baby Sadra."
   "Is it?" Katze asked. "I never understood what exactly was
supposed to make her a mutant. I mean, that's what they call her
and that's what she looks, but she's not a freak or anything."
   "Define `freak'," Angel said, grinning. "Do PAGs qualify as
freaks?" Win wanted to know. Katze ignored them both. "So... Anyone
could turn into a mutant. Nambu, for instance."
   "It's not that simple," Rayek said. "I know the Selectran to be
capable of consciously manipulating molecular structure, but even
so, it picked on someone whose genetic structure was predisposed to
mutation - someone who, in fact, was already a mutation of sorts.
You may have noticed that she is of the same racial type as you,
although there, fortunately, the likeness ends."
   "And predisposed to genius," Angel said.
   "And predisposed to psi," Win added. "Yep, truly the master
race."
   "Quite the new breed of human," Rayek agreed. "Although that
doesn't mean much; every mutant is a breed unto themselves."
   "And he made me sterile," Katze said bitterly. "Us, rather."
   "I don't think it intends to breed with this one," Win consoled
her. "Perish the thought," Rayek shuddered. "No, it's still out to
destroy the Earth," Angel said comfortingly.
   "Doesn't that mean we're doomed?" Katze inquired with a
quizzical frown.
   "It hasn't done it *yet*!" Win winked mischievously. "Its own
weapon will be its undoing," Rayek said. "That child has a mother.
Their psi-link will bring them together, and when it does..."
Flinging out his hands, he mimicked a modest explosion.
   "Are you sure?" Katze asked, the frown changing to one of
concern. "I remember our link was quite powerful. Certainly
powerful enough to drown out any natural bonds."
   "The bond between mother and child is by no means natural, if
that's what you mean," Rayek said. "There is a physical bond
between the mother and the foetus, if only because they share the
same food and oxygen; but its strength lessens as the pregnancy
advances, to be severed at birth and replaced, hopefully, by a more
intelligent and voluntary type of bonding. Your mental link was
forged even in the womb, which is why you never missed your
parents. Gel Sadra didn't fall under the Selectran's influence
until she was four, and only because she was near to death. Before
that, she had a happy childhood, such as it was; she had the
opportunity to form a healthy tie with loving parents, and the tie
will reassert itself in time."
   "I'd say he missed his parents!" Angel protested. "Remember how
he reacted when Bergmann made him think he was his father? Even
though that creep did things to him no father should do to his
children," he added darkly.
   "Yes, that was stupid," Katze said, drawing up her knees and
shivering a little; the wind had risen, and a chilly breeze played
through the leaves. "I can't think what got into me. I must have
been insane - or slightly more insane than I already was, at any
rate. I mean, even if he had been, how would that have changed
things? Heck, even Joe takes better care of me, and he's younger
than I am."
   "Anyone can enter into a caring relationship with anyone else,"
Rayek said. "The idea popularly associated with biological parents
is that they love and protect their children, helping them to
survive and establish their own identities. Whether they actually
do so is, of course, another matter."
   "Precisely," Win agreed. "And when they don't, the children
either fool themselves into believing that they do, or imagine that
these are only substitutes, and that their `real' parents are
waiting for them out there somewhere. It's a powerful myth."
   "Powerful enough to keep Ken whining for his daddy," Angel
added, "or the mighty Condor howling for revenge... Although that's
not quite fair, I s'pose. Primo, he really did like his parents,
secundo, he stopped howling when he found out a few things. I guess
Joe's real problem was a loyalty conflict, not a daddy fixation."
   "Right on," Katze nodded. "Besides, I almost qualify for the
daddy fixation label myself... I'll never forget the moment X broke
the link. It was like dying." She hid her face on her knees. "And
I've died often enough to know what that feels like."
   "Hope he never hits on the bright idea of restoring it," Angel
said, also beginning to shiver.
   "Oh, I don't think so. He couldn't handle two links at the same
time - one was tiring enough. Hey, anyone else want to go inside?
It's getting cold, and I'm hungry."
   "Tell Joe to make us some sandwiches," Win said, as they filed
in through the kitchen.
   Joe lay stretched on the couch in the living room, washed,
brushed and clean-shaven. "Go make us some sandwiches, Asakura,"
Katze said imperatively. He stuck out his tongue and folded his
hands behind his head, grinning. She turned to Win, spreading her
hands in despair. "It's not working!"
   "I'll do it," Angel said, and went to the kitchen.
   "How come yours always does what you tell him?" Katze wanted to
know. "Do you threaten him with nights on the couch, or what?"
   Win smiled modestly. "I'm hardly the one to threaten him with
nights on the couch - that's *his* prerogative. No, he's just a
very sweet person." Rayek snorted.
   "Isn't he, then?" she challenged her brother, plopping down
abruptly on the couch, so that Joe quickly had to withdraw his legs
to prevent himself being sat on.
   "I saw no evidence of that when he came."
   "So? He made up for it, didn't he? He's done his best. You
should give him some credit for his efforts, at least."
   "True," Rayek admitted. Her curiosity piqued, Katze asked: "Why,
what was he like when he came?"
   "Like Joe, only worse," Win said. "Typical hoodlum," Rayek
added. Katze pushed Joe into an upright position, so she could sit
on the other side of him. "Yes, I know that. But what did he
actually *do*?"
   "Shouted a lot. Tried to assert himself," Win said. "Not to me,
mind you. But he chilled out when he found he was surrounded with
only females. First guy he met was Copperhead, which chilled him
out even more."
   "The first male to cross his path was Gabriel-Earnest," Rayek
corrected her.
   "So? Gabi was a kid. No male rivalries there."
   "And he didn't mind being surrounded by butch women?" Katze
asked. "Oh, the women were never the problem. Angel's always been
a target for he-man types. He was quite happy to be released from
the burden of machismo."
   "Hope you're listening," Katze said snappily to Joe, who merely
grinned.
   "Of course, he, as an alien, was largely exempt from the
restrictive gender roles of our planet," Rayek said acidly to his
sister. "To him, it was all fun and fancy dress."
   "So? As long as he's happy, does it matter?"
   "I'm sure it mattered to him when he had that little run-in with
the gang of--" He added an unintelligible word in his own language.
   "Gang of what?" Joe wanted to know. Katze slid a hand over his
cheek and pushed it inwards, like a mother averting a child's face
from a scene of horror. "Never mind."
   "Point to you, brother," Win said gravely.
   Angel came in with a medium-sized dish of sandwiches and a pile
of tangerines on a tray. "Sorry if it's not enough, I'll make some
more when these are finished. What're you discussing behind my
back?" he joked, pulling Win's pigtail.
   "They were telling me all about your sordid past," Katze said.
"He wanted to know what you were like when you settled in with us,"
Win informed him.
   "Nasty," he said, walking past Katze's chair to whack her from
behind. She ducked, laughing.
   "You were a right little rotter," Rayek affirmed. "I remember I
disliked you intensely."
   "I liked you from the start," Angel said, grinning good-
naturedly. "God knows why, you scared the pants off me."
   Joe eyed Rayek in disbelief. "Oh, he can be *very* scary," Katze
assured him, taking a sandwich from the plate.
   "Jinpei's scary," Win said, biting into another sandwich.
"Fickle as the tide."
   "Can't think how Jun handles him," Angel agreed. "She doesn't,"
Rayek said. "He looks to her for guidance. If he didn't, she would
soon be without a cook, and the customers of the Snack J would
suffer an atrocious fate." They laughed.
   "Jun's a wuss," Katze declared, with a mouth full of tangerine.
"Jinpei's an obnoxious little brat. Spends all day making fun of
her."
   "Oh, come on, you," Joe said, nudging her. "You *like* Jinpei."
She arched an eyebrow, then grinned back at him. "Yes, you're
right. I do."
   "I like Ryu," Win stated.
   "I don't mind Ryu," Katze said. "But he *hates* me. More than
Ken does. More than *you* did," she said, poking Joe in the chest.
In a reflex, he wrapped an arm about her. "And his family... ewww."
   "What's wrong with his family?" Rayek asked, in a neutral tone.
   "Nothing, really. But when I see them together, all happy and
smiling and proud of each other, it brings up my breakfast."
   "A grim contrast to your own childhood," Win nodded soberly.
"Never mind Ryu," Joe comforted her. "He's stupid."
   "Oh, I don't know," Katze said. "I don't think he is, really. He
just acts that way."
   "*He* thinks he is," Rayek said.
   "Because everyone's always telling him so," Katze responded.
"Including the brilliant Doctor Nambu. That man should have been
arrested for child abuse long ago, except he's too rich and he's
got too much power. Besides, his own little darlings would never
let him down, so what's the use?"
   "I don't think they want to know about it," Win said, "any more
than Joe wanted to know that his parents were Galactors." Joe
didn't react; the facts of his past had lost their sting to him.
"The mechanism of denial is a strong one."
   "You betcha," Katze said dejectedly, reaching for a ham-and-
cheese sandwich. "I knew X was going to kill me, I knew he was
going to blow up the world, and I didn't do a damn thing about it.
Not that I could have done anything about it, of course. But I
didn't even *try*."
   "Yes you did. You ran away," Win said. Katze shrugged unhappily.
"I always came back."
   "Only because you had nowhere else to go," Win returned. "Ryu's
lucky, he's got his parents. That's why he hates you - he's scared
of you. He's scared of what you might do to his family. I mean, you
already tried to kill them once."

As promised, Joe turned up at the building that harboured Design
and Engineering at one o'clock sharp, having left his car in a
parking garage. As he walked towards the side exit, he could see
her from the distance, carrying a pile of cardboard boxes with lab
logos that teetered in the wind. They had to be very heavy, for she
was having difficulty controlling them. Catching sight of him, she
yelled: "Get your ass over here, Asakura!!"
   He ran to her as the pile swayed more and more dangerously, but
not in time to save it from toppling. Boxes rained around them, one
of them hitting him on the head. It bounced off harmlessly.
   "These don't weigh anything!" he exclaimed in surprise.
   "Of course they don't weigh anything, they're empty! That's
precisely the point!! Now help me get these to the car before Jun
arrives."
   "I can't believe I'm doing this on my day off," he grumbled,
dragging the boxes to the space where the red car was parked, an
assortment of ISO-marked cardboard boxes in various sizes standing
around the rear. She started to fit the smaller boxes in the larger
ones, and the resulting packs of boxes in the boot. "What's it for,
anyway?"
   "Packing material from the lab. Used for electroscopes and such,
so they're pretty sturdy. A friend of Jun's is moving and she needs
boxes to pack her stuff, so I asked if I could have these. They
were only going to be thrown away, anyway."
   "You're helping Jun?" he asked.
   "Why not? If I have to work for the team, I might as well get
chummy with them. Besides, I hate to see useful things get wasted."
   "And where does this friend of hers live?" he inquired.
   "Orphanage. Wants to come to Tokyo to study. You don't have to
come along, by the way." She finished putting the larger boxes in
the boot, ending up with two narrow ones which were too long to fit
inside any of the others. She shut the boot firmly and opened the
car door to push them in over the back seat, leaning in as she did
so. Seeing only her rear protrude, the knees slightly bent to make
up for leg length, Joe gave in to a mischievous impulse and pushed.
She fell across the length of the seat and whipped round onto her
back, reaching over her head to pull herself up. "What the...!!" He
dived in after her, landing on top. His legs stuck out through the
open door. She glared at him malevolently.
   "Asakura, I am *not* in the mood..."
   "Yes you are," he said in a low growl, nuzzling her neck and
jawline. "You're just being bad-tempered out of habit." The glare
gave way to a smile, and she folded her arms around his back,
sighing as he slid his hands up her sides. Turning her head, she
stiffened at the sight of a familiar figure approaching in the rear
view mirror and pushed him away, rapidly ejecting him from the car.
She was climbing out herself in a more leisurely fashion when Jun
arrived, staring suspiciously at both of them.
   "Just stowed the last couple," she said matter-of-factly,
smoothing down her clothes. "Where's Jinpei?" Icily refusing to
reply, Jun pointed at the two figures who were following a few
yards behind, their T-shirts bearing the numbers 4 and 1.
   "Thought I'd help," Ken said. His gaze was blank, rather than
cold. Jinpei was smiling with a radiance that accounted for much of
Jun's ill temper. "Won't it be good to see the old home again?" he
said, tugging at her sleeve in naive enthusiasm. She gestured him
to be quiet.
   "I didn't count on the four of you," Katze said. "We'll be
cramped for space - some people might have to sit on other people's
laps." She grinned toothily at Jun, who stared back emphatically
without smiling. The grin disappeared quite suddenly, to be
replaced by a more neutral expression. "Or Joe could stay here.
It's a long drive."
   "I'm coming," Joe affirmed. To lend strength to his words, he
entered the car and moved to the extreme end of the back seat,
leaving as much room as possible for other passengers.
   "Can I sit in front?" Jinpei asked brightly. Jun's eyes widened
and she opened her mouth to protest, but Ken pulled her round by
the shoulder and gave her a warning look to silence her. "Yeah, why
not," Katze said, smiling ferociously as she opened the door to
him. "Don't forget to fasten the seat belt."
   "So, how fast does this thing go?" he asked cockily, leaning
back in the seat with crossed legs and his skinny arms folded
behind his head. Jun sat in the back, squashed between Ken and Joe.
   "Very, very fast," Katze assured him. "Joe, before we leave
town, I have to stop at the post office. It won't take a minute.
Okay?" Her gaze, as she twisted round in her seat, covered all
three.
   "Fine," Ken said. "No problem," Joe affirmed. Jun still refused
to speak.
   The red car quickly and efficiently took them out of the city
centre and into a suburb of tree-lined roads, drawing up at the
shopping centre Ken had seen earlier. She positioned it over the
dotted lines of a parking square and opened the door. "Joe, coming
with me? I'll show you where Lenny works."
   "Ken?" Joe asked, but Ken shook his head. As Joe dismounted from
the car, she was already striding rapidly towards a cluster of
buildings, brushing past a dog with no visible owner that accosted
her with a wagging tail on the pavement. Joe waited for her outside
the post office, watching the bustle of housewives, students and
young children to pass the time.
   She emerged after ten minutes or so, smiling happily. They
interlocked arms to return to the car.
   "Hang on a second," she said to him as they passed the dog which
was still sitting on the pavement, a goofy-looking Golden Retriever
bitch with a shackled collar and no dog tag. It got up and waddled
towards her as it saw her approach, its stick of a tail wagging
furiously. She held out her hand to be sniffed and stroked its
head, talking to it in a high little voice that made it wag all the
harder. After a final farewell pat, she left it and rejoined Joe.
"Just had to say hello to her," she explained as they continued
their walk to the car. "I ignored her the first time because I was
in a hurry, and I didn't want her to think I was being rude."
   Joe almost stopped. "Let me get this straight," he said. "You
didn't want a *dog* to think you were being *rude*?"
   "What's wrong with showing a little courtesy to our fellow-
mammals?" she asked haughtily.
   "You're nuts."
   "That's what the shrink says," she answered merrily, opening the
door to the driver's seat to let herself in. Joe squeezed in next
to Jun again. Leaning over her, Ken hissed: "What took so long?"
   "She had to get sociable with a *dog*," Joe grimaced back.
"There was a long queue at the post office," she replied tartly.
"Saying hello to the dog didn't take a minute." Jinpei instantly
wanted to know all about the dog, what it looked like, what breed
it was and what it was called. Ken and Joe exchanged looks over
Jun's head, then shrugged in unison.
   To make up for lost time, and also to please Jinpei, she stepped
up the speed to 200 mph once they were on the freeway. The
passengers in the back were unpleasantly tossed and flung against
each other. "I thought you didn't approve of wasting petrol!" Joe
cried out in protest.
   "It's gas. I converted the engine." Jinpei's eyes were shining.
"Does it go up to three hundred?"
   Obligingly, she accelerated, pushing the "play" button on the
tape deck. Upbeat techno music issued from both speakers, adding to
Jinpei's delight. Listening carefully, Ken found he could make out
some of the words. It was only paced at a moderate speed, he
discovered, and the subject was not, refreshingly enough, sexy
babes and dancemania. This was not the techno-junk played in most
city-centre discos.
   "Who is this?" he said, leaning forward to make himself heard.
She passed him the empty box without turning her head. It had the
word SHAMEN written on the back in large block capitals. Ken
thought. His English was fairly proficient, but he didn't recognize
the word. "What does it mean?" he called out.
   "It's a fake plural," Katze answered, likewise raising her voice
above the music. "The singular is shaman. It's a grammatical joke."
This didn't clarify much to him, so he just sat back, listening.
The mysterious word "shaman" recurred several times, in conjection
with the words "eagle" and "fly". By the time he had puzzled out
the lyrics of the refrain, the song melted into another one.
   At the speed they were driving, it was less than an hour before
they arrived at the terminal of the SinoTrans, technology's answer
to the freight industry. After its partial destruction, the
intercontinental monorail had been rebuilt with a double track, a
narrow one for the superswift passenger train and a wider one for
the slower, but still very fast freight and vehicle train. It was
into the latter that she drove the car, paying for a ticket at the
wayside booth and accompanied by four sturdy rail workers who put
wigs against the wheels, wished them a good journey and slammed the
hatch shut. Jinpei ran to the Perspex windows of the closed
compartment to gaze out over the ocean that was whizzing by under
their feet, but after fifty minutes of this he was content to sit
in the car and munch on the Twix bars that Joe passed round. Once
on Corea's mainland, she mounted the velocity to 250 mph, and it
wasn't long before the square white tower of the Shirayuki
Orphanage came into view. She slowed down well before arriving, and
Jinpei cheered as she drew up before the gates of the main
entrance.
   "I'd better not go inside," she said, as the other three tumbled
out and started stretching their backs and legs with painful
expressions. "Some people might remember me." Joe offered to stay
with her while the others carried the boxes in, and Ken said he
would stay also.
   "I thought you said you'd come to help," Katze said accusingly,
opening the rear. "I'll manage," Jun said huffily, gesturing Jinpei
to take the first load. They staggered off, hampered more by the
size than by the weight of their burden. The other three loitered
around the car, hands in pockets. Katze's attention was drawn by a
fenced-in meadow adjoining the playground wall, containing some
goats, a number of shaggy Shetlands and a larger pony that looked
capable of carrying an adult rider. Waddling between them and
picking at the ground were geese and chickens. "This wasn't here
last time, was it?"
   "They probably added it after we rebuilt the place," Ken said
coolly. Katze was leaning forwards over the fence, trying to lure
the large pony with a handful of dandelion leaves. The animal swung
its smallish ears forward in interest. Jun, who had returned for
another set of boxes, was watching disapprovingly. Realizing that
some show of authority was expected of him, Joe called out sternly:
"You're not going near that horse!"
   "Wanna bet, Asakura?" she returned, turning up her nose at him
and swinging both legs over the fence. Jun looked on with horror as
she approached the animal with her offering before her, whickering
softly. It made a few paces towards her, nose outstretched, then
bent its head inward to nibble the leaves in her hand. She half
squatted until she stood nose to nose with the animal, who snorted
as their breath mingled, then rose to scratch its mane, slipping an
arm around its neck. Jinpei, on returning, also gazed on spell-
bound as she leaned one arm over the animal's back, then two, then
finally brought a leg up and mounted. A slight pressure of the
calves, and it walked off. Triumphantly astride, she made a face at
Joe, who was standing with crossed arms and a lowered brow. By
applying more pressure and leaning to one side, she managed to
bring it round to the fence, where she dismounted, patted it on the
neck to reward it, and climbed over to pick it another handful of
dandelion leaves. Joe ominously cleared his throat.
   "That was really cool," Jinpei said in admiration, before Joe
had a chance to speak. "You never told me you could ride." Jun
grabbed Jinpei before he could say anything more and dragged him
off with her, awkwardly carrying some boxes under her other arm.
   "I'd better go help them," Joe said, feeling free to grin now
that Jun was gone. "See you tomorrow, okay?"
   "You're not coming back with us?"
   "No, just Jinpei - she wants him to keep an eye on the place.
I'll be coming in the van tomorrow morning." They kissed, and he
took the last boxes with him into the building, leaving her alone
with Ken. A silence descended over the remaining pair.
   "You like him, don't you?" Ken said.
   She bent her head, without answering.
   "Why?"
   "Because he's been kind to me," she answered shortly. She was
quiet again, withdrawn, all the bounce gone out of her. She changed
her moods, he thought, as easily as her gender; it was virtually
impossible to divine her true nature. He shivered, as much out of
apprehension for her duplicity as from the cold wind that was
blowing under the benign summer sun. She shivered too, and entered
the car, holding the door open to him.
   "Is that the only thing?" he asked, when they were sitting side
by side.
   "It's enough for me."
   "So anyone would have done in his place?"
   All further exchange was prevented by Jinpei's running out
through the gates to meet them, Jun shouting some parting
instruction at him from the doorway. He was disappointed to see Ken
in the front seat.
   "Why shouldn't he sit in front for a change?" Katze scolded him.
"Look, you've got the whole back seat to yourself." He acknowledged
this, and they set off on the journey home with the radio playing,
Jinpei chatting about his old friends at the orphanage in the
train. They returned to the island in the early evening, drawing up
at a wayside restaurant when Jinpei began to complain of hunger.
Ken dug into his pockets for cash, but Katze stopped him by handing
a few bills to the little Japanese woman at the counter, telling
her to keep the change. "My treat."
   Jinpei accepted it as a matter of course, but Ken was less at
ease; he knew she'd already spent a considerable sum on transport.
"Where did you get that kind of money?" he said in a lowered voice
as they sat over their bowls. Putting down the chopsticks for a
moment, she tiredly answered: "Last month's wages. I *work*, you
know."
   Ken nodded, and ate. Observing her from his eye corners, he
could see very fine lines running around her eyes and mouth; proof
of her advancing age. Each time Jinpei said something to draw her
attention, she would raise her head and grin wickedly in response,
but when his eyes returned to his ramen, she sank back into an
attitude of dejection.
   "He'll be back tomorrow."
   The remark startled them both; Ken had spoken without thinking.
As their eyes met, the suspicious look on her face gradually
dissolved into a wry smile. "Actually, that wasn't what I was
thinking about. But thanks all the same."
   "Why, what were you thinking about?" Jinpei asked inquisitively.
She tweaked his nose in answer, and he laughed.
   She left Jinpei at the Snack J, returning his enthusiastic waves
as she pulled away from the kerb and drove off. Re-entering the
main flow of traffic, she asked: "Where do I drop you off?"
   "At my house, please."
   "I don't know where that is."
   "I'll show you. It's near Joe's trailer." He gave directions,
which she followed. They were soon out of the centre and nearing
the terrain of the airstrip.
   "I didn't realize you lived this close."
   She stopped near the hangar. He made no move to exit. She
waited, leaning over the wheel, her face hidden by a curtain of
hair.
   "Why are you doing this for us?" Ken asked.
   "Because it's marginally more satisfying than trying to please
a holographic image."
   "You're always working for other people, aren't you?"
   "I'm a very selfish person. I only do things for my own
benefit."
   "I don't believe you."
   "Don't. I'm a liar, too."
   "Right now, I'd say you were a martyr." She laughed shortly, but
made no reply. They fell silent. Ken's eyes roved over the
dashboard, rested briefly on the long hands loosely hanging over
the wheel.
   "Joe says you were tortured."
   She flinched, slightly. "Joe's been telling you a lot about me."
   "I don't want to cause any problems between you two," Ken said.
   "You won't. Don't worry." She straightened, her face carefully
composed into a non-expression. "No, I wouldn't say I was tortured.
Brought up rather harshly, maybe. The whole point about torture is
that you know you're being hurt intentionally. I was taught to
consider it a normal thing."
   "He says you were beaten."
   "What a sweet euphemism. Yes, among other things, I was beaten."
   Ken decided not to ask why. She seemed willing enough to answer
his questions, but he could sense that at some level, she was
holding back. He would have to play this by gut feeling, ignoring
both his sentiments and his principles in order to drag out the
truth.
   "I never thought of you as an orphan," he said.
   "I didn't think you would. Well, legally, I fit the bill."
   "It must have been difficult, not having parents."
   "Oh, I've had lots of parents. A new set every year, each with
their own views on childcare and education. Such a stable life."
She was twisting the strap of her handbag between her fingers.
   "And they beat you?" Ken guessed.
   "Sometimes. Not often. They had different forms of punishment."
   "They were Galactors," Ken said. "They would have to be cruel to
children."
   "Not necessarily. Joe's parents were Galactors, and they weren't
cruel to him. Much the opposite, in fact."
   It was Ken's turn to flinch. "They wanted to leave Galactor."
   "I can assure you there's lots of other people like them still
in the organization. I'm not saying they're *happy* there..." She
grinned, briefly and mirthlessly.
   "Galactor is evil," Ken said firmly. "No one with a sense of
integrity would be part of it."
   "Galactor is just another godawful place to be," Katze said,
staring straight ahead. "You don't always get to choose where you
end up. Most of the time, other people make your choices for you."
   "If that's supposed to be an excuse, it's the lamest excuse I've
ever heard."
   "Any excuse would be lame. Survivors have no use for excuses."
   For several minutes, neither spoke. Ken glanced to his side; she
didn't seem to be getting impatient. "I suppose you would have
preferred to grow up in a normal household."
   "Maybe. That's what I used to think. Right now, I'm not so
sure."
   "I didn't really want to be a hero," he said. It was a false
confession, meant to draw her out. As he had foreseen, she didn't
take the bait. Dropping the attempt at sympathy, he returned to the
dilemma that irked him.
   "I can't understand how you could do all the things you did.
Didn't you see it was wrong? Did it never occur to you how much
damage you did, how much pain you caused?"
   "Pain was part of my life," she replied evenly. "I was brought
up with it, as you were. But, unlike you, I was taught to give in
to it, not to resist it."
   "Is that what your so-called training was for? To make you a
coward, to force you to degrade yourself?"
   "Don't get smug, mighty Eagle," she said, her voice acquiring an
edge. "Nambu could crush you like a bug if he wanted to. Good or
bad, they all use the same methods."
   "Do you think I'm a spineless pawn like you?" he demanded
heatedly. He was ruining everything - he knew it - but he didn't
care, it had to be said. Always when he tried to get to grips with
Galactor in a rational way, his feelings got in the way. Defeated,
he reached for the door. She had dropped her head again, the hair
cascading forward like a waterfall.
   "No," she said simply.
   Something told him he had struck a nerve. He waited.
   "What do you know about it?" she demanded, with a bitter,
restrained anger that cracked her voice. "You didn't lose a home
every year. You didn't have your mind invaded. You were normal, you
had nothing to hide and nothing to fear. No one hated you. No one
called you a monster. You don't know what it's like to be... a.."
The hands tightened on the wheel, showing knuckles; then they
relaxed. She swallowed, and continued in a softer voice: "But I
remember a time when you saw what I was, and I was running for my
life, waiting for a blow that never came. So maybe you do know."
She leant back again, resuming her empty gaze. "You could have
killed me then. I regenerate from the cortex. When that goes,
everything goes."
   "You killed my father," he said. "I know that's not the truth,
but that's how it feels."
   "If it makes you feel any better, I was hoping it'd be you."
   Oddly, it did. "I swore I would kill you with my own hands."
   "You could kill me now, if you wanted to. You know I wouldn't
die."
   The remark had been dropped casually enough, but the underlying
message made him shiver. She was not merely inviting brutality - he
could have killed her anyway, if he wished - she was offering to
cover up the deed, to hide the crime.
   "No. I don't want to hurt you."
   "Oh? Why?"
   Instead of answering, he opened the door on his side and
prepared to step out. "Won't you come inside?"
   "Should I?"
   "Well, I'm always barging into your place."
   "True." She descended from the car, locking the doors, and
followed him into the house. It was mainly a large living room,
with bed, chairs and kitchen sink ranged against the wall. Uneasily
aware that it looked scruffy and disorderly, he indicated her a
seat and started to make coffee. She offered no comment.
Remembering a previous time when they had shared coffee together,
he wondered whether she would accept it.
   "I forgot. Coffee?"
   "Fine," she answered. While the percolator bubbled, she drew the
handbag onto her lap and posed a hand on it. "Mind if I smoke?"
   It was not something he would normally have allowed, but in this
case he was inclined to be lenient. He felt the air pervaded with
a sense of intimacy, deeper than if they had been friends; the
intimacy of close enemies. It was a feeling he sometimes had with
Joe, when they disagreed on something and Joe refused either to
give in or to argue his view on the matter. He nodded. With a
practised gesture, she pulled out a cigarette and lit it, drawing
in deeply. Layers of smoke drifted between them.
   "Nice place," she remarked.
   "My father left it to me. He was a pilot."
   "I knew that."
   Silence. She took another pull. "I'm glad he left you
*something*."
   "He wasn't that bad."
   "How do you know? You never knew him."
   "I did. I just didn't know he was my father. We worked together
with the Red Impulse squad, remember?"
   "Of course. Silly me. Oversight."
   "They even saved our lives a number of times."
   "Don't I know it."
   "Besides, I told you the captain of Red Impulse and I had a
special relationship."
   "That could have meant literally anything."
   It was true, Ken admitted to himself, reddening. "I thought
you'd be bright enough to figure it out."
   "Huh. I suppose you had a hunch right from the start. Blood is
thicker than water, and all that."
   "No. First time I saw him, I thought he was a Galactor."
   "No kidding."
   The percolator had stopped gurgling. He poured coffee for them
both and offered her milk and sugar, taking his own coffee black.
"So, I knew him well enough. Didn't always like him. But I
respected him."
   "Well. That puts things in a... different perspective." She
stirred her coffee, toyed with the spoon. "Pity he had to go and
die on you."
   "He gave his life for a good cause."
   "He's dead. Galactor lives." The words were pronounced without
triumph or malice, a bare statement of facts.
   "He had to try."
   "All for the greater good. Hope he died happy."
   "I saw him before he took off. He had tears in his eyes."
   "Bummer."
   They both fell silent, lost in thought.
   "I miss him," he said, leaning his chin on his hands.
   "You had a mother. What about her?"
   "She missed him too."
   Memories flooded his mind. To his surprise, he found himself
recounting the whole story of his quest for his father to the
silently smoking figure opposite him; the sense of absence under
Nambu's care, the dim memories, the sudden reawakening of hope and
its final, cruel extinction. She heard him out without speaking,
her face obscured by a veil of smoke.
   "That's sad," she finally said.
   "I'll get over it."
   She blew out smoke through her teeth and nostrils. "I suppose
Jun feels pretty much the same way."
   "I don't know," he confessed. "I never asked her about it."
   "Doesn't want to talk about it, I suppose."
   "Maybe."
   "Your coffee's getting cold," she said, gesturing to his cup.
Neither had touched their drink yet. Ken's mind flashed back to the
last time she had said it, at a different place, in a different
guise. He could see from the way she raised her head that she had
remembered, too.
   "So's yours," he said non-committally.
   She took the cup and firmly downed it at one draught, meeting
his gaze as she returned it to the saucer. Understanding the
gesture, he did the same, and offered a refill.
   After the second cup of coffee, he saw her back to her car,
raising a hand as the flat red shape receded into the distance. His
plan had backfired, he knew; instead of drawing her out, he had
succumbed to his own emotions, imparting confidences without
receiving any. But he didn't mind. Nambu, who didn't approve of
mourning, had little patience with his grief, and his teammates
even less; here, at last, he had found a listener, a sympathetic
ear to validate his sorrow. Never mind that the role should have
been fulfilled by his mortal enemy; if he had made a fool of
himself, it was nothing s/he hadn't done on countless occasions,
and even if she jeered at him later, she could never undo the deep
satisfaction that was filling him right now. He lounged on his bed
in a euphoria of self-indulgent sadness, revelling in the ache of
his solitude. Jun was gone until tomorrow, or he would have paid
her a visit; but even if he had, all they would have shared was
small-talk and some quips about bills. His mind went back to the
long, earnest discussion in the empty sitting room under the gaze
of the woman captain's portrait, Joe trying to explain his
attachment to the mantis-faced woman. "She's been like a father and
a mother to me."
   "She should be," Ken had replied cuttingly. "She owes you both."

                     Change - part 4

After a night of deliberation, Ken decided to let it go. Whatever
she might have been, he couldn't hate her now; not as a woman. It
was no good trying to project his hatred for the maniacal masked
death-monger onto the eccentric, but inoffensive testing engineer;
they were two different persons, and he didn't want the new
incarnation to suffer for the sins of the old one. Not that she
appealed to him much: loud-mouthed, ungracious and domineering, she
was Jun's opposite in every way, and he had to admire Joe's
patience. But he was convinced, by now, of the sincerity of her
affection for Joe; monstrous though it seemed to him, he supposed
that, at heart, she must long for shelter and protection like any
other woman. As long as Joe took care of her, he was confident she
wouldn't revert.
   As the night's reflections paled in the light of early morning,
his usual bright efficiency restored itself, and it was with
cheerful optimism that he rode to her house on the subsequent
morning, humming as he parked his car before the gate - only to be
forcibly shocked to his senses by the sound of otoko-Katze
furiously bawling out someone in Galactor style.
   It was all he could do to stop himself from transmuting.
Instead, he bounded out of his car and sneaked round to the garden,
peering very cautiously through the window. Win was yelling at a
smaller person in a perfect imitation of Katze's male voice, while
Joe, Angel, another small person and Katze herself were sitting
around her, giggling. "Now GO!!!" The little person scooted off,
and Win raised her hands with a martyred expression. "I am *so*
alone."
   Ken laughed out loud in relief, preparing to walk round to the
front. Katze beckoned him. "It's open!!" she called through the
window. Assuming she meant the kitchen door, he tried it, and found
it was. As soon as he entered the living room, Win sprang away.
"Aaaaahhhh!!! It's Gatchaman!!" She started to crawl backwards,
gibbering with terror. "Please, please, don't hurt me!"
   Ken wondered if any participation was required of him. Joe and
Angel were roaring with laughter. "Oh, that'll *do*," Katze said
moodily, crossing her arms. Instantly, Win changed position; she
was now looming over Angel with diabolically widened eyes, miming
the pulling away of a hood. "And might you be... G-2???"
   Deepening his voice to sound like Joe, Angel said in a moronic
drawl with matching expression: "You've got the wrong guuuuyyy..."
   "Torture him!" one of the two midgets cried out in a high,
piercing voice. At a glance, Ken could see that they were both
women, despite their crew cuts. Broad headbands covered their ears
and foreheads, suggesting injury. They were smaller than Win and
more flat-chested than Katze, if such a thing were indeed possible;
thin and angular, they nevertheless had hourglass figures. One of
them had violently red hair that bristled forwards and large,
golden irises, while the other was of an overall dun colour, with
round, snake-like eyes that gave her an evil, eager expression.
Both wore the skintight leather bodystockings he had seen on Win,
plus knives and baggy jackets. They were without doubt the ugliest
women he had ever seen.
   At a sign from Win, they postured themselves on either side of
Joe, saluting goon-style. Win turned her diabolical gaze on him,
pointing a terrible finger. "You will reveal the identities of the
other four members of the Science Ninja Team to me, or I shall
subject you to endless reruns of Barney and the Care Bears!!"
   "No! No! Not the Care Bears!" the redhead cried out, while the
dun woman averted her face. Angel choked. Joe assumed a ruminative
expression, pondering aloud. "We-elll... Life is sweet, and I don't
want to lose my sanity, soooo..." Win leaned close to him, with
glittering eyes. "Yes yes yes yes yes?"
   "Now *hit* her!" Katze called out from her chair. Angel, who had
slipped to the kitchen, presented Ken with a cup of tea and a brown
crusty-looking square of something that was still moist and
steaming. Biting into it, he found it to be a kind of chocolate
cake. Now Win was addressing the midgets in a funny, chittering
language, making some very Katze-like gestures. They were splitting
their sides laughing. "Ahum," Katze said, crossing her arms again.
   "But you've got to agree it's hilarious," the red-haired woman
said. Plain though she was, there was a frankness about her face
that was pleasing. "I mean, torturing a poor, inoffensive
*shoe*..."
   "Gives a nice twist to the Cinderella theme," Angel remarked.
Joe covered his face and shook. Katze gave him a peck on the
forehead, then sat on the edge of his chair while Win told her a
story in French, complete with gurgling-sink effects. Katze clapped
double, almost hitting her head on her knees. "She's describing the
sanitary system in the Midi," Angel informed Ken.
   "Are you French?" Ken inquired, turning to Win.
   Katze, who had just straightened out, jack-knifed again, and had
to be rescued by Joe. "You *had* to ask..."
   "Of course I am French, you stupid English k-nigget!" Win bit at
him in strangely distorted English. "Why do you think I have this
out-rrrageous accent?" She proceeded to bombard him with unorthodox
verbal abuse, Joe and Katze choking on each other's shoulders. "I
blow my nose at you, you son of a silly person! Your mothair was a
hamstair, and your fathair smelt of elderberries!" She turned from
him, contemptuously. "Now, go away, or I shall taunt you a second
tahm." The little women were hanging over the couch, quaking with
laughter.
   "Oh stop it, you're killing me," Katze gasped, fighting for
breath. Gradually, she calmed down, picking herself off Joe's lap
and smoothing down her sweater. "There, that's better."
   "An African swallow or a European swallow?" Win asked
innocently. Screaming, she dropped to the ground. While Joe and
Angel were straightening her out on the sofa, Ken surveyed the
tableau before him and tried very hard to discover some logic in
it.
   "Who are you?" said the red-haired mini-woman, noticing him for
the first time. Katze was too breathless to speak, and Joe was busy
pounding her back; he decided to do the introductions himself. "My
name is Ken Washio," he said formally. "I am a test pilot for ISO,
and a member of the--" He stopped himself short, thinking it might
not be wise to tell them all.
   "Ooh, lookit the pretty boy!" the dun woman squealed, swivelling
her snake-like head to ogle at him. "Let's grabbums!" Angel quickly
seized the two women by the scruff of the neck and unceremoniously
hauled them back. Katze was stretched on the couch like a
convalescing patient, her feet sticking out over the armrest. "You
make me feel puny, you know that?" Win told her.
   "Hey, not me, you dummy!" the redhead protested. Ken was
shocked. "Why did you do that?"
   "I should warn you that these women are terminally perverted,"
Angel said in a serious tone. "Hey, Ken, here's your chance to get
laid!" Katze called off the couch, causing Joe to sag to the ground
sobbing.
   The sight of Joe in hysterics was even stranger than the sight
of Katze in hysterics. "Clear off you two! Shoo!" Angel yelled at
the women, herding them into a corner. "Awww," said the dun one,
trying to clamber up his leg. Win shook her head, and started to
pull her off. In the midst of it all, Rayek emerged from the
kitchen doorway in a long, clinging black dress with a silver belt,
his hair elegantly combed, his eyes outlined in black and his
cheekbones lightly tinted. His fur-trimmed cloak swept the ground.
   "You look totally gobsmacked, you know that?" Win said, popping
up in front of Ken's face.
   "Excuse the rig-up," Rayek said to Ken with his usual calm. "I
didn't have time to change. Sharkey, there's going to be a delay.
It may be Sunday."
   "Woo hoo!!" the little women hollered libidinously at him from
their corner. Compared to them, he was tall as an elm. "You should
wear that more often!" Rayek gave them a withering glance.
   "Are you a transvestite?" Ken asked, stunned. Joe crossed his
arms and sighed emphatically.
   "Usually, yes. In this particular case, no."
   "You look like a woman," Ken said. The two little women
exchanged glances, then burst out laughing. "Would you please keep
the sexist comments under your big, ugly helmet?" Katze asked him
irritatedly. Joe scowled at him.
   "I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain our
culture to you," Rayek told him. "Sharkey, would you mind if I used
the bathroom? I'd like to scrape some of this paint off my face.
Win, I want a word with you about the furniture." The twins
disappeared into the hall.
   Ken found himself taken by the shoulder and escorted into the
garden. He sat on the stump, while Katze dropped down on the grass.
"At last, peace and quiet. What can I do for you?"
   "Nothing. I just stopped by to see if you were okay."
   "Oh, how nice of you. Well, as you can see, I've slightly
overdosed on meds, but apart from that I'm fine."
   "Who are these people?"
   "All I can tell you is that they're called Storm and Gale. They
work at Win's ranch. Storm is a distant cousin of One-Eye's, and
Gale is married to Copperhead."
   "Ah," Ken nodded, uncomprehendingly. "What is going *on* in
there?" he asked, catching muffled screams from the house.
   "Your friend and mine are having fun with the aliens. Don't let
it bother you."
   "Is it always like this at your place?"
   "I function best in an environment of total lunacy."
   "So I notice." He crossed his legs. "They're really aliens?"
   "Forget you saw them. In three days, they'll be gone forever."
   "Will you miss them?" he asked.
   "I'll certainly miss the twins."
   Ken sat in silence, pondering. She amused herself by pulling up
blades of grass and pinching them into very small pieces with her
fingernails; then she lay back to gaze at the clouds. A little grey
cat slid out of the bushes and jumped onto her chest, where it lay
down and curled up.
   "That's an annoying habit she's got into lately," Katze said,
stroking the creature's back. "You're a stupid animal, aren't you?
Yes, you're a very stupid animal." The cat purred. Ken looked on,
not sure what to make of it.
   "I know," she said, catching his gaze. "It's just another act.
Two years back I was trashing cities with whopping big mechas, now
I'm being kind to children and cute furry animals. I'll be donating
to charity next."
   He knew for a fact that she already had. "What about your
contribution to the Kamakura Emergency Fund?"
   "Hm. I think I'd better have a word with the Condor." He
laughed. "Oh, that was nothing. I just happened to hear about the
quake, so I thought I'd help out. I've got all this money, I might
as well do something useful with it."
   "Is that why you did it?"
   "No particular reason, really. Well, it's nice to know you make
a difference. Gives you a sense of power."
   "That's a strange way of increasing power, by helping other
people."
   "Ah, but so infinitely satisfying. And it doesn't leave you
worried about getting beaten up at the end."
   "It doesn't achieve world domination, either."
   "What on Earth would I do with a whole world?"
   Silence. Ken would have liked to stroke the cat, but didn't know
if he would frighten it.
   "I'm beginning to think you're rather likeable."
   "No, I'm not. I'm very nasty. Honest."
   He laughed again. Although she was as uncommunicative as ever,
she was more at ease now, safe on her own territory, toying with
him in an amiable way. In many respects, he thought, she was a
mature version of Jinpei, deadly and comical at the same time. He
suddenly felt a strong impulse to touch her, to see if she was
real. Her eyes were slitted, watching only the heap of grey fur on
her chest. Reaching out, he lightly touched her cheekbone. The
softness of the skin surprised him.
   "Getting ideas, Ken?"
   "I wanted to make sure I wasn't dreaming," he defended himself.
She was smiling.
   "The usual procedure is to pinch your *own* cheek." He laughed
again, then sobered up at the thought of what Nambu would think if
he saw him like this.
   "You're really worried about me, aren't you?" she said, serious
now. Looking down at her, it occurred to him that she was pitifully
thin. The idea of this fragile, bony frame being pounded, kicked
and throttled made him feel quite ill, although his sense of
fairness rebelled against his concern. He consoled himself with the
thought that she had been a man when he hit her.
   "The fate of the Earth depends on you now."
   "Oh, bosh."
   "I mean it. If Nambu employs you as an emergency technician, you
could sabotage all our missions."
   "Why would I want to do that?"
   "I don't know. Revenge, maybe."
   "I've had my revenge ten times over. I'm harmless now."
   "If you say so."
   "Can't blame you for not believing me, I suppose." She gently
nudged the cat off her chest and sat up. "Well, I'd better go
inside."
   In the living room, Win was chittering to the little women
again, her hands drawing intricate figures in the air. They were
sitting side by side on two chairs dragged over from the dining
table, their feet dangling in the air. Rayek was there also, his
face clean and shining, although he still wore the dress. Ken noted
that it wasn't really a woman's dress; it fitted his figure
perfectly, and the cloak decoratively obscured the hump. "She's
telling them about that time Mechaziner got overheated," Joe told
them.
   "And you just wouldn't listen, would you?" the redhead chided
Katze. "Hey, they'd already taken it back to work on it once. And
that was the time I almost bagged the Condor!"
   "Aww," the snake-faced woman sympathized. The redhead grinned.
"And you going grouch, grouch, grumble, mutter..."
   "Let's just say I wasn't pleased."
   "What did you think of him the first time you saw him in
civvies?" Win asked. "Bet you had an instant hormone surge," the
dun woman said wickedly.
   "Heh heh... No, not really. I thought: not bad-looking, face
rings a bell."
   "That's what I thought of you, first time I saw you without the
mask," Ken said unexpectedly. "I thought you looked familiar, that
is."
   "I thought you were a mean-looking bitch first time I saw you,"
Joe said, grinning. She crossed her arms with a look of profound
displeasure, then jumped to answer the phone as it rang. Starting
in Japanese, she quickly switched to Spanish, speaking in a chatty,
affectionate tone. "Ah si?... Sisisi... Muy bien. Si, a mi casa a
las ocho. Si. Adios. Hasta la noche." She hung up.
   "That was Lenny," she said. "Called to check about tonight. I
said we'd be meeting at about eight."
   "Goody," Win said.
   "How's Len these days?" Angel asked. Comparing them, Ken
reflected that Katze didn't really resemble either Win or Angel;
Angel was too full in the jaw, while Win had smooth, child-like
cheeks and a clownesque grace that allowed her to get away with any
kind of behaviour. Katze was a grown woman - in her present form,
at any rate - and only preserved from total embarrassment by the
fact that she was a bit of a scarecrow anyway. Their similarity was
suggested by the way they subtly mimicked her gestures and facial
expressions; or maybe, he suddenly thought, she was mimicking
theirs.
   She reassured Angel that everyone in the Caldera household was
doing just fine, and the conversation turned back to Galactor.
There was a lot the little women didn't know about it yet, and each
round of explanation gave rise to a new one. "That's something I
don't understand myself," Katze was saying. "Can you force-grow a
person's mind?"
   "I think it projected your mental matrix on her," Rayek said.
"An easy thing for a telepathic mind-being to do. That would give
her your experience and capabilities. It would also incline her to
make the same kind of mistakes as you did."
   "`But I'm not like him, Sosai-sama,'" Win said in Gel Sadra's
voice, making everyone laugh. Ken looked at Joe, but his face
showed no interest; presumably his mind had switched off, as it
always did when unfamiliar subjects were being discussed. "Sosai X
must be the Selectran equivalent of a telephone sanitizer."
   "There are strong indications that they despatched it simply to
get rid of it," Rayek said. "Unfortunately, that led to its being
the sole survivor. Their version of the Botany Bay solution is
going to cause a lot of trouble."
   "At least you'll be safe on the homeworld," Katze consoled him.
"Speaking of which, did One-Eye get permission to carry weapons
yet?"
   "As of last week. Yep, it's a comforting thought to know he can
protect himself again," Win replied. "Though it was hard as hell
trying to convince the council. They all believe he's some kind of
psychopath."
   "Let's hope he'll never have to use them," Katze sighed.
   "He's got Sally's clan behind him now," Win reassured her. "And
my brother's rep should keep the riffraff at bay."
   "Sally?" the dun woman inquired. "<<selliw>>," the redhead
clarified, making a whistling sound. The dun woman twitched her
eyebrows in comprehension.
   "If someone claimed damages, would you take his case again?"
Katze asked Rayek.
   "No, I wouldn't be objective enough now," Rayek replied. "For
the time being, we've agreed that he'll answer to any claims made
against him, but he won't go out of his way to draw attention. He
could never afford to pay compensation, anyway. The damage is
horrendous."
   "It wasn't just *him*," Katze said. "He had a whole gang to
feed. A whole city, even, the second time."
   "It's on his head," the redhead said sombrely. "And the stupid
thing is, he tried to moderate the plundering because he knew that
if they became too much trouble, they'd be routed. But the robbers
just wanted more money, especially those with mouths to feed. He
was constantly trying to balance one thing against the other to
prevent all-out mutiny."
   "And all-out rape and slaughtering," the dun woman said. "But in
the end, it happened anyway." There was a collective sad sigh.
   "But he's all right now, isn't he?" Katze asked. "He's free,
he's got the children back - both of them..."
   "Divorced, had his piece of land and he's living with the
Betazoid, whatsit, Lefty. Yup, he's finally got what he wanted. Had
to wait for it long enough, though."
   "He is?" Katze said. "I'm glad things worked out between them.
Especially considering... you know."
   "She helped him get over it," Win said. "Don't forget, she's an
empath, she could feel her victims' suffering. But she couldn't
break away from the gang's control."
   "Why not?" Ken asked, desperately trying to follow the
conversation.
   "Because she literally had no mind of her own," Rayek said.
   "She's psychic," Angel said. "She's, like, a kind of telepath,
only she couldn't keep it out. Like Sharkey had with the goon in
the tube, only worse."
   "She didn't know which thoughts were her own," Win said. "Anyone
could control her. Her mother took it as a sign of weakness and
bullied her into joining a so-called bitch-gang, sadly disturbed
adolescents who kill for kicks. To harden her, ostensibly. A
nightmare."
   "She's traumatized for life," Katze said. "All the more ironic
when you consider no one ever did anything to *her*."
   "I don't understand," Ken said. "She could read people's
*minds*?"
   "She was influenced by other people's minds," Win said. "She's
an empath. That's why we call her the Betazoid." Ken was looking
more and more puzzled.
   "Kai was an empath," Joe said suddenly. "Wasn't she?" he
appealed to Katze.
   "Yes, but not as bad as Lefty. She was totally insane when Rayek
found her."
   "I rather think she found *me*," Rayek said.
   Ken was fast losing his grip. He decided to take it back to the
beginning. "You're aliens, right?"
   Win and Katze exchanged looks. "What do you think, do we give
him a prize?" Joe, too, was rolling his eyes. "Humans have a habit
of stating the very very obvious," the redhead said.
   "It's not that obvious," Ken said defensively. "You *look*
human... well... from a distance..."
   "That's the kindest thing anyone ever said to me," the redhead
sniffled, making everyone laugh.
   "Ken, you are the master of the faux pas," Katze told him. "But
don't get any ideas. In a few days they'll be leaving, and you'll
never see them again. So stop bugging them."
   "No, wait - you want cheap thrills? You get 'em." Win assumed a
booming, X-like voice. "Earthling, we come from the planet
<<lawga>>" she emitted a word with the sound of a breaking wave in
it, and dropped back into her normal voice, "literally, a place of
waves, but that's a bit long so we shortened it to Waveworld. We
have come," the booming voice was back again, "to monitor your
warlike and wasteful activities, Earthling," back to her own voice,
"and also to have a good time. And to prevent the pet hominid from
getting homesick." Angel grinned.
   "You live on another planet?" Ken ascertained.
   "Can I bang my head against the wall yet??" Win exclaimed to
Katze, on a note of extreme exasperation that made him laugh.
"You're a rocket scientist, aren't you, Ken?" Katze commented
drily.
   "Oh, as if you're so perfect," he retorted. "Remind me what
happened to all your hare-brained schemes to conquer the world."
   The slap caught him completely unawares. Too slack-handed to
carry much force, it shocked, rather than hurt him. He blinked.
Katze was looking at him in wide-eyed consternation.
   "Oooo, didn't know you were on whacking terms with Ken," Win
said mischievously.
   "I'm not, actually," Katze said, staring in embarrassment at the
offending hand. "Sorry about that." She sat down in confusion,
blushing all the way to her ears.
   "You look like Jussy now," Win said. "We've decided to call her
Justine," Angel added. "Suits her."
   "Yes, especially as she's with the lawman," the redhead said,
winking at Rayek. "Let's see if he'll still be as strict now..."
Katze seemed to know what they were talking about, as she arched a
meaningful eyebrow.
   "Oh, in the end they all give in, you know," Win said, giving
her brother a pat on the head. He growled, showing a canine. "Get
'em laid right, you won't hear 'em. Look, his principles are
crumbling," she said, indicating his clothes. "He's dressing
properly now, and he's finally decided to do something about his
hair..."
   "Right, that's it," Rayek said grimly, getting up and advancing
on her with clawed fingers. Win dashed shrieking into the hall, her
brother following in hot pursuit. The front door slammed twice.
>From outside, loud cries could be heard, punctuated by the sound of
falling bodies.
   Angel shook his head and sighed. "They'll be all right," Katze
reassured Ken, who was looking at the door with concern. Joe pulled
her into his chair for a kiss. "Gotta go, babe. Training."
   "Could you take these infernal munchkins with you?" Angel said.
The dun woman had managed to work her way onto his lap again.
"Sure, where do you want me to drop them off?"
   "Just kick them out at our place. Okay, you two, you're going
with uncle Joe. And *no* groping," he added, as the mini-women
trotted after Joe, their knives swinging at their sides. "Awww,"
the snake-head whined. "He's too ugly, anyway," the redhead said
carelessly. "Hm," Joe commented.
   Ken heard the Condor Attacker drive off through the sounds of
squealing and thudding. "I'll make some more tea," Katze said, and
escaped to the kitchen.
   "They're always like that," Angel nodded to Ken, guessing his
thoughts. Steam whistled in the kitchen, earthenware clattered, and
Katze returned with a tray bearing a teapot and stacks of cups and
saucers. "There's going to be one hell of a lot to wash up
tonight."
   "One of your subtle hints, Sharkey?" They exchanged tender
smiles as she set out the cups, and he slipped a protective arm
around her waist when she sat next to him. They might have been
close siblings, Ken thought. Or lovers.
   "Does Joe know about you two?" Ken asked.
   "Yes, and he made the same mistake as you did," Angel replied.
The front door opened and shut.
   "They were always this snuggly," Win said, re-entering from the
hall in a state of disarray. Her clothing was soiled in places, her
hair was dishevelled, and her eyes were shining with glee. "Even
when we met him, and he was male at the time." Rayek followed her,
unruffled except for his hair. Ken shot a doubtful glance at the
pretty-faced youth; it would certainly explain a number of things.
   "Angel is hetero to the point of mating with other species,"
Rayek said, cutting in on his thoughts. Win rolled her eyes. "Yet
another idiot who can't tell a fag from a PAG."
   "Person of Ambiguous Gender," Katze explained, before Ken could
ask. "There's me, there's Angel and the twins, there's One-Eye...
What about Copperhead, is he a PAG?"
   "Not by our standards," Rayek said. "However, he looks pretty
wild by *anyone's* standards," Win added. Katze agreed. "How does
he do it?"
   "Dyes his hair," Win said.
   "No, the skin, I mean."
   "Stays out of the sun. Or tries to. He used to be a night owl,
but it's getting harder now that he lives at the ranch. The irony
of it is, he tans quite easily."
   "Who'd have guessed," Katze said. Rayek consulted his watch. "I
have to leave," he said. "See you tomorrow." He made his exit
through the kitchen, and was gone.
   "Well, it's just us now," Win sighed, looking around. Perking
up, she said brightly: "Wanna orgy?"
   Angel whacked her, while Katze poured out the tea. "Don't you
have training, too?" he asked Ken.
   "Not today," Ken said. "Yah, slacker," Katze booed at him.
Ignoring him, they started to talk about the different ethnic and
linguistic zones of the twins' homeland, Win throwing in many
foreign and incomprehensible words. It appeared that the
mountainous area that the twins lived close to was inhabited by
small, grey-eyed people, while the flat, fertile, mainly
agricultural region close to their main river was characterized by
a taller, heavier physique, notably in the males. "They hardly fly
at all. Not that they have to."
   "And One-Eye?" Katze asked.
   "The redmanes are gathered at the other edge of the plains, in
the hilly area. They speak a dialect of--" a jumble of bell-like
sounds vaguely resembling "va'ejelli". "But he prefers--"  she
emitted a shrieking whistle that was painful to the ears, and
sounded like "sriii". "Call it a political choice." Katze nodded
understandingly.
   "So he speaks three languages. Two, rather, and a dialect."
   "Quite so," Win nodded. "And the funny thing is, <<fi'az>> grew
up with <<va'ejelli>> and <<rrtin>> with <<sriii>>, so in the
beginning they couldn't understand each other. Lefty's from the
other side of the mountain, but she knows <<sriii>>. Copperhead's
from another region altogether, he has to speak English to make
himself understood." They laughed.
   "Do you speak their language?" Ken asked Katze.
   "Which one of the fifty thousand?" Win asked. "Couldn't if he
tried," Angel said. "It goes beyond our range of hearing."
   "How many languages do *you* speak?" Ken asked, turning to Win.
   "On the homeworld? Two fluently, and three passably," she
replied. "My native languages are the mountain and the plains
language. I prefer mountainspeak. Plainspeak is a beautiful
language, but even more sexist than Japanese."
   Ken cocked an inquiring eyebrow. "It has seven different words
to cover all the aspects of motherhood," she explained, "yet no
decent word for father. The closest you can get to it is--" a
totally strange and unpronounceable collation of sounds, "meaning
mother's mate, or <<azera>>, progenitor, to denote the biological
father in the land-owning classes. But that's rapidly becoming a
euphemism for prostitution. One-Eye had to use one of the words for
mother and tack on a masculine ending; literally, `he-mum'. And -
you'll really love this, Sharkey - because no one knew who the
mothers were, people started to believe he was a hermaphrodite, and
he'd borne his children himself. Which is all the more laughable as
there's absolutely nothing feminine about him. Apart from the
scars, that is, but scarring happens to anyone."
   She went on to chat about "Fiaz", One-Eye's eldest, now living
apart from his wife and continuing his father's tradition of
rearing his own child. They were still married, and she frequently
came over to see him. "...which was all for the best really because
she already had four, and the top two were bullying the little one
and they *would've* bullied <<brey>>, except *nobody* bullies
<<brey>> - he's the muscleman."
   "They're not bullying him now, are they?" Katze asked.
   "No, when she started treating them decently they changed right
round. He's their little darling now - you touch him, and <<raida>>
kills you." Katze smiled, pleased. Hoping to get back to familiar
ground, Ken asked: "Are you psychic?"
   Win regarded him with amusement. "She's very, very psychic,"
Katze assured him. "She'll turn you into a newt, if you don't stop
butting in," Angel told him. Katze hooted.
   "Are you and your brother identical twins?" Ken wanted to know.
Their extreme likeness had not escaped him.
   Katze rolled her eyes impatiently. "*Think*, Ken. They *can't*
be."
   "We are fraternal twins," Win said in an exaggeratedly haughty
fashion. "We are a mutant unfused. We are, potentially, the
mightiest mutant in creation, capable of kicking Overlord X and his
silly organization right off the face of this planet."
   "Better believe it," Angel nodded, seeing Ken's sceptical face.
Ken looked at Katze, who nodded also. "She's a one-person Whirlwind
Fighter."
   "Speaking of which," Angel said, addressing Katze, "Jan was
tickled to hear about Ryu. At last, another owl, he said."
   "I'll tell him that," Katze said. "Or rather, I'll have Joe tell
him. What did he say, exactly?"
   Win emitted a series of scratchy squeaky sounds. "Meaning,
finally, someone else who has an owl for a totem. But it's not the
same one - wasn't Ryu a horned owl?"
   "What do you mean?" Ken said. "I don't understand."
   "Jon's real name is <<yaanati>>," Win explained, pronouncing a
word with a hollow screech in it, "meaning, the night owl. `Le
hibou', if you happen to know French. We anglicized it to Jonathan.
My name is <<haelwi>>, the wolf. The howler, literally - most of
these words are onomatopoeic. Anyway, those are our totems."
   Ken was totally confused.
   "They mean totem in the shamanistic sense," Katze told him.
"Your token animal or plant or whatever, the abstract principle
you're supposed to derive your superhuman powers from. Guess which
one mine is, by the way."
   "Yeah, isn't it funny how a high-tech war is fought out with
naguals?" Angel said. "Lenny and I were talking about it just the
other day." A discussion on shamanistic practices ensued. "Oh,
there were plenty of shamanistic elements in the early Celtic and
Germanic cultures," Win assured her listeners. "Odin was a shaman
who practised necromancy, and anyone who's read the epic of the
_Tuatha de Danaan_ knows all about Nuada's battle frenzy."
   "The epic of what??" Ken asked.
   "My ancestors," Angel said proudly. "Or so myth would have it,"
Win reminded him. "The tribe of the goddess Danu, immortalized in
the name of the blue Danube. Supposedly the first colonists of
Ireland. In true colonial style, they kicked off the local populace
first."
   "Did not!!" Angel protested. "They fought for it fair and
square." "Losing ninety percent of their armed forces in the
process," Katze added drily.
   "The tribe of the goddess Danu??" Ken asked, still baffled.
"Really! We know more about your planet than you do," Win
admonished him. "Bear in mind that this was a loooong time before
the invention of Gameboys," Katze grinned meanly. "True," Angel
said. "You're talking ancient history here. Before the Holy Grail,"
he winked at Katze, who broke up again.
   "Which also has its roots in Celtic mythology," Win said,
putting down her cup and rising. "Gotta go, Sharkey. We'll talk
later. I still have some packing to do."
   "You better get cleaned up for tonight," Angel added, giving her
a nudge. "You look as if you fell off a horse." Ken glanced at the
clock, and saw to his horror that it was three o'clock. "I'm
leaving too," he announced.
   He loitered around near the gate while Angel, Win and Katze went
through their farewell rituals and waited until their car had
roared off. Only his own car remained now, and the sleek red
machine that she refused to abandon, despite the security risk it
posed. She leant against it, waiting for him to speak.
   "How can I ever trust you again?" he finally asked.
   "You never trusted me in the first place. We had a bad start, in
that respect."
   "Joe seems to have forgiven you."
   "Forgotten, rather than forgiven. Joe has a trick of forgetting
things he doesn't want to know."
   Ken had to acknowledge this, although he didn't agree entirely.
"You're not telling me he's repressed all his memories of *you*?"
   "He's not repressing them, he just blindly disregards them."
Ken's mind lingered on the faintly bitter note of the last
statement. How humiliating it must be, he thought, to be shrugged
off like that.
   "And what about you?"
   "I don't want to agonize about the past."
   He tried to read her expression, but she was staring past him,
into the distance. "I suppose you and Joe hit it off right from the
start."
   "Ha. First thing he did was try to kill me."
   "And?"
   "He wasn't in a position to. He was wounded. So I volunteered to
look after him."
   "And he was so grateful he fell in love with you."
   "It was pity, as much as anything else. Joe turns to mush if you
push the right buttons. It's one of the things I like about him."
   "You've been at each other's throats for more than two years. I
can't believe he'd put all that behind him so easily."
   "He didn't. We spent ages talking about it. Comparing notes,
mostly." She shifted uneasily.
   "Don't you think you have a debt to him?"
   "There's only so much I can do. And, speaking of debts," she was
smiling wickedly, "when are you going to pay up?"
   He had to think a while before he knew what she was talking
about. "Hey, that's my business." She grinned again, then sobered
up.
   "You shouldn't duck out on bills. I know it provides you with an
easy topic for conversations, but it's not a game to her. She's
trying to run the place. Tell her about your parents, if you want
to talk to her. She wouldn't laugh at you. She's an orphan, too."
   "She's a woman. She wouldn't understand."
   "Well, you're not going to make much headway if you take *that*
attitude."
   He laughed. It was good to talk to someone who understood, and
in front of whom, he thought, he need never feel ashamed. "Well,
see you," he said. He waved as he left.
   He drove home, placed a call to Nambu and checked the contents
of his wallet. Then he set off towards the Snack J. Jun would be
back from training by now, and he badly needed to see her.
Normally, he kept a safe distance; she was available in all senses
of the word, and if it hadn't been for his scruples, he might have
taken advantage of her long ago. But he appreciated her for the way
she was always there for him. He was secretly rather annoyed at
Katze's rebuke; he considered his free meals a proof of their
friendship, a sign that she cared. But maybe it was time to arrange
the friendship on another footing.
   The sound of electric guitars being played at high volume came
to his ears as he drew up outside the J-sign. It was still too
early for customers; was she practising? He entered.
   Sitting on the raised platform on the far side of the bar were
two slender figures bending over plugged-in guitars. One was Jun.
The other he recognized as Rayek.
   Rayek flashed him a look to signal him that he had seen him. He
was wearing jeans, T-shirt and baggy jacket … la Win. Jun didn't
notice him, lost in her music. She played rhythm to Rayek's
shrieking solo, then he subsided into a fast, regular strum while
she beat out one riff after another. They were improvising, moving
from one theme to another, weaving a melody together. Rayek was
demonstrating superhuman control and coordination, his hands moving
with the speed and accuracy of a fine-tuned robot; Jun's fingers
were racing and sliding over the instrument's neck, a look of
intense concentration on her face. Her eyes were almost closed, but
he had never seen her so alive. She raised the pitch and made the
guitar howl in tearing wails, then the sound of their instruments
melded into one final vibrant scream and abruptly ceased. She
lifted the strap of the guitar over her head, and noticed the
visitor.
   "Oh, Ken..."
   Ken looked from the one to the other, his intentions dashed. Jun
looked guilty, as if she had been caught out at something. Rayek
was composed as ever, placing his instrument in its case with care
and hoisting the case onto his back, where, due to its special
shape, it obscured his hump completely. He shook Jun's hand, as if
insensible to her embarrassment, and gravely thanked her. "This
will be the last time, I'm afraid. It's been a pleasure." In a
moment, Ken thought, he would be gone. His wallet sat heavy in his
pocket, but now was not the time. He smiled awkwardly at Jun and
rushed out after the visitor.
   "Wait! Can I give you a ride?" Rayek had already begun to walk
down the pavement, past neon signs and newspaper stalls.
   "I'll walk," Rayek said civilly. Ken hurried to keep abreast of
him.
   "Please - I have a question. Who are you, and what are you?"
   Rayek stopped, and, standing close to Ken so that only he could
see, lifted a swathe of jet-black hair to uncover an ear. It was
pointed, leathery and slightly furred along the edge, with a row of
stiff, protective hairs covering up the opening. There was no lobe.
   "There are other differences, obviously," he said, resuming his
stride. "But people don't usually take notice."
   "How did you get here?"
   "By interdimensional travel. You'll have to ask Sharkey about
that. Or Nambu, if you wish. He knows more about these matters than
you would think."
   "Is it true that you could beat Galactor and Sosai X?"
   "I see the Howler has been yakking." He paused while continuing
his rapid walk, his hair spilling over the instrument case in inky
strands. "We have certain... skills, which allow us to survive
against greater odds. I don't doubt we would be able to eradicate
Galactor. I'm less sure about the Selectran."
   "Then why don't you?"
   "Because it's none of our concern."
   Ken almost stopped, as if slapped in the face; the blatant
disregard of the statement left him physically winded.
   "What do you mean, it's none of your concern??"
   "You have your life to live, I have mine. If I solved all your
problems for you, you wouldn't learn anything. My efforts are
wanted elsewhere. You must understand that the only reason why we
can tell the truth with impunity is because we can wipe out anyone
who takes it too seriously. We have no wish to be involved in human
affairs."
   "Yet you come here."
   "Only to prevent such an involvement coming about. My mother
spent the first years of her life on Earth. By a fluke, she fell
through a quantum gate. Such accidents must be prevented."
   "You are cowards!" Ken raged. "Sitting back while others die! If
you have the power to help, at least do so!"
   "I am under no obligation to help anyone against my will, or
better judgement. You are fighting symptoms. As long as you have
not seen through to the true nature of the disease, there is
nothing I can do for you. And if you believe I haven't helped,
please be aware that we have effectively neutralized an enemy you
have been uselessly fighting for over two years."
   Ken's head dropped. "So you've just been manipulating her."
   "Not really. We gave her room and incentive to develop the other
sides to her character. Whether she did so was up to her."
   Ken was tiring. Seeing it, Rayek slowed down a little.
   "Do you think we can trust her now?"
   "That is something you will have to decide for yourself. She
will not be the same with you as she was with us."
   "And what was she like with you?"
   "Personally, I found her witty, charming, intelligent, very
insecure, and desperately eager to please. Of course, we knew her
in an entirely different context."
   "I'll say." The scene returned to Ken's mind of the vicious
woman captain kicking him off a riding train, a long time ago. "I
can't believe how much she's changed."
   "She is a person of extremes," Rayek said. "At present, she's
reshaping her life. She may change more, before she settles into
her final role."
   Ken looked downcast. "She said it was just an act."
   "All of life is but a stage," Rayek said philosophically.
   Ken thought for a while. "You know her, don't you?"
   "Quite well."
   "Do you know what she's done?"
   "In great detail. I'm a planetary observer."
   "And you thought it was all right?"
   "No."
   "Then why don't you hate her?"
   "By way of retrospective punishment?" Rayek asked. "What good
would that do? And besides, why me? I have no quarrel with her."
   Ken agreed, but he still felt that some sort of communal
condemnation was called for. "What about all the people she
killed?"
   "Why don't I spare my sympathy for the victims, you mean." Ken
nodded. "Well, usually, I do. But when I see potential, I can't
ignore it. Besides, think of all the people saved, now that she's
no longer a danger to the world." Ken raised his eyebrows. "Yes,
there is more involved here than simple charity."
   "It sounds as if you're using her."
   "I wouldn't call it that."
   They continued to walk in silence for some time.
   "But why?" Ken pursued. "Why did she change like that? Why is
she taking all this trouble? Is it just because of Joe? I can't
believe what I'm seeing. Is she fooling me now, or did I just
imagine everything that happened before? Is she for real? Please
tell me what I'm supposed to think."
   "I would gladly explain," Rayek said, "but I don't think you'd
understand. Your mind is very one-dimensional." Ken tagged along,
listening. "You think in good and evil. But the world doesn't work
that way."
   "Then how does it work?" Ken asked.
   "On two principles. Firstly, all individuals are ultimately
self-serving," Rayek said. "Nor is there anything wrong with this.
And, secondly: every action is geared towards survival. Even if it
doesn't appear to be. No matter how selfless or destructive the
act, the principle of survival will always be at its core."
   Ken nodded understandingly. "My father wanted the Earth to
survive."
   "So did Katze."
   "But... he wanted to destroy it!" Ken protested.
   "Oh, come. You were there when she tried to commit suicide, you
know better. I doubt whether she wanted to destroy even you; on a
subconscious level, she must have realized that to kill you would
be to upset the delicate balance of power on which her life
depended. But to openly disobey was to invite punishment. She is a
survivor, Ken. In all senses of the word."
   It irked Ken that Rayek adhered so rigidly to the feminine, just
as Win and Angel persisted in using the masculine. "Why do you say
she? He was a man at the time."
   "She was never at any time in her life either a man or a woman,"
Rayek said with quiet emphasis. "As to our choice of pronouns, I
use the feminine because it is the unmarked pronoun in my language,
Angel uses the masculine because it is the unmarked pronoun in his,
and Win uses the masculine because she pounced on her once in that
form, with lasting effect."
   "I meant form," Ken amended, colouring. "He had the male form
when he was in uniform."
   "Not always," Rayek said. "She had a natural cycle, from which
she couldn't depart too far without impairing her health.
Consequently, she sometimes had to impersonate her other form."
   Ken nodded, then his mind went numb as the implications hit him.
Memory after memory assailed him, all the clashing images
converging on one single person. He would have to reassess his
previous conclusions, he thought dizzily. Under all the masks, was
there even a face?
   "Do the extremes of human behaviour frighten you?" Rayek asked.
   Staring blankly, Ken nodded. "How can a person be good and bad
at the same time?" he demanded.
   "Isn't that the way it usually is?" Rayek asked, half smiling.
Ken didn't answer, struggling with his thoughts. "There is a
difference between action and intent," Rayek said. "Our intentions
are our own, but the actions required to express them, like a
language, have to be learned. And they are learned through mimicry,
through following the examples set. If you consider what examples
were available to her in the past, her behaviour might make more
sense to you."
   "Maybe." Ken passed a hand over his forehead, as if to clear his
vision. "But you trust him," he established.
   "I trust myself."
   "And what if he reverted? What if he went back to his old
behaviour?"
   "Then she would meet with my disapproval," Rayek said, stopping
to face Ken with a gaze that froze and engulfed him. "And my
disapproval is a thing to fear."
   Dumbly, Ken nodded. "So, in the end, it's a question of power,"
Rayek concluded airily, turning away and striding purposefully
towards one of the drab housing blocks that lined the street; in
the course of their journey, the shop fronts and neon signs had
given way to endless grey flats. Ken had stopped noticing the
surroundings a long time ago, his neck stiff with turning to one
side.
   Drawing a keyring from his pocket, Rayek unlocked the door to
the entrance hall. "And what about justice?" Ken asked, recovering
his speech and running after him.
   "What about it?" Rayek held the door open to let the other man
pass, then preceded him on the stairs. Ken had trouble keeping up
with him; he was in prime condition, but the black-haired boy was
skimming up the steps like a feather on the wind.
   "Don't you believe in justice?" Ken asked, breathing heavily as
he came to the top of the third flight. Rayek was unlocking the
door to the gallery.
   "Who can afford justice?" he said, pausing in the doorway. "What
if all the fowl and cattle of the world marched against
MacDonald's, demanding justice?"
   "They're not human," Ken said dismissively.
   "Is that your yardstick?"
   Ken blushed. He followed Rayek down the gallery.
   "So, essentially, what you're saying is that justice isn't a
feasible objective?"
   "Not the all-inclusive kind," Rayek said. "Darwin had a point,
as did our moon-worshipping mystics. Nature set us up to be each
other's enemies. All we can do is try to limit the damage we
cause."
   "You're very cynical."
   "I'm a realist." He unlocked the door to the twins' apartment
and led Ken into a bare living room, containing only a table and a
few chairs. Packed cardboard boxes, some of them with the ISO logo,
were stacked in high piles in the corners. On one of the chairs
stood a lone cassette player, the cord disconnected.
   "I only have half an hour to spare for you," he announced,
lifting the instrument case off his back and depositing it on one
of the boxes. "After that, I'm afraid I shall have to chuck you
out. Tea?"
   "No, thanks, I don't want tea," Ken said. "And what about Katze?
Does he just get away with it? Is there nothing to stop this sort
of thing happening?"
   "I'll leave you to work that one out," Rayek said, taking a seat
and inviting his guest to do likewise. Ken sank in a chair, his
face troubled.
   "Joe told me he was tortured."
   Rayek made a curious movement with his eyebrows, but otherwise
remained silent.
   "But that's no excuse... is it?"
   "What do you think?"
   "I..." Ken tried to marshal his thoughts, to apply the doctrines
that he was sure would hold the answers. They offered only a demand
for punishment, relentless and futile. It repelled him. "I don't
know. Maybe Joe was right. It was all too long ago, he's changed
too much."
   "If you have any unfinished business, don't hesitate to take it
up with her. I'm confident she would listen to you."
   Ken nodded. "I know." He bit his lip, leaning backwards and
staring at no point in particular in an effort to control the surge
of emotion that was threatening to overwhelm him. It always came
from nowhere and disappeared into nowhere, at the most inconvenient
of moments.
   "Why do you mask your feelings with abstractions?" Rayek asked.
"Do you think that you, as an individual, are too insignificant to
matter?"
   Ken gazed at him, then nodded slowly in answer.
   "Justice is a mental construct," Rayek said. "A guideline to
plan one's actions. Pain is a reality. It overrides all
constructions." Ken nodded again, to indicate he had understood.
   "Do you think we should have shown him kindness?" he asked
ruefully.
   "No. You were not in a position to. We were."
   Ken leaned forwards again, folding his hands in his lap.
"You're not at all like Win, are you?"
   "In what way?"
   "Well, she's... silly."
   "My sister has the same knowledge as I do - she merely chooses
to apply it in a different way. I don't always approve her acts,
but then again, she doesn't always approve mine. And sometimes,
her approach works better."
   "She's unscrupulous," Ken said, suddenly putting his finger
on what bothered him most about the frivolous alien.
   "She has little patience with, and absolutely no respect for,
the abstractions you hold high," Rayek agreed. "Even though she
recognizes their use. It's something she shares with Sharkey,
although she has less reason to; she was never subjected to the
same atrocities. If she had been, she wouldn't be the shining
bundle of joy that she is now." The last words were pronounced
with an irony bordering on bitterness.
   "You're jealous," Ken said. It had just occurred to him; he
hadn't reasoned it out. Shame rose within him, as he wondered how
the alien would take the unsolicited observation.
   "Bingo," Rayek answered with a smile, raising an imaginary
hat. "Your instincts are accurate, Ken. Don't despise them."
   Ken nodded absently. His head was spinning with disordered
thoughts, and he desperately wanted to be alone to organize them.
But one small, nagging question remained.
   "Who is One-Eye?"

         *   *   *

Driving home to the airstrip, Ken mulled over what Rayek had
said. "There are many possible answers to that question. A social
rebel. A former crook. A brilliant strategist. Storm's kinsman.
A victim of social and economic circumstances. One of Win's lays.
One of my lame ducks, for that matter." His debt to Jun still
hadn't been paid; as soon as the black-haired boy had shown him
out, he had found himself in totally unknown territory, and had
been obliged to call a cab to take him back to the Snack J. It
had cost him most of his money. Later, he promised himself.
Later.
   Parking beside the landing strip, he contacted Nambu on his
bracelet. "Doctor Nambu? This is G-1 calling."
   "G-1, come in. I receive you. Any news?"
   "Nothing much. But I think you were right, hakase. I just
spoke to a friend of hers - he seems to trust her."
   "A friend? That's hardly a reliable source. Did you sound her
out about her feelings on working in the backup team, as I told
you?"
   "I haven't really had a chance. She's always got visitors. And
even when she doesn't, she's harder to get an answer out of than
that Galactor at Rosenberg Prison."
   "In that case, don't tell her unless you're absolutely sure,
and when you do, let me know what her reaction is. This is one
instance where we can't afford to slip up."
   "Roger! But I think we can trust her," he said, preparing to
cut the connection. "By the way, did anything come out of the UFO
sightings?"
   "Yes." Nambu filled him in on the latest developments.
   "What did he say??"
   "Now bear in mind that this is probably a trap. Remember that
time when Katze set you up? I can hardly believe they would be
stupid enough to try the same trick twice, but this is Galactor
we're dealing with. They obviously haven't taken into account the
fact that the Science Ninja Team can't be duped so easi--"
   "Hakase, when did you hear this??"
   A crackling sigh sounded from his bracelet. "Ken, we'll
discuss this later. For the time being, inform our new asset of
my plans, and keep her under observation. I'll see you in my
office tomorrow."

It was in a state of light, suppressed agitation that Ken drove
back to Katze's house after a hasty dinner. She had said she
would be meeting some people at eight; she would be home. Now was
the moment to find out for once and for all whether she would
prove a friend to them, or an enemy. "And this time," he told
himself, "I'll make sure."
   Loud music came to his ears as he stepped from his car at the
open gate. The Condor Attacker stood parked beside the sky-blue
car that belonged to the twins, and the front door was open at
a crack. He shut it behind him, pausing in the hall with his
hands over his ears to adjust to the volume. It was the rowdy
kind of music Joe preferred, heavy, old-fashioned rock with
roaring guitars and a pounding rhythm, dominated by a high,
shrieking voice not all that different from otoko-Katze's, but
with an obscene swagger to it that the leader of Galactor
couldn't have matched on his worst day. The subject seemed to be
sex and violence, with a dash of humour.
   "Konbanwa, mighty Eagle!" Win shrilled over the noise that
blasted in his face when he opened the door. She stood behind the
couch in a group with Katze, Joe, and the boy called Gabriel-
Ernest, wearing a sparkling white dress and a loose black jacket
that completely minimized the hump. On the couch sat Angel, in
a smarter version of his usual shirt and jeans. Joe and his mate
were dressed in biker outfits, their faces glowing in happy
anticipation, while Gabi sported neon-coloured lycra and chunky
white Nikes. Contemplating his former enemy, Ken had to admire
her talent for disguise, even with the limited means now at her
disposal; the outfit knocked years off her age. With the styled
hair and just a touch of make-up, she looked barely older than
Joe, although for the life of him he still couldn't find her
attractive.
   "You didn't shut the door, did you?" she called, raising her
voice.
   "What's going on?" he called back. Angel lowered the volume,
but only slightly.
   "We're gonna party!" Win yelled jubilantly, raising a fine-
fingered fist. "Win's taking us to a gajin hangout to celebrate
their last night here," Katze told him. "We're waiting for Lenny.
Care to join us?"
   Ken wasn't sure he did. "What's that you said about the door?"
   Instead of answering, she entered the hall, closing the door
behind her. "I left the front door open for Len," she explained
on her return. "She might not hear us, with the stereo on."
   "Ah," Ken nodded forcefully. His hair flopped over his eyes.
Crossly pushing it back, he cleared his throat importantly and
said: "I must speak to you." It didn't quite come across as
formally as intended, mainly because he had to shout to make
himself heard. She smiled and beckoned him to the kitchen, waving
at the group by the sofa to indicate she would be back. Joe
returned the wave, his face reflecting absolute trust.
   "There, that's better," she said briskly, shutting out the
sound with the kitchen door. Muted, the crazy voice filtered
through the thin board: `You gotta learn to love the midnight
madness - you gotta revel in the good and badness - if yin and
yang is your thing...' She sat on a stool in the narrow space and
crossed her legs. "All right, I'm listening."
   Despite her youthful appearance, Ken was suddenly very aware
of the difference in age. He took a deep breath. "I, uh, Doctor
Nambu wants you to come down to G-Town this weekend," he quickly
said, observing her reaction.
   She was in too jovial a mood to be shocked. "I'm honoured. Or
did they spring another leak?"
   "I think Nambu wants you to inspect the works," he said. "But
there's, uh, nothing wrong with it now. Just a security check."
   "I see. And how does he propose I should get there? Swim?"
   "You'll be taken in the God Phoenix," he said, recovering some
of his authority.
   "Ah. And when did he have this trip planned? He knows I leave
on Sunday, doesn't he?"
   "I'm sure tomorrow wouldn't be a problem," Ken said,
desperately hoping that it wouldn't be. He hadn't expected her
to have other plans. Still, neither he nor Nambu were wanted
anywhere this weekend. Rapidly improvising some arrangements that
he was sure would meet with his mentor's approval, he agreed to
meet her at the twins' tomorrow morning. Nambu would be following
them to Ryu's house in his private limousine.
   "I'll try not to drink too much," she promised, letting him
back into the living room with its blaring stereo. Win was
singing along to Joe, who looked mighty pleased with the
attention. Trust Joe to be turned on by anything vaguely female,
he thought, even something as sexless as Win. Angel changed the
tape, and the air was filled with staccato, trash-style guitar,
strangely overlaid with haunting flute and controlled, eerie
vocals. Win joined in, her voice coinciding exactly with the
singer's.
       Tha mi 'nam shuidhe aig an teine
       Tha fion sios mo leine
       Tha mi duilich...
   "What's this?" he asked Angel. The language sounded wholly
unfamiliar.
   "That's the Raven," Angel said solemnly. "Carrion bird, witch
of war - she knows her mythology. This is the album that got her
kicked out of the clan." Win had closed her eyes, the words
floating from her mouth like vapour.
       Eisd - Eisd ris'n t-saoghal
       Eisd - Eisd ris mo gheall
       Eisd - Eisd ri na faclan
       Nan athair 's nam mathair 's na chloinn...
       Eisd rium...
   Gabi threw back his head to howl mournfully to the last
refrain. As the fading tones blended into a skittish folk tune
played on pipes, Win summoned Angel to her side, and they joined
in a dance consisting of quick steps performed on the spot with
their hands behind their backs, their heels stamping out the
rhythm. As they danced, Ken noticed that Win's knees didn't twist
sideways, like a human's; she had to turn her legs from the hip.
All her limbs had this un-human straightness, the arms hanging
unhindered past the hips from the wide collarbone, the thighs
placed a visible distance apart rather than converging at the
knee. She was jointed like a manikin, he thought. No wonder she
seemed all angles.
   Their audience clapped. "It's Irish," Win responded to Katze's
query. "So sue me." Angel lifted her like a featherweight to kiss
her, then passed her on to Katze. "Sure you don't want to come?"
the tall woman called to Ken, the alien sitting on her arm like
a malicious elf.
   "Aw c'mon, don't be a wet blanket," Joe entreated him, giving
him a nudge. "It'll be like old times." Ken stalled, scraping his
throat, and was saved by the entry of Lenore, glamorously dressed
in vivid red. She was followed by a girl of about twelve or
thirteen, her hair done up in an imitation of her mother's. "Hiya
cap. Hope you don't mind I took the kid along."
   "Rita!" Katze tossed Win off her arm to embrace the girl,
dropping on one knee to examine her face. "I see mummy's been to
work on you. My, what a pretty girl. I'll have a hard time
keeping Joe away from you." The child smiled bashfully at the
compliment. "Going out with us?"
   Rita nodded. "At last, someone my size!" Gabi exclaimed.
Offering his arm, he said in a crooner's voice: "Hi, toots. Wanna
be my date for tonight?"
   "Just wait till the wife hears about this," Angel muttered to
Joe, who was grinning widely. They trooped out to the cars, Katze
remaining behind to switch off the electronics and activate the
alarms.
   "It must be hard on you," Ken said, when they were alone.
   "What, working for a living? I've always had to work."
   "No, being kind to people, I mean."
   "To me, that's a luxury, not a burden." She breezed through
the room pressing this switch and that, checked the contents of
her handbag and left, glancing back inquiringly at Ken. He
followed and waited while she bolted the door and closed the
gate, watching as Joe helped her into the car. The G-2 and the
twins' blue Volvo came to life and roared off towards the city
centre, leaving him with the sinister red car and the hulking
black motorcycle that belonged to Lenore.
   Alone in his car before the deserted house, he radio'd Nambu
to inform him of the results.

He presented himself at the twins' apartment next morning, having
stationed his car in the ISO building's underground garage first.
The door was half open. Elegiac music drifted out from the
opening; someone was accompanying himself on the piano, singing
in a deep, rich, sensitive voice with a slight rough edge. He
stopped outside the door to listen.
       ...he's a soldier waiting for a war
       Time will come
       He'll hold a gun
       His father's son
The song appeared to be about the futility of war, each
generation following in the footsteps of the one before. The
piano played solo for a few bars, then the final verse set in:
       And all the husbands, all the sons
       All the lovers gone, they make no difference
       No difference in the end
       Still hear the women say
       Your daddy died a hero
       In the name of god and men...
   Ken walked in, unable to contain his curiosity any longer;
after all, he was expected. Rayek concluded the piece without
looking up, then spread a length of green felt over the keys,
carefully shut the lid and swivelled round on the stool to face
his visitor. Made of the same wood as the walls, the piano
blended back into its niche, becoming invisible again.
   "Hello, Ken."
   "Was that you singing?" Ken demanded.
   "Just paying my last respects to the old Steinway," Rayek
replied, in the curbed voice Ken was accustomed to. "It's a good
piano. I'll miss it."
   "Hunt talks to dogs, you talk to pianos," Ken said with a
short laugh. "No wonder you get along. Where is she?"
   "She'll be here any minute. Tea?"
   "Yes please. By the way, didn't you sound different just now?"
   "That was my own voice," Rayek said. "Where I come from, it's
not always a good thing to sound like a man. I prefer to keep
people guessing."
   "Ah," Ken said, not understanding. While Rayek was busy in the
kitchen, he sat at the table, now littered with groceries, tapes
and sundry belongings, reflecting on the puzzling words. His
attention was drawn by a brown paperback with a familiar title.
   "Yours?" he asked, when his host returned with the tray.
Pouring the tea, Rayek replied in the affirmative. "We lent it
to Sharkey. She returned it to us yesterday."
   Ken pointed at the date of print, accusingly. "This wasn't a
century ago."
   "We grew up in the 1970s," Rayek said. "Hence our love for
seventies music. We returned towards the end of the century, in
reaction to several genocides and a renewed threat of nuclear
war. Our parents first came here at the turn of the nineteenth
century, after my mother was rescued from the Earth in 1835."
   "Ah," Ken repeated. If the other was speaking the truth, that
would make roughly two hundred years... He was disturbed in his
calculations by nearing footsteps in the gallery, and the sound
of animated discussion.
   "Ah, but you see, that was the point," Angel said, bursting
in on them with Katze behind him. "He had to be humiliated. If
they'd just killed him, he would have been a martyr. Hi Jan, hi
Ken." He gave them a perfunctory wave. "And this way, he would
have died anyway, without the authorities having to feel
responsible. I mean, they gave him standard rations, meaning, for
women - he almost starved! He was a skeleton when whatsit got him
out."
   "Who was?" Ken asked. He was ignored. "Is that how he lost his
eye?" Katze wanted to know. She was wearing a different outfit
from the night before, a long tweed skirt and a knitted jersey
with vertical cable patterns.
   "Tea, people?" Rayek asked. They nodded. He left to fetch more
mugs.
   "No, that happened in a raid," Angel resumed. "Some guard
thought he'd back off if she put a scratch on his face. Not the
first to make that mistake - they all went for the face.
Incidentally, she's dead," he added with satisfaction. They
exchanged nasty grins.
   "But I still think it made no sense to torture him after they
caught him," Katze continued. "Nobody knew about it, no one was
any the better for it, and it wouldn't have stopped him anyway
if he'd escaped."
   "It was meant to deter people from questioning the status
quo," Rayek said, returning with the mugs. "That's why I took the
case - not, as some people think, out of loyalty for a fellow-
male. The sentence was based on the inequality inherent in the
system, the same inequality that forced him to take this course
in the first place."
   "They didn't want the other guys getting ideas," Angel nodded.
"It's like the Allies dropping the bomb on the Japs to scare the
Commie Soviets. Necessary offensive my ass, they were going to
capitulate anyway. It was just the opening move for the Cold
War."
   "Ahem, hello," Ken said, feeling he should draw some attention
to himself.
   "Hiiiii!!" Katze cried piercingly, pouncing on him and giving
him a crushing hug before he could escape. "Sorry I didn't notice
you! There, are you satisfied?"
   "You have just been subjected to the Care Bear Killer Hug,"
Rayek said with great gravity. Flustered, Ken straightened his
T-shirt. "You've done it now," Angel said to Katze. "He'll never
say hello to you again."
   "What a way to start the collaboration, eh?" she returned with
a wink. "Jun'll love me. In fact, she loves me already. One of
these days, she's going to put strychnine in the tacos." They
laughed, and drank their tea.
   There was more noise in the gallery, and Win came whirling in,
wearing earmuff-sized headphones and snapping her fingers as she
chanted aloud to the walkman's buzzing beat. Joe followed,
closing the door behind him.
       Asilut bound an imaginable ground
       To be found 
       Beyond the restriction of time
       Like the grace of the golden eagle's flight
       To a height journey on with a vision in sight
       Onward, upward, growing like the tree of life
       To connect to the infinite light
       Soaring the wind to a pinnacle high
       Shaman can fly
   She echoed the last phrase a number of times in song, then
launched into a refrain that Ken had heard before.
   "Take that thing off," Rayek said irritably. Smiling brightly,
she obliged. "Well, if it isn't the golden Eagle. Hi Ken, hi
Angel, hi cantankerous younger sibling. Sharkey honey, did you
know that the Shamen are Scottish? They started as a band in
Aberdeen."
   "No kidding!" Katze responded in astonishment. "It's a small
world after all. You'd think they'd be more from Lenny's area."
   "Especially with a label called `One Little Indian'. Say, was
that you going kaboppity-boppity-boom on the stairs this
morning?"
   "Lost my footing," Katze confessed, patting her rump with a
pained expression. "Slid down the last bit of stairs on my
backside. Went about as smooth as sitting on a pneumatic drill.
I must be covered in bruises."
   "Ohh, poor you... Want me to kiss it better?" Completely
disregarding her brother's darkening frown, she started to take
tapes from her bag and put them in Katze's hand, building up a
pile. "Here ya go. Yellow Magic Orchestra, Kansas, Mano Negra,
Jethro Tull, AC/DC, E.L.O., Camel, Rednex, Pearl Jam,
Sex&Violins, Prairie Oyster, I.Q. - not kidding - Best of Heart,
Deep Purple Live in Scandinavia aaaaand the national pride of
Canada, K.D. Lang and the Reclines! Yee-ha!!" Katze hastily put
her other hand on top of the swaying pile to steady it. "Err, I'm
not sure I could fit all that in my handbag."
   "I'll take them," Joe offered. Gathering the tapes to his
chest with both arms, he rose on his toes to kiss her goodbye.
"Good luck, hon. Tell me who won, okay?"
   "It's a relay race, silly," she told him. "It doesn't *have*
a winner."
   "We'll be clocking all contestants, though," Angel added.
"Oooh, clock me, honey," Win moaned, falling against him. "Okay,"
he said, raising a fist.
   They saw Joe off to the gallery, waving at him from above as
the Condor Attacker pulled out and disappeared between the high
blocks. Back inside, Win emptied the last of the tea into her
mug. "So. Where's old farty-pants Nambu?"
   "Wasn't he supposed to come with you?" Katze asked, looking
at Ken questioningly.
   "He was to meet me here," Ken answered. "He may have been
delayed."
   "Or lost his way," Win said. "Who wouldn't, in this concrete
jungle." Katze looked anxious. "Maybe we'd better wait outside,"
Angel suggested, seeing her expression.
   "In this weather? Noooo way," Win decided. "Let the Doctor
figure it out for himself." To amuse her guest, she started to
parody a well-known anime series, bugging out her eyes to imitate
the dim-witted heroine. Watching her, Ken marvelled once again
how such a small and delicate creature could be so utterly
unkawaii. Katze was covering her mouth with both hands to muffle
her screams of laughter.
   "You watch `Cherry Blossom'?" he asked, astounded. "Isn't that
a children's programme?"
   "*So*?" Win wanted to know. "Hey, *I* never had a childhood,"
Katze said indignantly. "I've got a lot of catching up to do."
   "I had a childhood," Angel mused. "Dinky Toys, video games,
trips to Disneyworld... Pity my mother had to earn it all on her
back."
   "Why?" Ken asked. He was ignored. "I didn't have a mother,"
Katze said mournfully. "I had to make do with my own."
   Angel reached over to touch her cheek. "Oh, I'm sure Win would
have been more than glad to patronize you," Rayek said drily. "I
don't have to *pay* for it," Win declared haughtily, tossing her
silvery locks. Angel laughed. "Anyway, I'd be worthless to you
one year out of two," Katze added.
   "What are the limitations of the flesh to the spirits of the
night?" Win declaimed mystically, reverting to the old Kyoto
speech. "You wear the guise of a mere mortal, yet in thy eyes,
sister, I see the glow of demon blood - wilt thou not partake
with me of immortality?" She brought her face close to Katze's
and impressively bared her teeth, the other woman mirroring her
actions.
   "Oh, not another VM ripoff!" Rayek said in disgust. Win raised
her glassy eyebrows. "I thought you *liked* Vampire Miyu."
   "I did! Very much! Which is why I can't stand to see all these
cheap imitations. The poor artist who did the original must be
spinning in her grave."
   "Ah well, she couldn't know it was going to be a success
formula," Win said carelessly. They finished their tea, falling
into silence. Katze looked dejectedly into the empty mug.
   "Last time," Rayek said.
   "Last time," Katze agreed. She sighed, supporting her chin on
her hands. "Doesn't it frighten you, knowing that everything will
changed next time you come back?"
   "You bet," Angel admitted. "Makes me feel like Rip van
Winkle."
   "Why?" Ken asked. Nobody answered him. "You'll be like a
second Blackadder, popping up in age after age," Win comforted
her mate. "Wasn't he going to call himself the Black Asparagus
or something, only Baldrick mercifully came up with a better
idea?" Katze asked. Angel hooted with laughter. "What, you mean
you didn't see that ep yet?" Win exclaimed. "All right, no
spoilers, but I suggest you read Shakespeare's `Richard III'
first. Anyway, the whole first series is one big Shakespeare
spoof."
   "`Out, damned Spot!'" Katze quoted, and mimicked a short yelp.
Everyone laughed. "To <beep> or not to <beep>, that is the
question," Angel recited. Katze punched him. "Oh, shut up you
leaky condom," Win called across the table. Katze stared from one
to the other, her eyebrows going through all the motions of
puzzlement. "It's true!" Win affirmed. "He owes his entire
existence to a faulty condom."
   Katze shrugged. "It beats owing your entire existence to an
interfering alien with a Caligula complex." Win sprang off her
chair to do her Roman emperor bit, invoking Jupiter and the
heavens. They laughed. Angel choked and had to be slapped on the
back. The silence reimposed itself.
   "I'm nervous," Katze suddenly said.
   "Why?" Ken asked. All at once Win advanced on him, singing
into his face. `Dog baiter, agitator, asking questions says he
wants to know why-y...' She swung away from him, addressing the
whole room. `Ain't no reason that money can't buy - minky pretty,
so minky must die, must die -' She lowered her jaw, her voice
dropping to a sepulchral level: `must die...' Seeing his utter
bafflement, she burst out in maniacal giggling.
   Everyone laughed. Win bowed like a succesful performer. Rayek,
who was sitting closest, swatted her over the head. "That reminds
me - did you listen to the LNV tape yet?"
   "Yes, how'd you like to hear Marcelle Ratafia in the
original?" Win asked. Without awaiting an answer, she flitted
into one of the back rooms and returned with a tape which she ran
forward and backward in the cassette player until it was at
approximately the right point. "That's it." A noisy song, more
yelled than sung, drew quickly to an end and the first chords
sounded for the next one. Katze glanced at Angel, her eyes
lighting up in recognition.
   "Hey, baby, it's our dance!" Angel cried out, rising and
offering her a hand. She took it, and they set off in a whirling
dance involving some nifty footwork. Staring at them in surprise,
Ken found his own hand taken and himself yanked towards the
floor. Despite his bewilderment, his feet moved automatically,
as if controlled by an outside force. They careered past the
other couple, Win bouncing him away and pulling him back in again
while she loudly sang the refrain. Suddenly she released his
hand, and the sensation of being controlled flowed out of him.
He sank against the wall, the room spinning before his eyes. In
the centre, Angel had picked up his partner and was swinging her
around like a baton, her head and feet scything the air. She was
returned to a standing position and swung upside down, the skirt
falling in folds around her waist. Ken half expected to see her
head hit the floor; it didn't, but she had to bend her knees to
avoid kicking the ceiling. "Ah, fuck the neighbours," Win was
saying to Rayek. "It's our last day here and they know it."
   She stopped the cassette player, cutting off the beginning of
the next song. Angel was almost carrying Katze, who was puffing
and red in the face, breathless with laughter. "Still nervous?"
he teased her.
   "Nambu's here," Rayek announced, and disappeared into a back
room. Win and Angel escorted their guest downstairs and onto the
street, where the wind caught at their clothes and hair. Katze
glanced around. "So? Where is he? I don't see anything."
   "He's coming," Angel assured her. With one hand posed
reverently over her heart, Win commenced a sonorous song in a
strange language. "Come on, you know this one," she said, kicking
Katze, who instantly took the lower voice part. "Rouman national
anthem," Angel said to Ken, who had stumbled after them, still
dazed. Ken nodded. A large black limousine slid into view, its
expensive appearance incongruous with the surroundings. Katze
shut up immediately, but Win continued with wide gestures as
Nambu emerged from the limousine, her voice filled with pathos,
her face contorted with an intensity of passion carried over into
the ridiculous.
   "Who is this?" Nambu asked, staring sternly at Ken. Win
instantly rose to the occasion. "I am Vanessa!" she declared,
madly widening her eyes, "and this is my sister, Vanessa!" She
drew up Katze, who was widening her eyes in the same way,
suggesting a likeness that was not really there. "And we are ISO
investigators, and not two obviously insane people!!"
   "I see," Nambu said, giving them both a very dark look. "Ken,
I presume I can leave this to you?"
   "Yes, hakase," Ken stammered, almost missing his cue. While
Katze and her escort hugged goodbye, Nambu returned to his
vehicle, looking out through the window to see how matters went.
After a final wave, she took Ken round the corner to where her
car was parked and let him in. Her friends were gone, swallowed
up by the building. Already her high spirits were beginning to
fade.
   Ken looked at her sideways as she settled into her seat and
fastened the seat belt. The thick woollen jersey hung in soft
folds around her waist and arms, emphasizing the spareness of her
figure. Again, he admired her talent for disguise; the plain,
rough clothes might have been chosen to protect her from the
bracing winds of Hokkaido, but with the flat-heeled shoes, the
lack of make-up and the long, loose hair, the overall effect was
that of a badly overgrown twelve-year-old. He hoped Ryu would
fall for it. She rested her hand on the wheel, close to where a
metal plate had been welded over the Galactor logo in the centre.
   "I'm scared," she said.
   "There's no need to be," he answered. His voice sounded
unfamiliar to him. He felt ashamed, then reminded himself that
it was part of the job, and that this was a mission like any
other. She turned the key to start ignition.
   During the long ride to the north of the island, she said
nothing. Lights flashed overhead as they drove through the
tunnel, then they were among green hills again and riding into
the main town of Sapporo. Ken wondered at the impression they
would make, the flashy red car following the large, stately black
one. Few heads turned to look, however; the inhabitants of
Hokkaido were too busy leading their own lives. They took a road
that followed the coastline and came to the wharf where Ryu's
father lived. Despite the bright sun, he saw people in raincoats
and oilskins; bad weather was expected out at sea.
   The Nakanishis' house was inconspicuous, apparently no larger
than other houses surrounding it. Ken rang. He had come to the
door with Katze, Nambu standing some distance behind. The door
opened, showing Ryu. Over his shoulder, Ken could see captain
Nakanishi reading a newspaper, presumably for the weather
reports, while Seiyi was holding up a bottle with a ship in it.
Ryu paled. Ignoring Ken, he stared up at the familiar face, his
hands clenching into fists.
   "You!!"
   Ken glanced back. Katze had stiffened, her eyes wide, her
nostrils distended, visibly fighting the urge to run away. Her
hands were clenched too, though not from an impulse to hit.
Unaware of the situation, Mr Nakanishi came to the door, his face
the image of inoffensive gentleness despite the Hitler moustache.
"Ken! Doctor! I'm happy to see you. And who is this? Ryu, what's
the matter with you?" Ryu was becoming inarticulate, pointing at
the hated figure and stammering out syllables. "You! How dare you
come here? Who brought you here? Go away, you - you--" She
blanched as he swayed towards her, but didn't recoil.
   "Ryu!" his father interrupted, mildly surprised. "What are you
doing? Is this a way to treat visitors?"
   "Do you know who that is?" Ryu demanded, still pointing.
Captain Nakanishi looked the stranger up and down, then shook his
head, expecting introductions. Glancing at Nambu, Ken could see
that his mentor wanted it to stay that way.
   "Ahem, Ryu," he said, putting all the authority he had into
his voice and interposing himself between the two, so that it
would be impossible for them to get at each other. Made curious
by the commotion, Seiyi also came to the door, staring up at the
discomfited visitor. "*Doctor Nambu* wants us to go to
headquarters in the GP, so if you could just *pull yourself
together*..." He hoped his words were getting through.
   "Not with - *that*!!"
   An awful silence fell over the gathered group. Seiyi gazed up
timidly at his big brother, who was panting with held-back rage.
Katze stood petrified, her face a white mask of mortification.
Nambu's eyes were narrowed. Managing an extremely artificial
smile, she broke the silence by saying: "That's all right. I
understand." She adjusted the jersey and started to walk back to
the car, turning back to reassure the onlookers with another
smile. "I understand completely."
   "Ryu, you meathead," Ken hissed, dragging his teammate over
by the collar. Seeing her bend over to unlock the car door, he
let go and hastened to her. "Wait. Where are you going?"
   "I need to blow off steam. I hope you'll excuse me."
   "I'm sorry about Ryu. He didn't know..."
   "I told you. It's perfectly all right." She smiled at him with
a cold brilliance that did nothing to comfort him, her eyes
glittering. "I think hakase may have been a little - unrealistic."
She opened the door and got in, pulling down the seat belt with 
controlled, jerky movements.
   "Will you be okay?" he asked anxiously.
   "I'll be *fine*." She slammed the door shut and roared off,
leaving him coughing and reeling in a cloud of exhaust.
   "What did she say?" Nambu said, hurrying to his side.
   "She said <ugg> she needed to cool down a bit," Ken gasped.
"She'll be back."
   "I certainly hope so," Nambu said grimly. Worried that he
might have done something wrong, Ryu came out to join them.
"What's the matter?"
   "I think you upset her," Ken said stonily. Ryu was about to
protest, then saw from Nambu's face that he needn't expect any
support. "Maybe we can follow her on the radar," he suggested.
   "Good idea." Pausing for a while to apologize to Mr Nakanishi,
who was content to return to his newspaper, Ken followed Ryu to
the underground dock where the God Phoenix was kept. It had its
own, highly advanced radar installation, converting the feedback
from the blips into a 3-D landscape on a screen.
   "I think that must be her," Ken said, pointing at a whizzing
streak on the graphically reproduced landscape. "Where is she
heading? Ryu, can you tell?" Ryu was rubbing his chin, thinking.
   "She's turned off the main road and gone into the mountains,"
he said, tracing the dot with a finger. "Now she's nearing the
coast... Uh-oh, that's the road that goes up to the old crater."
   "Is that a problem?" Ken asked.
   "It was closed to tourists after part of the side fell in
following a quake. If she goes up there she might have an
accident." They both turned to Nambu who stood behind them, his
expression extremely grave.
   "All right, Ken, you go after her. Remember, she's no good to
us dead."
   Ken was about to comply with this order when he realized he
had no means of transport. "Hakase, I'll need a car."
   "No good," Ryu said, guessing what he was thinking. "The
road's too narrow up there. We'll have to use ours."
   "Do what it takes," Nambu said. "But get her back. Before
anything happens to her."

   "I hope this old carcass doesn't die on us," Ken said
worriedly. The car was groaning up the steep incline, only a
flimsy rail protecting them from a hurtling fall. He was having
visions of Katze plunging over the edge.
   "Hey, this old carcass lasted us for twenty years!" Ryu
remonstrated, but his brow was creased, too. He shouldn't have
driven so fast; the aged engine had been overtaxed, and could
manage no more than a crawl.
   "I hope to god we'll be on time."
   "Why? She's not going to jump off a cliff or something, is
she?"
   "I wouldn't be too sure."
   "And what if she did? Good riddance, I'd say."
   "I doubt whether Nambu would agree with you. He wanted to make
her part of the team."
   "He wanted to *what*??"
   "Nambu to G-1! Nambu to G-1!" Ken's bracelet grated. "Any sign
yet?"
   "Apart from a few skid marks, no," Ken responded. "Don't
worry, Doctor Nambu. We're near the top. She can't have gone much
farther."
   "That's the car," Ryu pointed. It stood abandoned at the
roadblock, filling up the road, its owner nowhere in sight. Ryu
braked and switched off the engine.
   Ken swung the door open and jumped out. "You don't have to
come," he said to Ryu.
   "How are you going to find her?"
   "Don't worry. I think I know where she's headed."
   "Okay. Mind the cracks!" he called after Ken, who was rapidly
bounding out of sight.
   Ken followed the narrow, partially destroyed road upwards
until it flattened into a lumpy rock terrain, far above the
treeline. There was barely any vegetation here, although low
plants and lichen grew where they could. The wind whistled past
the bare ridges, blowing his hair in his eyes. Cautiously, he
circled the mouth of the long-dead volcano until he caught sight
of a tall, bent figure sitting on a rock smoking, the long hair
whipped sideways by the wind. Overcome with relief, he ran
towards it.
   Even before he saw the face, he knew that something was wrong.
   His first impression was that the male form looked far, far
younger. Katze raised a hand in greeting and took a pull at his
cigarette, exhaling through his mouth and nostrils. The smoke was
instantly dispersed by the wind.
   "Are you hurt?" Ken asked immediately, kneeling before him.
The head shook sorrowfully. Ken thought that Katze wanted to
avoid speech, but he changed his mind and replied verbally, in
the same voice that had always driven Ken to fury, but quieter
now, subdued. "Only in the most figurative sense of the word."
   He seemed calm enough, and not wounded in any way. Reassured,
Ken stepped back to draw himself up to his full height and
crossed his arms. "You shouldn't have run off like that," he said
severely. "This is a dangerous area. You might have had an
accident."
   "I know my way about in the mountains." Katze finished the
cigarette, stubbed it out on the boulder on which he sat and
tossed it over his shoulder. "Why did you follow me? You know I'd
come back. There's nowhere I can go."
   "I was worried," Ken confessed. "I thought you were going to
kill yourself or something."
   "What, because some muscle-bound oaf yelled at me?"
   "Guess not." Defeated, Ken sat down on the hard ground,
resting his chin on his knees.
   "We found you on the radar," he said, feeling he owed the
mutant an explanation.
   "I know. I guessed."
   "I'm sorry about Ryu. Maybe I should have warned him
beforehand."
   "Would that have changed anything?"
   They sat in silence, Ken not knowing what to say. He was less
embarrassed than he had expected to be, in the presence of a man
in woman's clothing; the whole situation was beyond
embarrassment. Katze pulled another cigarette from the pack and
lit it, shielding the flame with his hand. Despite his dejection,
Ken watched him with fascination; the voice had been so
unconnected with what he saw that it had seemed disembodied, a
ghost from the past.
   The wind blew around them fitfully, seeming to come from all
directions at once. Sitting there, Ken felt a profound sense of
failure wash over him. The mission had failed, their potential
ally completely alienated. Joe would be livid. The wind was
raising goosebumps on his arms and neck, and he cursed himself
for not even having thought of bringing a jacket. Convinced of
his uselessness, he laid his head on his arms, abandoning all
attempts at leadership. He half expected to hear demonic
laughter.
   "Roughneck Ken," a voice said, over his head. He looked up
sharply. "Roughneck Ken, and crybaby Sabu... fighting for
justice, protecting the weak... Those were the days, eh?"
   "What do you know about that?" Ken demanded.
   "Had a little chat with Sabu before he left. We used him to
trap you, remember? I did threaten him, by the way," Katze added,
tapping some ash off his cigarette. "Though only enough to
justify his accepting blood money." He glanced at Ken. "I suppose
you killed him."
   "No. I let him go."
   "I'm glad. Some people were born to be losers, you shouldn't
hold it against them." He drew in deeply, making the tip glow.
"Mind you, I'm not saying you should let them get away with
it..." He subsided into stillness, occasionally bringing the
cigarette to his lips.
   "That was a long time ago," Ken said. "Before I joined the
team." He looked up, but there was no reaction, so he continued:
"My father was dead - believed to be. My mother was ill again,
so she had me placed in an institution."
   "Did you like it there?"
   "No. I kept hoping she'd turn up and take me home."
   "Poor you." Katze stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette and
threw it away. "And that's when Nambu picked you up?"
   "No. He'd already been appointed my guardian. He just didn't
have... time for me."
   "I see what you mean."
   There was a long silence. Ken was surprised Nambu hadn't tried
to contact him yet. Maybe Ryu had informed him of the situation,
and they had both been content to leave it in his hands. Katze
straightened his back, looking his old adversary straight in the
eye.
    "I know you have a score to settle with me."
   The statement was as bland as his expression, but his
shoulders were tense. Ken sustained the eye contact until it
became too painful, then looked away.
   "Consider it settled."
   He could almost hear the air escaping from the mutant's lungs.
The abstracted look was back, the long fingers creeping towards
the pack of cigarettes. Noticing he was observed, Katze smiled
apologetically and guiltily returned them to the handbag.
   Ken almost laughed. "You can smoke if you like."
   He was rewarded with a hesitant smile, then Katze reopened the
handbag and fished out a much-needed Rothbine. "You should hear
how Joe goes on about it. Anyway, I'm way over my allowance for
today."
   "Joe used to smoke," Ken said.
   "Oh, I know."
   Feeling strangely fortified, Ken rose, regarding the gathering
clouds with a critical eye. "We'd better get back."
   "What, and give the Nakanishis another shock? Besides, I don't
think anyone should see me like this."
   Ken agreed. "So, what are you going to do?"
   "I think I'll just go home and hide until I'm back to normal.
There'll be other times."
   Ken thought, and nodded. "Want me to come with you?"
   "I take it you need a ride home?"
   "No, I can go with Nambu. I just thought you might want
company."
   "That's... No, I'll be fine." Katze blew out a cloud of smoke,
then glanced quickly at Ken. "I'll just stay here until you're
gone, then?"
   "No, you'd better leave before us. I'll explain things to
Nambu." He remembered Ryu, waiting for him at the roadblock.
"After I get Ryu out of the way, that is." He felt a twinge of
guilt at his last words.
   "Right." Katze took one last pull on his cigarette and tossed
it over his shoulder, into the crater. "So I'll wait - how long
will it take?"
   "Give me half an hour." That should be enough, Ken calculated,
even in the ramshackle affair that was Ryu's car. "And we'll meet
again... whenever." He looked down for confirmation, ready to
depart.
   "Fine," Katze replied. His head was half averted, his eyes
invisible; the wind was slapping hanks of hair across his cheek.
He was weaving the strap of the handbag between his fingers. "And
while we're here, I might as well say..."
   Ken waited. "Yes?"
   "That time you were in the base with me, thinking I was your
father... when I gave you the briefcase... Remember the last
thing I said to you before you left?"
   The memory couldn't have been clearer if it had been etched
into his brain with undiluted nitric acid. *Come again some time.
We'll have fun.*
   "Well, I thought you should know... The offer still stands."
His face was now completely averted, the strap of the handbag
twisted tightly around his fingers. Ken stood for a while,
reflecting. Then he glanced around as if to make sure they were
quite alone, and approached his old enemy, lowering his voice.
   "There's something I want to tell you..."

                     Change - part 5

Blinding light and deafening sound resolved into the rolling green
fields of Waveworld, and the heady feeling of suddenly being twenty
percent lighter. Under the bright sun, she saw the sturdy pole
fence running off into the distance, the faraway, but sharply
defined forms of grazing horses, the tall take-off tower rising
over the trees. To her far right was a camp of tents and primitive
huts with ash-filled clay stoves plastered to their sides.
   Win ran forward, yelling something that had a long wail in it.
Originally meaning "women", it had come to denote people in
general, and was used as a public summons. Heads poked out from
doorways, then small, scrawny women in leather clothing started to
make their way towards them from the tents and huts, some of them
with children. The few men came after, larger and more voluminous
in their long robes; she recognized Copperhead, heavily swathed in
fabric to protect him from the sun. More women flocked from the
fields, and, with hawk-like shrieks to announce their landing, two
dropped out of the sky onto the grass runway, the rigid joints of
their knees and ankles absorbing the shock. They carefully folded
their huge, leathery wings into compact pads and joined the group
that was gathering around Win. Now, surrounded by her own kind, it
was finally visible how tall she was; she out-topped even the
largest males, matched only by her own brother. The humans behind
her rose taller still, and Katze felt horribly conspicuous. "Come
on, this is boring," Angel said, sensing her discomfort, and led
her into the house. She paused on the threshold to glance back at
Win addressing the crowd, her brother standing a few paces behind
her with a hand on one hip. Win shouted something, and everyone
cheered.
   "Want a drink?" Angel asked, when they were in the living room.
She nodded. He raised his voice: "Gabe! Gabiiii?" and the dark-
haired boy came padding out of the kitchen barefoot, carrying a
pitcher and glasses on a tray. A small, thick-furred, sharp-muzzled
white dog was bounding around his ankles. She bent down to extend
a hand to it, which was sniffed and duly licked. Picked up from the
roadside as a dirty, half-starved stray, this dog was the second
Earthling besides Angel to have emigrated to another planet. Her
collar had borne only a name: Lizzy.
   Angel whistled and called her name while Gabi poured out their
drinks. She made futile attempts to jump onto his lap, so he picked
her up and scratched her throat while she closed her black-rimmed
eyes, sighing in doggy ecstasy. Katze sipped the cloudy white
liquid that tasted slightly of almond and remembered the last time
she had drunk it here, more than a year ago. She knew it was some
kind of fruit juice. Except for the lack of electrical fixtures,
the interior was much what she would expect to see in any modern
European or even Japanese home; only a few details, a strange
shrine in a corner, a leaf pinned to a board in unfamiliar
lettering, reminded her how far away from home she really was.
   Unexpectedly, Justine came from the kitchen also, mutely
offering them a tray of food. She had a long, pointed nose and chin
that made her look positively elfin. She didn't speak English yet,
but she was learning. "We've taken your dietary restrictions into
account," Gabi assured Angel, hanging round the kitchen door. Rayek
was first cook, Gabi was second; apparently they had admitted
Justine into their sacrosanct territory as a third.
   "Why don't you join us?" Angel asked.
   "Can't. Too busy. Ask Jussy to play something for you."
   Justine brought out a small harp and played ballads to them as
they sat and waited, Lizzy relocated to Katze's lap. She sang, too,
in a pure, sweet voice that carried far, for all its dulcet tone.
The twins entered not much later, exchanging rejoinders in their
nattering Mountainspeak. They pulled up chairs round the table,
Gabi bringing more glasses and a bottle of something dark and red
for the twins. Rayek locked eyes in a profound gaze with Justine,
offering her his empty glass to fill. Win emptied her glass in one
gulp and set it down. "So. How'd it go?"
   "Not too well." Katze related the morning's events, ending with
Ken's revelation.
   "*Never* trust the Borg!" Win declared emphatically. "Don't
these people watch Star Blech?"
   "Star Trek? Now there's a blast from the past," Katze said
thoughtfully. "It might go into reruns, though - everything's going
into reruns these days. I might even catch the real Vampire Miyu
someday."
   "The original was never serialized," Rayek said. "We used to
have the tapes, but... you know what the Sony did to them." He cast
a meaningful glance at Win.
   "Told you we should have bought laser discs."
   "The format was becoming obsolete. Besides, the quality was
dismal." Rayek also finished his glass and reached over the table
to touch Justine's hand. She coloured. He was wearing his usual
drab outfit, but his eyes had been faintly outlined in black.
"Incidentally, I wouldn't trust this major, either. I've seen no
captains of Red Impulse popping up in our dimension, or anyone
else's for that matter. I think we may consider him well and truly
dead."
   "That's what I told him, too."
   "Bet he didn't like that," Win said. Katze shrugged. "He said he
had to know. If only for his own peace of mind. Joe didn't like it,
either. He said he was going to check out a few things."
   "Will there still *be* a Ken when you get back?" Angel asked.
   "Oh, I think so. He's proved pretty indestructible in the past,
I don't think anything's going to happen to him now. Even if it is
a trap, which I strongly suspect." She smiled. "That *would* be
ironic, after all my past efforts."
   "Does he still hate you?" Rayek asked, his hand folded over
Justine's.
   "I don't know, really. I think he wants to hate me, but it's too
much effort. I suppose he's still trying to figure me out."
   "Clueless in Tokyo," Angel said, and snorted. They laughed.
"Want to see the horses?"
   The stables had been built onto the houses. If anything
characterized the Wavelings, Katze thought, it was their habit of
always connecting all their buildings by passageways, making them
accessible even under the thick snows of winter. It had nothing to
do with any supposed burrowing instincts inherited from their
forebears; descended from the tropical branch, their homes had been
tree limbs, or caves by the sea. She ducked under the low doorway,
following Angel past head after head of groomed and bridled horses.
"I get the mustang with the rolling eyes, right?"
   They laughed again. "You get the veteran," Win told her. "We
were going to put you on the biggest horse, but we decided she
wouldn't run. Too heavy." Angel nodded. "And Angel darling gets to
ride his own." After being taken to her assigned mount and petting
its nose, she joined the twins for a stroll across the yard, where
the activity was in full swing. Carriages and wagons were stationed
around the green, their visitors having come a day or so before,
and at a distance from the women tall, gipsy-like figures lounged
in groups or scrubbed and polished over basins of water. Still
further, she could see the unmistakable form of One-Eye holding a
horse being shoed, his rust-red mane tumbling over his forehead.
Fully as large as Win, he towered over the little blacksmith and
her apprentices. His clothes were as sensible as Rayek's, but
baggier, the cloak reaching to his ankles; with his weight, it was
too dangerous to fly.
   Deciding she didn't want to disturb him, she joined hands with
Angel and walked after the twins. Win hailed a middle-aged woman
with long, black braids for some earnest questioning. Now that she
was back on the homeworld, her demeanour had subtly changed, the
silliness infused with confident authority. They shared a joke,
laughed, and parted, patting their sheathed knives in a farewell
gesture. Storm came walking by with a box of brushes and pinched
Angel on the leg in passing, dodging a swipe. "You randy bastard!"
he called after her as she went on her way, the low-backed flysuit
exposing the wrinkled grey wingpack on her back. She laughed like
the sound of falling glass. Katze yawned.
   "Tired?" Win asked, taking the other hand. She nodded. "Why
don't you go lie down for a bit? The race won't start for a couple
of hours yet, and it's going to be a late night tonight."

Seated on a tall grey hunter, Katze nervously rested her hands on
the saddle horn, the reins hanging in slack arcs. Her legs dangled
beside the empty stirrups; once she assumed a riding position, she
knew, her mount would snap to attention, and it wasn't time yet. A
few yards across from her in the same paddock, Angel sat astride
the large, but fine-boned white desert mare that was his own,
perfectly at ease. "Kaaira", as she was approximately called, was
a nervous creature and, like all desert horses, not too
intelligent, though nimble and built for speed; she required a
patient, sensitive rider with a light hand, and, to everyone's
surprise, she had found all these things in a rough-mannered alien
hoodlum. Angel had dispensed with the unpronounceable name by
simply calling her "Lady". Seeing that the previous two riders were
nearing the starting point, he signalled Katze. They both inserted
their feet in the stirrups and directed their horses to the twin
gates. The grey hunter shook her head and snorted, jingling the
harness, as she took her place before the gate, her nose just over
the topmost bar. Lady was starting to prance, but Angel still held
her, soothing her with his voice. Katze had an experienced horse,
Lady had an experienced rider; their chances were roughly equal. On
either side sat the clockers with their lists and calibrated
hourglasses, noting down the times. It was a relay race, each horse
leaving as the previous one returned. The riders had been paired by
their weight and the size of their horses, and up to now both sides
had kept the same pace.
   Katze closed her eyes and said a lightning prayer as the two
little women came thundering towards the gates on their rugged
mountain steeds, the sound of their galloping hooves reverberating
inside her head. Both riders were using their voices as whips,
their cries of "Eeeee-YAH!!" ringing out like gunshot. Feeling the
horse's muscles bunch up under her, she firmly grasped the pommel
with one hand as the rider on the outside raced through the
finishing gate, making the bell jangle. When her starting gate slid
open, the grey horse dashed forwards with a bound that almost
unseated her despite her precautions, and made its determined way
towards the first jump.
   The grey took the jump with a fluidity of movement that almost
unseated her again. Glancing over her shoulder at Angel, who had
started seconds later, she could see he was gaining on her.
Although the horse was doing all the running, her breath ached in
her lungs and the veins in her temples pounded as the wooden posts
whizzed by. As they raced flat out along the track, stretching over
the jumps, the difference in their level of skill became visible;
Angel was controlling his horse, guiding it, spurring it on, while
Katze was merely hanging on for dear life. The whole lap was like
a fairground attraction - dizzying, but soon over - and it wasn't
long before they had swung around the curve and the finish gate was
coming into view. Glancing at the track on the left, she could see
that Angel was now ahead of her. Impelled by a competitive spirit,
she dug her heels in the sides of the grey, who responded with a
spine-jarring sprint. She began to regret her act as they stormed
down the lane and she concentrated on the sole effort now required
of her, that of pulling the rope which would open the gate and
sound the bell. Managing to catch the end, she tugged, hoping she
wouldn't bring down the whole gate with her; but the horse, knowing
that the race was over, slowed down to a walk in seconds, and by
the time its rider had realized the same, Win and Rayek had already
taken off on their respective steeds, Angel having passed the
finish seconds after. He slid off his horse to walk her down,
praising and patting her. A tall, bushy-haired man she recognized
as Solomon came up to take the reins and help her off, calling to
the woman with the black braids to take the horse away. The grey's
neck was steaming and wet with sweat, its nostrils flaring. He took
her arm and guided her to a blanket spread somewhere on the grass.
Her legs felt wobbly.
    "Great race," he complimented her, as she dropped down on the
blanket. Solomon was one of the few males to speak English; being
large enough to pass as human, he was sometimes called on to act as
planetary observer. He much preferred it to his own livelihood,
which he had considered abandoning altogether now that plans were
being made for marriage. Copperhead, though already married, had no
such scruples, even taking his clients to the conjugal bed if there
was no other alternative.
   "Wonder if the horse feels like I do," she remarked, flopping
down on her back. He laughed. Around the race tracks, the crowd was
still cheering. One-Eye was riding his priceless black mare against
the woman with the fierce-looking bay - she didn't know all the
names. Liz came up to sniff her hand, then ran off again. Clouds
drifted by under the white-gold sun.
   "Are you hungry?" Solomon asked. "I can get you something to
eat." Smells of cooking and roasting were drifting over the field;
after the race and the rubbing-down of horses, there would be
feasting and celebration, and most of the guests would camp there
for the night. "We'd better eat now," he added. "It'll be busy as
hell later." She sat up, and nodded. As she rested her chin on her
knees waiting for his return, something tapped on her shoulder. She
turned. It was One-Eye.
   Joyfully she cried out his name, rising to embrace him. He
smiled, but didn't answer, probably knowing that nothing he said
would make any sense to her. Pale, rangy and long-faced, the stiff
red mane licking like flames over his temples and forehead, he
looked well for his seventeen seasons, which Win had said
corresponded to the late thirties, although in Earth years he was
closer to seventy. He was covered in scars, his cheeks and palms
scored with sword cuts and the backs of his hands blotched with
burn marks. The last time they had met, he had rolled up one sleeve
to reveal the marks running all the way up to his shoulder:
reminders of the torture sessions. A long, wicked knife hung at his
side. The smile softened his habitual, coldly inquiring expression,
the visible eyebrow curving high over the single yellow eye.
Solomon, having seen his approach, came over with two large plates
and another familiar face, Fiaz, carrying an infant in a harness
against his chest. Father and son exchanged tender glances.
   "I told them you could only have meat," Solomon said, putting
the plates between them. One contained strips of meat and fish with
dabs of sauce, the other sliced white bread. Taking her cue from
the others, she tried to pick up pieces of meat with bits of bread,
frequently dropping them. Fiaz unstrapped his child and cooed to
it, feeding it crumbs and morsels. It had its father's golden eyes
and rough red mane, although she thought she could already see the
mother's features in the chubby face. She noted how little it had
changed, and then realized with a shock that only eight weeks had
passed here since her last visit.
   One-Eye spoke. "He says you rode well," Solomon translated. Fiaz
hailed a passing male to bring them drink. Like his father in most
respects, he had inherited his mother's low, heavy brows and cheery
disposition, giving him a sultry, brooding expression that belied
his nature. She had been a peasant, evicted from her land after the
death of her mate and children. The only low-born woman in a gang
of landless daughters and the senior member of the group, she had
taken in the starving teenager running from home and an arranged
marriage, teaching him to fight and hold his own when it turned out
that even his size didn't protect him from the women. She had been
caught and hanged with the others - "As if that solves the land
problem," Rayek had scoffed - and her mate and child married off to
the highest bidders. He had escaped and re-established himself as
the leader of a city of robbers with a Galactor-like reputation,
fathering a second child and losing his eye. It had been seven long
years before he had seen his son again.
   "You didn't do too bad either," she replied with a grin, Solomon
instantly rephrasing it in the melodious language of the
plainspeople. Rayek came to join them, smelling of horse sweat.
"Where's Win?" she asked.
   "Doing another lap," he replied. "She's a tireless rider - in
all senses of the word." He exchanged a few words with One-Eye and
pointed at where figures stood around the burning stoves in the
tent camp. Some had red hair, their heads vivid blotches against
the sky. Fiaz rose with an air of "I'll deal with it" and walked
off, the hem of his long gown flapping about his ankles.
   "Feeling all right?" Rayek asked her, standing by her side. "No
lag problems?"
   "They're taking good care of me," she said, indicating the
plates with a smile. "How's the race coming on?"
   "We're almost through. Do you want a shower before you change?"
She nodded and walked to the house escorted by Rayek and One-Eye,
leaving Solomon to clear up the dishes.
   At the house, Gabi was in a state of alarm; his clothing had
caught on a nail while he was swinging himself over a fence, and
one of the seams had ripped. "I'll fix it," Win said, untying the
embroidered wrap from round his waist.
   "You can sew?" Katze asked, surprised.
   "'Course I can! I have to be able to repair harness, don't I?"
Katze waited in the quiet of the guest room until One-Eye had left
and then went in to shower, turning her face up to the streams of
lukewarm water running into the tub. Leaving the shower with a
large towel wrapped round her body, she ran into Angel, with a
similar towel slung over his shoulder. He had discarded most of his
clothing in the bedroom, leaving only his underpants. She didn't
look away; they had never been shy with each other.
   Catching the glint of metal on his chest, she drew up to examine
the round pendant. It was the kind that unscrewed into two halves,
with a folded bit of paper inside giving his name, address and
medical data. "In case I ever get really badly damaged," he said
with a smile. He had already narrowly escaped total incineration,
and it had taken all the twins' regenerative skill to heal his
burns.
   She screwed the two halves together again and turned the pendant
over in her hand. On one side were engraved his name and date of
birth. The other showed a stylized crab, one pincer lifted
menacingly.
   "Cancer," he said, following her glance. "My sun-sign. Win did
it for me." She released the pendant, letting it fall back against
his skin. "What's yours?"
   "Don't know."
   "When's your birthday?"
   "June something. Fifth."
   "That means you're Gemini."
   She giggled. "Suits me."
   "Guess so." He gave her a quick, one-armed hug. "Hey, is this
just me or are you getting thinner?"
   "I'm losing weight. It's normal."
   "How much more to go?"
   "Two months, maybe three. It's fucking up my periods already,"
she confided. He shook his head in sympathy. "Wish I could be
around for when it happens."
   She loosened the end of towel tucked in under her armpit. "Want
to see?" He nodded. Almost coyly, she unwrapped the towel to
display her female body, the ribcage standing out sharply over the
flat belly. Then she rewrapped it. He shook his head again, this
time in wonder.
   "You've hardly changed at all."
   "Funny, isn't it? And I'm supposed to be two different persons."
   "What does Joe think about it?"
   "He never saw me first time round. He'll probably have a cow
when he does."
   "Why don't you just stay with us?"
   "I can't. I really can't."
   "Well, good luck when it happens." She left him to put on the
change of clothes she had brought along, the sound of running water
singing in her ears as she descended. Win was outside again,
striding the length of the green and shrilling commands; the race
track was being dismantled, the jumps taken down. Rayek sat at the
table washed and brushed in his long black dress, his hair loosely
braided for convenience. "The times were quite good," he said. "Now
we'll know what to expect in the National." He had taken in the
lists to show them to One-Eye, who was studying the strange runic
figures intently. Seeing his friend come in, he put them aside.
   "How have you been?" Rayek asked, translating almost as fast as
One-Eye had said it. She sat down opposite him to answer his
question and responded with questions of her own, Rayek translating
at each turn. At their first meeting they had both been badly
shaken, Katze from being abandoned to die by his guardian, while
One-Eye had relived much of the old suffering in giving testimony
for the case; and they had spoken mainly of abuse and betrayal,
sharing their pain. Now, with the worst over, they discussed the
practical side to their lives: battle tactics, the logistics of
running a large organization, the fallacy of leadership. Unlike
Katze, One-Eye had always been completely sane; with no powerful
alien to back him up, his only advantage had been the almost
superstitious fear he inspired in people by his outlandish
appearance and ruthless efficiency. From being a captive brought in
by scouts, he had carefully manoeuvered his way up in the city-
fort's hierarchy to the point where he could carry a child on his
arm with no questions asked. No one had known who the mother was.
   Angel came in and hugged her from behind. Still in shirt and
jeans, he wore the shackled golden belt Win had bought for him
almost a year ago, the shining rings lending a touch of glamour to
his levis. Unable to resist, Gabi had drawn long lines over his
eyelids, bringing out the slight slant. Gabi himself was dressed
like an oriental prince, his cloak matching the long, white,
decorated loincloth, his neck and wrists laden with jewelry. Two
bars of gold underlined his eyes like war paint, catching the light
each time he turned his head. He was fluffing up the thatch of his
hair in front of a mirror, baring his long canines in a grin of
satisfaction.
   Win hung in from the doorway, dressed in her best flysuit with
beadwork running down from the shoulders across her chest. "Time to
come out!" she called. With one arm around her, Angel escorted
Katze to the green, followed at a stately pace by Gabi. In an
imitation of Waveling dress, she had donned her old captain's
uniform, consisting of high boots and a belted purple jumpsuit,
with her hair in a long braid and Bell's knife on her hip. The belt
bore the Galactor logo, but that meant nothing here.
   "She wants to know is it a moon-sign?" Storm translated for a
smaller woman pointing at the red logo. Katze had to think for a
moment before it occurred to her that the stylized cat's head did
indeed resemble a collection of superposed crescents. "What moon
were you born under?" another woman wanted to know.
   "They only *have* one," Win told her. It was something she had
repeated to them over and over, but it never seemed to stick. More
women crowded round, and Katze was glad of Angel's protective
presence.
   Win gave a sign, and the women lined up in semicircular rows
like a choir in an auditorium, a drummer in each wing. She lit a
torch and raised it, some unnamed chemical in the tar making the
flames burn blue. There was a brief silence, then all of the
crescent-shaped formation simultaneously burst into song. The
opening strophes were unaccompanied, then the drums fell in to set
the rhythm as the reedy voices wove into each other and filled the
sky, suggesting endless expanses. Katze tried to fit the words to
the hymn as she remembered them, translated to her by Win with some
poetic licence to preserve the epic character: `Light our way with
your torches, pale warriors who fly by night, riders of the
tides... Givers of life, dealers of death, bring us good crops in
peace and victory in war.' Win had told her it was an old war song,
and she could imagine whole armies singing it as their numbers
surged over the land and thickened the skies. `Rain your milk on
us, and cast your jagged spears at the soil to make it rich - hide
your faces to preserve the hunted, that there may be life for all.'
There was hardly a deity in the Waveworld pantheon not connected
with life and fertility; living in a precarious ecosystem, they
geared all their religious efforts at appeasing the elements.
   Conscious that the hymn was being sung in her honour, Katze
stood stiffly to attention throughout its duration, flanked by Gabi
and Angel, watching the sun slowly descend behind the ranks. It
would be light for a long time yet, but evening was falling.
   The opening ceremony concluded, the women scattered to eat, and
Katze was led to yet another blanket which she shared with her
companions and a woman called Gusty, who was hungrily snacking from
a plate of baked vegetables. Copperhead sauntered towards them from
the direction of the tents to size up the mutant with his pale
green eyes, only the long-nailed, preternaturally white fingers
protruding from the gauzy robes. Under the thin veil, the blood-red
lips curved in a smile of predatory approbation. He elegantly
lowered himself beside her.
   "Don't even think of it," Angel said from the other side.
Copperhead slightly tilted his head as if to imply that no such
thought had occurred to him, blinking slowly and seductively. "Just
joining you in the place of honour to get a better view," he
replied in a voice both smooth and chilling, casually rearranging
the coppery clusters of curls on his peerless forehead. Angel
acknowledged his intentions with a nod. Some of the women had eaten
already and were assembling around them, taking out instruments and
tuning them. Copperhead smiled again as his mate did a quick scale
on the flute; a perverted little monkey she might be, but she knew
how to play. One-Eye rejoined them with his younger son, a sad,
sharp-faced, grey-eyed boy with silky red hair that had none of the
roughness of his father's. The performance started without any kind
of announcement, one woman coming forward to sing in a clear,
pristine voice that didn't match her ratty appearance. Gradually
the instruments fell in: the flute, Justine's harp, pipes, a cither
and two four-stringed instruments played with bows, their necks
ending in carved horse heads and their bases resting on the
players' knees. Rayek had emerged from the house with a six-
stringed guitar, his nails silvered and more silver brushed across
his cheekbones. His hair hung loose over his shoulders. A man came
next, and then one of the horse-head players initiated a tune with
a galloping rhythm sung to by a woman with a pert, unpleasant
voice. Everyone joined in what Katze recognized as the refrain,
even One-Eye and the sad-faced boy, as if it were familiar to them.
At the beginning of the second verse, some of the onlookers rose to
perform an odd, jerky dance with rapid steps, sinking through their
knees only to jump again with a sprightness as if they had steel
springs in their ankles. More joined them to form a moving line.
These were the light-eyed, narrow-limbed mountain women, their
flysuits tightly embracing their wiry bodies, their knives dancing
on their bony hips. Katze noticed one of the women had a swelling
belly, but it didn't seem to hinder her movements. Two men joined
in their sweeping robes and cloaks, moving their arms rather than
jumping, their shoulders twisting with the brusque precision of
clockwork. Amid encouragements, Rayek hoisted the guitar over his
head and took his place between them, easily the tallest person on
the floor. The pace was increasing, the line of women high-stepping
in perfect synchronization while Rayek, causing undulations in his
dress and hair with slight jerks of his collarbone, snaked his arms
over his head, making the heavy wooden bracelets around his wrists
click together rhythmically. Katze was hypnotized. The whole circle
was singing, the bows of the horseheads almost sawing through the
strings as Rayek began to revolve in the centre of the ring, his
movements almost too quick to follow. For the first time since she
had met him, she perceived Rayek as potentially desirable; before,
she had always considered him too plain, too much like the women
here.
   Angel's applause startled her; she had forgotten he was there.
While Solomon came over to pour them wine, women were shinning up
the take-off tower with easy agility, scorning the ladder. The
first dived off like a hang-glider, drifted in a lazy figure of
eight and settled to the ground like a bit of down as the second
two specks jumped off. At least, that was how it seemed from a
distance; in truth, Katze thought, the speed of their flight must
be dizzying, the air rushing in their lungs as it had in hers when
she had ridden her part of the race. Seven, eight, nine were now in
the air, keeping a liberal distance from each other to prevent
their tough, but intricate wing structures from tangling; when the
species had come down from the trees to walk the land, their wings
had evolved madly to keep up with the increasing size, the carpals
shifting along the leathery lengths to divide the strain evenly,
the long bones folding and re-folding within the super-stretchable
wingskin like a telescopic umbrella in order to fit the wingpack
onto the upper half of the back. A gasp went up from the watchers
when the comparatively huge speck of Win jumped off the tower,
hurtling through the sky before the wings blossomed out, sailing
low over the patchwork of picknick blankets and then soaring up
again to land straight down on her feet, wings arched up like a
parachute, before the shocked forms of Angel and Katze. "Kids,
don't try this at home," Angel said weakly. The onlookers cheered.
   "What, no blue feather?" Rayek remarked critically, half
disapproving his sister's stunt. Taking it as an obscure mythical
reference, Katze didn't inquire, but dragged the white-haired alien
(although *she* was the alien here, she reflected) onto her knees
and tickled her. Rayek was setting Angel's mind at ease: "She
levitates. You know there wasn't any risk."
   Taking their cue from the flight show, other women were lining
up to stage acrobatic displays and mock battles, showing off their
prowess with sword, staff and knife. Less flexible in some joints
than humans, they compensated for it with the nimbleness and
coordination required for flight, striking and recoiling at
lightning speed.
   "Pit your Ninjas against that, huh?" Angel said to Katze. Voices
were raised and fingers were pointed at One-Eye, whose gaze had
become empty and watchful like that of an animal at bay. "They want
you to take on One-Eye," Gabi said to Rayek.
   "I'm not a fairground attraction," Rayek replied. "If they want
to see me fight, let *them* challenge me." Slipping out of Katze's
embrace, Win sprang forward with a ringing battle-cry. One-Eye's
face split in a grin.
   "She's taking on two of them!" Gusty cried, her cry echoed in
different languages around the ring of spectators. "Don't let him
win too soon!" Rayek called after her. "Make him work for it!"
   "Who says I'll let him win?" she cried back happily, taking the
pole offered to her and holding it diagonally to fend off her two
attackers, One-Eye and a girl in her adolescence with unusually
thick black hair. The girl was soon disqualified by a butt in the
belly - but by no means put out by it, retiring to her sisters
laughing - and the battle was on between Win and One-Eye, the
onlookers cheering on either side. She won; not by touching his
navel, as the rules required, but by somehow juggling the pole out
of his hands. Laughing, he threw his arms up in a gesture of defeat
and returned to the now over-full blanket, Ertin having been joined
by Fiaz and a small dumpy woman with a bulging forehead: the
Betazoid. She had a round, embryonic face with a puffy upper lip
and large, empty eyes the colour of bilgewater. The crew cut that
signified her landlessness uncompromisingly brought out her high
forehead and unformed chin. Younger than Fiaz, she had the weary
passivity of extreme old age.
   Aware that her thoughts were now open to scrutiny, Katze
nervously looked away. "Hey, groundhog!" a woman was crying at
Angel, others taking up the cry to invite him into the circle as a
next contestant. He declined with a smile, Gabi yelling back a
witticism in their own language on his behalf. There were more
cries, harsh and raucous, as Copperhead stood up at the edge of the
circle and started to unwind his protective clothing, removing
layer after layer until nothing remained but a short, opaque,
greenish tunic that ran over his shoulders into a frothy cloak. His
bare legs were white and smooth as marble. He called to Rayek, who
looked reluctant.
   "What's happening now?" Katze asked, enthralled; Copperhead in
all his uncovered glory was a sight to behold. "I think he wants to
display one of his mating dances," Gabi said grinning. "And Jaana
isn't wild about it." Finally, Rayek gave in and came to stand
opposite him, posing in readiness, while Gale and three women
assembled to one side with flutes, a drum and what looked like a
mandoline. Win stood to the other side with a background choir of
three, and as they sang slowly and dolefully, the two men danced in
turn with the grace of a geisha, one kneeling as the other moved,
spreading their fingers like fans, the oriental atmosphere
reinforced by Copperhead's mask-like painted face. The end of the
dance was marred by chirps and hoots, much to Katze's - and Rayek's
- annoyance, but to the great contentment of Copperhead, who smiled
an insufferably superior smile before rewrapping himself and
joining his mate. There was a general pause in the activity as
people retired to their blankets to rest and see to their children,
or gossip with the other guests. Though unable to understand a word
of what was being said, Katze was beginning to distinguish between
the different languages: the bubbling, musical Plainspeak, the
harsh nattering of the mountains, and Copperhead's fluty birdcalls.
Two blankets away, Win was advising Storm and a second woman in
English: "Do what I do - just throw a leg over."
   "We are talking about horses, I hope?" Rayek called to her
acidly. She laughed and went off to talk to another clump of women,
waving in passing to the father of the black-haired girl. The
ethnic and gender ratio of the circle was gradually changing: the
meals finished and the dishes done, more and more plainsmen were
drifting into the ring in the wake of their consorts, their voices
adding a deep hum to the conversation. All of them were guests, men
of the landowning classes that Rayek had met and befriended in his
search for Fiaz. They were of a sturdier make than their mountain
cousins, their eyes and skins various hues of brown, their long
gowns and mantles adding to their bulk. In imitation of their
working clothes, the sleeves of their festive gowns came down only
to the elbow, to save the trouble of rolling them up. The exposed
lower arms were covered along the top with short, sleek fur,
suggesting long gloves. The secondary sexual characteristics of
Waveling males only superficially resembled those of humans; though
by far the more humanoid of the two sexes, their hairless chins and
large, lustrous eyes made them appear androgynous by human
standards. From where she sat, Katze could make out the wide-
chested form of Raida, the dominant male in Sally's household, one
arm wrapped tightly around his friend and second-in-command;
elsewhere, Brey sat with his brothers and half-brothers, his bland,
fawn-like, sharply triangular face contrasting with his massively
muscular body, although compared to humans he was slender. Their
full names were <<zaraida>> and <<zabreyun>>, meaning,
respectively, "Pillar of Fire" and "Tower of Rock"; the sons of the
land had phallic names to go with their tans and biceps.
   Fiaz took the infant in his arms and rose, uttering a few words
before he left. "He's off to see mumsy," Gabi said. "No point in
refusing mother's milk if you can get it." Rayek gave him a hard
stare, but he refused to be humbled.
   "Does she still have any?" Katze asked. "I mean, I may not know
much about it, but don't you dry up after a while?"
   "She's pregnant again," Rayek said. "Had a roll with Fiaz while
still in season, and forgot to take precautions - or maybe it was
one of the others. I'm convinced it was Fiaz, though."
   "If it is, Raida will be livid," Katze said. She had understood
that although ultimately the choice was the woman's, it was
generally the most high-ranking male's prerogative to father the
first child. If Rayek's supposition was correct, that would mean he
had been passed over twice.
   "He was livid each time she remarried," Rayek said. "So, if you
do a head count, you may conclude that his feelings were never of
much consequence to her."
   "Is she going to keep it?"
   "Maybe. She doesn't want it, but Raida is desperate to have a
child, no matter whose it is. He even offered to rear it himself,
the way Fiaz is doing. And her mother is pressing her for an heir.
But she doesn't really want children at all."
   "Don't they have girls enough in the family?" Land rights
generally went down the female line; Sally had no daughters, but
her sister had six, and no hope of ever finding the land to support
them all. She had no intention of evicting her many tenants.
   "Quite; but their mother is very keen on preserving the family
honour. Fortunately, she's not paying so much attention to her
mother lately."
   "Re-evaluating motherhood, eh?"
   "Absolutely. And this, you see, is one of the main reasons why
the council were so eager to have One-Eye put away." Katze nodded
thoughtfully, then stared as she found that the person referred to
was no longer with them. She wondered when he had left. Ertin and
the Betazoid smiled briefly at her surprise.
   Fiaz returned with two companions: a petrified youth with
caramel-coloured eyes and a pageboy cut, and a good-looking woman
with a long braid who was nursing the baby as she walked. She had
a naturally kind face, although Katze knew this to be strictly
outer appearance; in the days before her conversion, she had used
the whip with gusto. She sat with them and started to speak in a
voice as pleasant as her aspect, while the petrified boy sought
refuge with Fiaz, neglecting the fact that he was one place up in
the hierarchy; but frequent bullying had not inclined him to assert
his position, and Fiaz bent his head to no one. "She is pleased to
meet you," Rayek translated. "She was very curious about you."
   The woman proceeded to ask a number of questions, some sensible,
some banal, some downright jaw-dropping, which Katze tried to
answer as well as she could, Rayek translating everything with a
neutral countenance. "How much land do you own now?"
   "I've no idea," Katze said. "Just enough for a house and a small
garden. But I don't have to live off it, I work in the city."
   "You have a trade?"
   Katze looked helplessly at Rayek, not knowing what to say. "She
draws plans to build machines," Rayek said in Plainspeak, and the
answer satisfied the small woman.
   "Do you have husbands?" To Sally, it was only natural that the
mutant should have a female identity, and male partners; in her
world, anything was female unless specified otherwise.
   "I've got someone, but I don't really want to marry him." Katze
gave a short description of her relationship with Joe.
   "Just one?" Of the plaindwellers, only the landowning classes
practised polygamy; men were a source of free labour, and the more
land you possessed, the more of them you could put to work on it.
The mountain people, however, were strictly and constitutionally
monogamous.
   "The house is too small. And Joe would be jealous."
   "They always are." Sally changed the infant to the other breast.
"And what does his mother say about it?"
   "She's dead."
   A flicker of amusement crossed Sally's face. "Is that why he
wants to marry you so badly?"
   "No. He doesn't need me to get by." Katze fidgeted, unwilling to
pursue the subject further. "Where I live, you don't have to get
married to live together. It's just a formality."
   The petrified boy had relaxed, sitting against Fiaz with his
legs folded under him. Sally made a movement with her eyebrows as
if something had just occurred to her.
   "Does he still respect you when you are a man?"
   "He better," Katze said, showing knuckles. Sally laughed. She
finished nursing the infant, closed the flap on her flysuit, burped
him and handed him back to his father, who cradled him lovingly.
One-Eye appeared from behind them and greeted his children. "Where
have you been?" Katze asked, and Rayek translated it, but he only
smiled.
   Win was striding towards them with a band of musicians, one of
them a haggard young woman carrying a harmonica who bore a strong
resemblance to One-Eye, followed by two identically pretty boys.
Her flame-red hair had been wrenched back into a braid, leaving
only a tuft of mane to fall over the forehead. Her gaze was
troubled, expressing the humility of the repentant sinner. Katze
knew who she was: One-Eye's full sister, born shortly before he ran
away, disowned for disobedience in early youth and become heir by
default when both her half-sisters were killed in an epidemic. She
was reputed to have abducted a mate and driven him to death by her
brutal behaviour, only his children remaining to preserve his
memory. The twins didn't seem greatly affected by their past,
waving cheerfully at the black-haired girl.
   "This one's for you, Sharkey," Win said, kneeling behind a drum
that most women would have had to stand at, and resting her hands
on the leather. The musicians grouped around her, as did Fiaz and
his father. Rayek rose and hung the strap of the guitar around his
neck. He touched the strings gently, lingeringly, the red-haired
woman keyed a few hesitant notes, then Win gave four drumbeats and
the song was off at full tilt, One-Eye taking the first voice part
in a register that seemed to stretch his voice to breaking point,
imparting to it a fragility suggesting a painful sense of longing;
but that the part was by no means beyond his reach was proved when
Fiaz fell in with the second voice, an octave higher. This one,
too, Win had translated to her: `If you truly love me, come to
visit me in the marshes, in the night when the pools are lit with
flickering flames; don't be alarmed by the bleached bones and
sunken carts, my love will be your beacon and guide you safely into
my arms.' The hitch being that the marshes were traditionally the
home of the dead, where the souls of deceased lovers tried to lure
their living partners. Most of the landowner men's songs had this
ambiguity, unlooked-for in a social group only slightly elevated
over the peasant men, and in many ways worse off. Although Rayek
stubbornly opposed the old land-based system of polygamy, he had
been the first to admit that the disappearance of their particular
subculture would be a loss to all. The redmane twins were clapping
to the song in rhythm and counter-rhythm, their efforts echoed from
around the ring by colourfully clothed figures dwarfing the women
beside them, their already large heads made to seem larger by the
abundant mane falling around them. Encouraged, the twins slipped to
opposite sides of the circle and engaged in a battle dance on the
last verse, lashing out and withdrawing again in formal, laid-down
patterns of movement that had long ago lost all intention or
significance. One-Eye kept up the last note for an impossibly long
time, there was a final blast from the harmonica and the song ended
abruptly, the twins receiving roaring acclaim from their elders.
   Win laughed aloud and started a new rhythm while the red-haired
woman cranked out a gay tune, luring more brightly clad figures to
the fore. Two of Brey's brothers and a stranger sung an easy-going,
slightly licentious song, their voices dropping away from each
other and coming together again, which Gabi heard out and yowled to
in appreciation before explaining to Katze what it was all about.
The circle was being extended, blankets moved and families shifted
as a second ring was formed within the first one, consisting solely
of plainsmen. To Katze, it was as if she was suddenly surrounded by
another species. Leaning slightly forward, their gazes intent, the
new spectators began to clap with a muffled, subdued sound in a
repetitive pattern that was taken up around the ring, becoming
louder and louder. Gusty, Ertin, and even the Betazoid had gone;
the only women visible now were the musicians, waiting for their
cue. Eye contact was made, two figures challenged each other from
across the ring and the harmonica neighed like a rearing horse, the
pipes and strings falling in to a tense cadence as the figures
slowly and impressively twisted their way towards each other,
bright cloth whirling around them, deathly concentration on their
faces. They closed in, sprang apart, approached each other again;
one flung back his head and snarled, exposing his throat, the other
reached for it, but was too late and was driven back. Katze sat
mesmerized, although she knew it was all show. This was how the
sons of the land worked out their frustrations, expressed their
solidarity, found friends and tried to strengthen their tenuous
family links in the privacy of each other's company, far from the
disruptive influence of women; and she felt honoured that one of
these private meetings had been brought before her, before this
two-faced alien who belonged to neither sphere, yet could enter
both without intruding.
   The dancers returned to their opposite sides to be embraced by
their friends and kin, and the next pair pranced and sidestepped
towards the circle's centre to the sound of an eerie funeral dirge,
the drum a constant, soft, menacing sound reminding her of Lenore's
accounts of Umbanda rituals. This time it was Brey and Raida, the
former's face even more bland than usual under the bushy mass of
ringlets as he executed the sweeping and complicated hand movements
with stolid grace, the latter's dark eyes smouldering with
controlled passion. Raida's companion was singing in a virtual
monotone to the muted clapping of the ring, his voice deep and
bell-like. Nicknamed "Stag" for the antler-shaped markings on his
chest that testified to his noble ancestry, he was obviously of a
different ethnic genotype from the men around him, milk-skinned and
slight of build, his short dark hair hanging like a hood around the
haughty, finely cut face. Across the ring, one of Brey's brothers
was singing the lower part, their voices blending in strange
dissonants as the dancers met in the centre, spun around each
other, and continued their dreamy, distracted journey across the
circle until they arrived at the other end, where they changed
places with the singers and took up the clapping rhythm while the
other two ventured onto the green, repeating the whole sequence.
Katze glanced sideways at One-Eye, who, like Fiaz, was clapping the
rhythm with quiet intensity; once, she thought, this must have been
part of his life too, before he had made his dash for freedom and
placed himself irreversibly outside society. It was entirely so to
Fiaz, who, but for the child on his breast, appeared to have
reverted completely to the old ways. One-Eye caught her glance, and
they exchanged brief smiles. Looking at his hands, she tried to
imitate the clapping rhythm, keeping up tolerably throughout the
dance and the one that followed, where two couples entered the
circle instead of one. Someone was being singled out - from his
appearance, a senior - and almost pushed forward, Fiaz commenting
excitedly on the fact. One-Eye said something in answer. Their
voices were almost identical, differing only in inflection. There
was a jovial shouting and commotion, then the senior man accepted
his fate - a great honour, it turned out - in providing the vocal
lead for the next dance in the same vibrant, declamatory near-
monotone as before, partners coursing across the open space with
flying cloaks and random characters around the ring falling in with
a phrase or emitting siren-like howls that rose to heights painful
to the ears, until finally everybody was roaring the refrain, the
combined power of their voices making the earth shake. Katze
wrapped her arms around her, feeling the droning sound penetrate to
the marrow of her bones. The redmane woman played a lighter piece,
then came one of their polyphonic structures, voices running around
the ring as everyone magically fell in with their own part at the
right time, narrating the sad tale of a young landowner killed in
a fight with a rival, leaving her land heirless and unpossessed.
The lines of the refrain were punctuated with short, sharp cries,
expressions of outrage and disgust: `Where will we go now, we who
own nothing? Who will take us in, the one who killed you? Do we
kneel and kiss the blade of the murderer? Did you think what might
happen to us, before you threw your life away?' Rayek was
indefatigably strumming the repetitive sequence of chords, his face
set. Katze shivered and crept against Angel, sensing the bitterness
and repressed anger.
   Gabi said something in a growl to One-Eye, and he laughed,
giving Katze a pat on the arm as he replied. "He says your evil
couldn't begin to match the evil of this world," Gabi said.
Reassured, Katze laughed, too. "How much would you wager on that?"
The atmosphere lightened, three men alternating in a merry song
which jumped up five tones with each verse until their voices
became hoarsely distorted. The last one let out a shrill yell that
pierced the eardrums.
   The guitar produced the string equivalent of a drumroll, and the
harmonica started to play with little yawns, couples beginning to
assemble as a man in what appeared to be his early forties took the
vocal lead. Fiaz looked at the trampled green, evidently eager to
join in. One-Eye carefully lifted the infant off his chest. It
mercifully stayed asleep, sated with milk. Gratefully, Fiaz rose
and made his way past the edge of the circle to find a partner. The
singer's voice, lazy and contented, bathed them in the warmth of
the summer sun, carrying effortlessly across the green and beyond:
`Life can be good, when there are no fights and the harvest is
rich, when the food is enough to last us through the winter...' And
Waveworld winters were long, Katze knew. The equivalent of ten
months of snow and ice, with only a few thaws in between due to the
planet's irregular orbit. No wonder they had no efforts to spare
for world domination. A woman shook a crescent-shaped tambourine
and all voices fell in with the refrain again, creating a mighty,
intimidating wave of sound; here and there, fists were raised. The
green was filled with dancing figures by now, circling each other
with a fierce and languid sensuality, the hems of the long gowns
flying up to reveal the stamping boots. Her double-sided nature
afforded them protection, she realized; only in her presence could
they behave with such abandon before the eyes of so many women, and
remain unharrassed. She was the go-between, the exception that
broke the rule. She glanced at One-Eye cradling his grandchild,
battered and grim amongst his fresh-faced, gaily dressed
companions. Catching her glance, he smiled, and she smiled back.
   The dance spun itself into a giddy climax and ended; the bright
figures dispersed, the unity breaking up into family and household
groups. Win wiped the locks from her sticky brow. "Last dance,"
Gabi said.
   "Over so soon?" Katze asked, disappointed. "For them, not for
us," Angel said. "Want a drink?"
   Vats of wine had been carried out to the green, and people were
lining up to fill their mugs. Gabi stole back to the house for more
of the almond-flavoured liquid. Katze drank deeply, surprised to
find herself so thirsty. Women were walking around with blankets
and logs, lighting small bonfires. A child wailed somewhere and was
appeased. The first fly-repellent torches were being lit, their
scent of incense drifting among the watchers, mingled with the
smell of cooking; more food was being prepared. Wavelings had small
stomachs, and ate frequently. Unsurprisingly, Katze was also
hungry. Two young women made comments in their native language as
she devoured the entire chest of a small roasted fowl that had been
brought to her. Gabi snarled at them, and they pretended to be very
frightened, backing off with their knives before them. Win and
another woman came up just as Katze was licking her fingers,
scrupulously trying to remove all traces of grease.
   "Towel," Win offered, handing her a towelette and a bowl of
clean water. Correctly interpreting its purpose, she rinsed her
fingers in it before wiping them. Angel did likewise. The woman had
brought a long silvery flute.
   "She wants to see you play," Win said, dropping down beside
Angel. "I intimated to her that you are not entirely devoid of
musical talent... I hope you don't mind?"
   Katze eyed the instrument apprehensively. "I don't know.. It's
been ages..." She took the flute gingerly into her hands and very
cautiously blew a note. It came out pure and full. She played a
scale, finding the fingerings; they were not quite as she knew
them. When she felt confident about them, she played the opening
bars of one of the Raven's instrumentals. The woman was watching
breathlessly, other women also stopping and turning to listen.
   "That wasn't too bad," Win said appreciatively. The little woman
made a more precise request. "Now she asks, can you play this?" Win
whistled a sequence of notes, her nostrils widening and narrowing.
Fascinated, Katze noticed that she was whistling through her
nostrils, as well as her mouth; like a seal's, they arched inwards,
not outwards, and she could open or shut them at will.
   Trying to pay attention, Katze listened carefully and placed the
mouthpiece under her lips, attempting to play the notes as she had
heard them. The small woman clicked her tongue against the roof of
her mouth in a sound of admiration. Win whistled some more notes
which Katze also imitated, beginning to enjoy the game, a melody
taking shape as she went back to the beginning and played the whole
sequence from memory. The women who had stopped to listen turned
from her to each other and back again, commenting among each other
in clicks and chitters. "Now listen to this," Win said, smiling,
and sang that precise tune with unintelligible lyrics, but with a
purity of voice most often achieved inside high-ceilinged
cathedrals. She motioned Katze to play it a third time and sang it
again, her voice a perfect echo of the flute's silver sound. The
women tossed back their heads and let out shrill exclamations of
approval. "You're one of us now," Win said, slapping Katze on the
shoulder. Katze handed back the flute to its owner, and the other
women repeated Win's gesture and went on their way.
   Win left, too, and Angel coaxed Katze up for a walk to stretch
their legs. One-Eye had gone to assemble his family elsewhere.
Sally stood near her elder sister who was playing swift scales on
a harmonica similar to the redmane woman's, but smaller; the
redmane woman herself was resting somewhere against a fence, her
instrument and children beside her. Most of the blankets had been
removed, creating a wider space. Small groups of women were
practising on string and woodwind instruments, strains of music
drifting to Katze's ears.
   "Where've all the men gone?" she asked Angel, after a quick look
round.
   "Off to fix their faces," Angel replied succinctly. She grinned.
Seen from close by, the lines around his eyes were gaudy, making
him look like a twenty-first-century Egyptian priest, a living
anachronism. There was something distinctly pagan about him that
had always been there, even in the days when he had been a bad-
mouthing, pizza-scoffing American teenager with a gun; one almost
expected his eyes to light up in the dark.
   "Enjoying yourself?" he asked softly.
   "Like you wouldn't believe," she answered, gently squeezing his
hand. Their gazes locked, transmitting pure affection.
   "I wish I could just stay here," she said, embracing him, "for
ever and ever."
   "You can, if you want to," he said. "No one's going to stop
you."
   "No. I have to go back. I can't leave Joe."
   "This guy better be worth it." They laughed. The plainsmen were
reappearing in twos and threes, some with towels around their
shoulders to dry sodden hair that even in its wet state refused to
lie flat. Rayek had changed back into his flysuit, his braid a
black tail hanging over his wingpack. A number of women were
grouped around him like bushes round a tree, conferring with him.
Except for his height and narrowness, he could have been one of
them, hard and practical and austere. Win was the opposite, a
radiant, buxom giantess, her size and comparatively full forms
paradoxically allying her to the figures in bright gowns that dried
their hair by the light of the small fires. She was directing the
women with harps and horseheads to their places. At the opposite
end of the green, One-Eye was helping to set up a large bonfire.
Sally's sister played a rapid tune that changed rhythm like a
cantering horse changing sides, doubling back on itself.
   Rayek turned up at Katze's elbow like a ghost. "Sound like
anything you know?"
   "Ack - yes. Didn't want to say it... Early contacts with the
hominids?"
   "Unlikely," Rayek said. "This culture dates back centuries, and
it would be too facile an explanation... No, I find that the more
you compare different musical traditions, the more they turn out to
be alike. Music is truly universal."
   "Amen," Angel said. "Although if this lot re-invents hip-hop,
I'm leaving." Katze laughed aloud. She was led back to a clean-
swept blanket with a jug, five glasses and a plate of what looked
like mince pies put at its end. "Don't eat the ones with the pink
filling," Win warned. "That's our brand of dreamberries." Angel
laughed. The twins were spectators now, crowded back almost against
their doorstep to make the horseshoe-shaped circle big enough for
everyone to sit in. They were directly opposite the large bonfire
at the open end, its flare beginning to take over from the dying
sun. High tar torches burned brightly, and the air was fragrant
with the smoke of the scented torches. Katze was positive the scent
would stay with her for days, clinging to her hair. A woman with a
horsehead was playing something plaintive yet rapid, as if to
express there was no time for regrets. With fittingly blank and
serious expressions, one woman and then another rose to the tune,
and another, and another, until a long and snaking procession was
making its way across the now hugely expanded open space, hands
alternately held high or supported on hips while the legs flashed
past each other in scissoring movements to perform swift steps that
hardly slowed the dancers down, for the line was moving like a
ribbon of water. In their fast progress, they faced one side and
then another, put their hands on the shoulder of the persons before
them or joined them and let go again. There was a pattern to it,
although it wasn't easy to spot all at once.
   "This is a river dance," Gabi said. "It belongs to the
plainspeople - we don't have rivers like that in the mountains."
   "Obviously not," Angel said with some scorn. They were too much
occupied with watching to engage in a scuffle, however. Another
line had formed and was passing alongside the first one like a
mirror image, going in the opposite direction. A number of light
steps, then a crashing of the heels; it was almost impossible to
follow the movements, let alone analyze them. Someone had inveigled
the redmane woman into joining; Katze could see her pass, the stiff
red braid edging forwards over one shoulder. This was a long dance,
but it ended, its two lines unravelling, and there was singing in
cuttingly, ethereally high voices. "And I'm hearing only the lower
notes," Katze thought. Fuller than the mountain people's voices,
they travelled all the way from excruciatingly high soprano almost
to bass; Waveling vocal chords were extremely flexible, the sexes
distinguished by timbre rather than register. Now, the main singer
was adopting the deep, declamatory tone she recognized from the
plainsmen's gathering, men and women pairing off to a low,
expectant buzz of strings and woodwind. The musicians formed a
veritable orchestra now, five horseheads and two harps, two flutes
and things that resembled clarinets, three different types of drums
and more things that she couldn't make out, silhouetted against the
blaze of the large bonfire. Justine held out a hand to Rayek, and
unexpectedly Win moved to One-Eye's blanket and pulled him upright,
his one remaining eye widening in quizzical surprise. Then, his
face took on a resigned expression that was as good as a shrug -
"humour her" - and they joined the parade, its path slowly curving
as it grew in length to form another horseshoe.
   "Typical that Half-a-man should pick on Half-a-woman," a woman
called Orca remarked to Angel from a neighbouring blanket. Katze
followed them with her eyes, which was not too difficult - they
were not only the tallest couple on the field, but also the only
one of equal heights. The buzz went over to a fast reel, and the
couples began to turn both individually and in a large circle, like
a ferris wheel, the men slashing the air with their cloaks while
the women cut capers around them, Win springing as lightly as any
of them and rising high above her partner at each jump. She laughed
as One-Eye pulled her roughly round by the arm in time with the
others, once, twice, then returned the compliment. The couples
revolved past in front of the blanket with a vicious swish of
fabric. With One-Eye wearing a short tunic instead of the long
gowns that suggested movement by their furious whirling alone, she
could see Win was putting in twice the steps that he was, and the
music was speeding up at each turn of the wheel. It pounded in her
temples the way the horses' hooves had done, her nerves flaring up
to the whipcracks that urged the pace up still further until all at
once it came to a halt and the monotone took over again, the
dancers parading in a stately circle with heaving chests. Then a
vocal piece with a flute, and Win winked at Katze; it was the
precise tune she had played earlier.
   One dance ran into another, the women now joining hands with the
person beside their neighbour, so that their arms were tightly
interwoven; now separating and back-stepping to a change of tempo;
now leading four snaking ribbons into the centre of the open space
and back again, miraculously remaining untangled. There was a
gentler piece where Rayek partnered a tallish plainswoman in an
agile duet and more and more children came to their sides, until at
last they were swinging two rows of them round in wide arcs like
the final manoeuver she remembered from the Bird Roller attack, the
children's feet actually leaving the ground; not that they could
been very heavy, even though three of them were in early
adolescence. The woman with the black braids sang, effortlessly
amplifying her strangely angelic voice to make it carry even beyond
the light of the high torches. Win took over the tall drums and
started a heady dance where the sexes partnered each other, each
couple prancing and galloping down a stretch of grass in rapid
sucession to split up at the end of it and run round to the
beginning, often switching partners in the process. Storm had taken
the vocal part, eyes closed and head moving in small, ecstatic
jerks, her voice riding the rhythm like foam on a wave, becoming
painfully shrill at times. Win turned the drum back over to its
player without either of them missing a beat and dragged One-Eye up
again, taking him down the merry-go-round time after time until his
sister snatched him away and Win picked on a young stalwart with
thick wavy hair, their sizes hopelessly mismatched. Angel stayed
out of it, knowing his frame was too cumbersome to keep up. Some
dancers dropped out, beginning to falter; the wine was starting to
take effect. The mad gallop continued until it ran out of dancers,
men and women alike sprawling on the ground laughing and exhausted,
casting dignity to the wind. They were helped to their feet and
recovered to a harp solo, their faces becoming determined. They
were clearly muscling up for something.
   "Here's our last bit for the plains community," Win said. Little
beads of perspiration were forming on her face as fast as she wiped
them away. Rayek reached behind him to settle a wing, his own face
cool and dry from having rested in the evening air. He rose to her
summons and they stood at the edge of the circle, waiting through
the plaint of the pipes to the first muffled heartbeat sound of the
drums. Then they skipped as lightly as if they hadn't been up and
going all evening, as if Win hadn't whirled ten times down the
galloping gangway and pounded the leather with her palms, as if
Rayek hadn't knifed the air with his leaps and kept a string of
children airborne, into the circle and to its centre, following
each other round in a very tight circle of their own with the
small, superswift steps of the plains line dancers.
   The flute keened, the drums blended together in a rolling
cantering rhythm, and a line of women started to move into the
ring, growing ever longer as it began to encircle the small nucleus
of the twins, who were revolving almost back to back like a
yin/yang sign; tall ones, short ones, with and without the braids
of ownership, gnarled old ones and fully grown ones and ones that
were young enough to be virgins. Those that possessed them held
their knives in their right hands, and their whips in their left.
Two or three of the women were carrying young children in harnesses
against their chests, but despite the slashing of knives in the air
they remained unhurt. The rhythm continued darkly and heavily, then
all at once gave way to the agitated sound of the horseheads, the
bows jittery on the strings, and a line of men came into the
circle, again combining the young and the old, slipping through the
temporarily stable circle of women to form a new one around the
twins that went in the opposite direction, anti-clockwise. The
thundering rhythm descended again and the outer ring closed and was
set in motion, the three rings moving against each other like cogs
in machinery, becoming higher towards the centre where the twins
orbited around each other like twin suns as the real sun finally
dropped below the horizon altogether, leaving only a dying orange
glow. Katze had to stand to see them. One-Eye wasn't among the
dancers; he sat in semi-darkness with the outsiders, Ertin against
him and the baby in his lap.
   "It's a religious dance," Gabi said. "Twins have religious
significance here - that's why they think you're holy."
   Katze's eyebrows did a quick jump towards the hairline; in all
the time she had spent here, she had inferred no such thing. It was
an unexpected bit of news, and, on closer examination, it made her
nervous. Still, she would be out of here by next morning, along
with her supposed holiness, and never see any of these faces again.
She sat and waited until the dance spun itself out and the tired
figures collected their belongings to retire into the darkness,
carrying torches and seeking out their huts and shelters for a good
night's sleep. Katze knew that the twins had a large room under the
house where they practiced and stored food in winter; no doubt they
had put up a number of their guests there.
   "That was wild," she said, yawning and stretching. "Now I
suppose we turn in?"
   "Not yet," Angel said. "We've got something else for you. C'mon
- Gabi'll lead the way. We have to get way away from the house, or
the horses will panic."
   She didn't ask, but allowed herself to be led over damp pasture
in the chilly night, part of her very alert and awake despite her
drowsiness. They rounded a dark hill and passed between moist black
trunks to a natural clearing close to the forest's edge, alive with
the glow of fires and the howls and yipping of hairy, four-footed
creatures that reared up on their hind legs and melted into the
shadows to return fully dressed, their garish ornaments sparkling
and clinking. Whole families had come, the cubs slipping off their
mothers' backs to raise their muzzles in jubilant cries and running
to the other guests, sniffing them over excitedly. A fiery-eyed
girl with a belly large enough to carry in a wheelbarrow advanced
on them majestically, gold and gems stuck in the matted pelt of her
hair. Her cheekbones and eyelids were painted green, and green
spirals had been drawn all the way down both her arms. She motioned
Gabi to her side with a commanding growl, then displayed her fangs
to Katze in what was not quite a grin. 
   "Welcome to my world," Gabi said proudly.

                     *   *   *

She woke up in her bed in utter darkness, more from instinct than
from being roused. Rayek's face was a phosphoric oval hovering over
her, his eyes a million fragments of ice in mercury.
   "We must go," he said, his voice comfortingly real and solid. "I
sense danger in the other world; it may involve your friend."
   The mention of Joe was enough to wake her completely. Still
fully dressed from the night before - she had dropped on the
mattress with barely the energy to creep under the covers - she
felt around for her bag. People were moving around in the
background; Angel was shouldering his gun, his eyes luminous in the
darkness. "Give him the bag, Kelly," Win said in a voice that had
no trace of humour in it. Katze slipped on her boots and slung the
bag on her back like a rucksack, then let herself be led down the
stairs and out into the blackness of the night, faintly lit by
three fiercely white moons.
   "Hold hands," Rayek said. "And whatever happens, don't let go."
The darkness exploded into white as she was sucked into the sense
overload of etherspace, her mind deafened with noise - then she was
out of it and standing in a high, ill-lit space with metal walls,
shaken and feeling very sluggish.
   "Where are we?" Angel's voice sounded beside her. "Good
question," Win said. "Looks like a Galactor base." Katze's survival
instinct snapped on, even though her mind wasn't there yet. "No
sign of Joe," Win added, after a quick look round.
   "I homed in on the source of the trouble," Rayek said. "Not on
a particular person." Katze looked overhead and down below,
desperately trying to get an idea of her location. It was a
Galactor base, all right. They were standing on a kind of balcony
overlooking a huge subterranean workplace or hangar; the kind of
base a mecha might be launched from. Down below, guarded by
soldiers in green Galactor uniforms, were two large golden saucer
shapes.
   "There's your ufos," Angel said, pointing.
   "They're huge," she said hazily, unable to come up with anything
more specific. So this was quantum lag. Neither Angel nor the twins
seemed to be affected by it. "Probably the spares," Win surmised.
   "We've got company," Angel said, letting go of Katze's hand to
slip the gun off his shoulder. Green-suited figures were running
towards them from the far side of the balcony, and more were making
their way up from below. Angel aimed, but didn't fire. Everything
seemed to be going so slowly. She had to focus her foggy mind to
grasp the incongruity of the situation:
   "Why aren't they shooting at us?"
   "Your uniform," Rayek said. She looked down at the belt, the red
logo. Of course. She had forgotten.
   "It won't hold them off for long," Angel said tensely. Rayek
kept a firm grip on her hand. "Leave it to me," Win said, and went
to stand some distance ahead of them, her feet firmly planted on
the meshed metal floor of the balcony. The first green soldiers
were drawing near, becoming more hesitant as they approached.
   "Who are you? Are you Galactors?" the foremost of them barked.
Win winked at Rayek, who returned a dissatisfied frown. Then she
pouted bashfully at the soldier: "Please sir, I've lost me mum."
   Angel burst into a laugh. Several soldiers guffawed, causing the
first one to redden. "Give me your name, rank and number," he bit
roughly at Win.
   Win's eyes were shining devilishly. "Defiance, traitors, hurl we
in your teeth!" she cried back. Rayek sighed. "Shakespeare said it
first."
   "I know that, you goof, I'm quoting." The soldiers stared at
Win, uncomprehending; then they raised their weapons. "Uh, I think
those guys over there would like a word with us," Angel alerted
her.
   The soldier who had spoken tried again, thrusting the muzzle of
his rifle in her face aggressively. "I said your *name*, missy."
   "I am..." she opened her mouth wide, baring her teeth. "*Miyu,
Queen of Darkness*!!!" She breathed a sheet of flame. Rayek sighed
deeply and slipped his arms around the other two, enclosing them in
an energy field.
   The soldiers' first reaction, after staring in open-mouthed
surprise, was to open fire on her. Katze brought her hands to her
mouth, still too numb to scream. "Don't worry," Angel said,
grasping her to prevent her from breaking away. "She's protected.
She's safe, same's us." The spattering bullets appeared to burst
into flame when they hit Win, enveloping her completely in white
fire. Like an avenging angel, the fiery white shape rose and
swooped down on the soldiers who scrambled away, crying in agony
when the heat seared them. More soldiers fired on her from below,
their bullets feeding the flame. The fiery shape drifted over the
rail and to the centre of the round room, then contracted and burst
outwards again in a dazzling explosion of heat and light, revealing
Win triumphantly unhurt and suspended like a crucifix under the
ceiling, filling the air with wild, maniacal giggling. She breathed
flame again, the outer tongues licking the helmets of soldiers
standing on the elevator platform. They fired at her uselessly, the
bullets deflected this way and that. A violet light was pulsing
around her head, shafts of lightning crackling from her hands and
eyes and blasting craters in the steel walls. She let out a high,
almost supersonic whine, and the lamps shattered, their pale neon
light eclipsed by the electric blue glare emanating from the tiny
figure hanging high in mid-air.
   "Neat," Angel commented. Inside the protective cocoon of Rayek's
extendable aura, the spectacle was dulled to a bearable level.
"What's happening?" Katze asked.
   "You don't want to know," Angel said. "She's doing the Nuada
routine," Rayek said bitingly. "Now all we need is the Riders of
the Shi." High over their heads, Win was going into a mighty battle
frenzy, carving the steel walls and constructions with long claws
of light and hurling bolts of energy this way and that as the
Galactor soldiers buckled under her piercing screams or collapsed
under the falling chunks of metal and concrete, more and more
streaming in from openings and doorways like green ants to be
flattened and burnt. Katze stared. The Galactors ignored them,
their little group apparently forgotten. A slab came hurtling past,
tearing at the balcony and making it sway. "Uh, escape hatch,
anyone?" Angel suggested.
   "Not necessary," Rayek said. "Hold hands, everyone."
   They hit etherspace again, this time to emerge into a chamber of
bluish light. Everything was hazy, the walls indistinct and
intangible. With a shock, Katze discovered that she had no body;
only the idea of one. Her mind was uncannily lucid.
   "Is everyone all right?" Rayek asked, his face a projection in
her mind's eye. "I stabilized a pocket in etherspace. There's no
cause for alarm."
   "What about Win?" she wanted to know, the illusion of her tongue
and jaws moving reproduced mentally. "She's fine," the image of
Angel reassured her, crowding into her mind.
   "Oh, don't worry about Win," Rayek said searingly, radiating
disparagement. "She believes in peace and the sanctity of life as
much as any one of us, but there's no denying she likes to trash
the place. She'll leave when she gets bored."
   Katze laughed. "Well," the Rayek-image said, "I'd hoped for a
more leisurely goodbye, but it seems this is how we must part. Good
luck, Sharkey. Don't worry about the team, they'll be all right for
now; I think we created sufficient diversion for them to accomplish
whatever they had planned. This pocket opens on the gate to your
garden. You will be the last one to use it. By passing through, you
will seal it, and activate the protective ward around your house.
The ward will stay up for about a year, after which it will be
exhausted, unless you can find someone with the skill to recharge
it."
   "Thanks," she said, reaching out with imaginary arms to hug him.
"Thanks to all of you. And thank Win for me, when you see her
again. I'll miss you."
   "I'll miss you too," Angel said, and she felt herself subjected
to the same virtual hug, the cores of their being touching and
mingling, a sensation both frightening and reassuring.
   "I love you. So do we all," Rayek communed wordlessly,
transmitting a flow of pure emotion that burned slightly on the raw
parts of her psyche. Angel joined in, his exuberant goodwill
threatening to overwhelm her. Rayek kept him in check, moderating
the flow.
   "We have to part now. But remember--" Rayek was so clear in her
mind now that she could almost see into his eyes. "Nambu is your
ally. He may be underhand and short-sighted, but he is honest, as
far as his position permits. His sense of integrity is the only
factor that stems corruption within the ISO. If it wasn't for him,
the UN would be falling apart like a rotten log; as it will do,
once the unifying threat of Galactor is gone. Protect him."
   "I will," she promised, preparing to withdraw; then realized she
didn't have the faintest idea how to. She didn't fancy the notion
of getting lost on this plane of reality.
   "I'll take care of that," Rayek said. "You'll be there before
you know it." She felt herself being gathered and compacted
preparatory to expulsion, her contact with the other two fading.
   "Goodbye, Sharkey," Angel said. "If you see Eric again, tell him
Ireland rules."

   A flash, and then she was stepping down onto the grass in broad
daylight, a swirl of something misting over the air behind her and
disappearing; and walk forwards and backwards over the spot as she
might, she remained where she was, nothing changing. The whole of
last night could easily have been a dream, if not for the fact that
she was still wearing the purple uniform. Hurriedly, she dug up her
keys from the bag and went inside to shower and change into
something more civilian.

                     *   *   *

She was invited to the victory party at the Nakanishis' as a matter
of course, despite the fact that she'd had nothing to do with the
actual mission. "It's not often that we manage to bring everyone
home alive," Joe said, with a contentment bordering on smugness; he
had been the one to save the day. Ken was silent. Jinpei made a
face at Joe and dug into the rice sweets that Mr Nakanishi's
housekeeper had prepared in large quantities the day before,
stuffing his cheeks. "Don't be a pig, Jinpei," Jun admonished him.
Seiyi, who had been doing the same, laughed.
   "More port, Mrs, er, ...?" Mr Nakanishi offered, tilting the
bottle. She smiled courteously, and declined. "Doctor Nambu?" The
Doctor accepted with good grace, keeping a shrewd eye on Katze in
the meanwhile. She had been on her best behaviour all afternoon,
but he couldn't help mistrusting her docility. At least, he thought
with approval, she was dressed more properly than the last time
when, probably to match the reputed laxity of Hokkaido, she had
gone completely informal. This time, she wore a short blazer and
knee-length skirt that might have been part of a stewardess's
uniform, her hair bundled up and styled impeccably. She was
changing, adapting her standards; it might take time, but
eventually she would fit in. Joe was watching her with blurred
benevolence, mellowed by the beer.
   Nambu's attention was drawn by Captain Nakanishi raising his
glass and proposing a toast to the Gatchamen. "To four very brave
young people!" The four in question returned the toast rather self-
consciously. "We couldn't have done it without Ryu," Joe asserted,
giving Ryu a kindly intended slap that almost brought him down.
Overcome with sentimentality, the captain hugged his son, who
clapped him on the back and righted his listing spectacles for him.
"To Ryu!" cried Seiyi, his scratchy voice a thousand times more
irritating than Jinpei's. Ryu hugged his little brother too, and
lifted him onto the table, patting his head. Seiyi glowed with
pleasure.
   Joe was roused by a light tap on the shoulder. "I need fresh
air," Katze whispered to him. "I feel my breakfast coming up." He
nodded understandingly, and she noiselessly withdrew. With half an
ear he heard the sound of an engine starting and a car driving
away. No one else noticed, although Nambu was searching the room
with his eyes.
   "And a toast to Doctor Nambu!" the captain continued. Nambu
smiled politely. Jun enthusiastically raised her glass of Sprite.
Joe and Jinpei followed suit, but Ken was less prompt. He had been
quiet and withdrawn since the end of the mission, saying nothing
and only responding to other people's words with a vague smile. His
teammates looked at him expectantly, waiting. "To Doctor Nambu," he
finally said, raising his glass, but not chinking with anyone.
   "What is the *matter* with you?" Jun asked in a lowered voice,
taking him aside. "Ever since we came back, you seem to be on
another planet."
   He smiled to soothe her. "Nothing."
   Jun conferred with Ryu by the table, and Ryu returned with her
to try and speak with him. "Look, Ken, I'm sorry about your father
and all that. It was a really rotten thing to happen to you, butÄ"
   "This has nothing to do with my father," Ken interrupted him.
"Please, if you could just leave me alone..."
   "Where is Hunt?" Nambu asked, after having completely satisfied
himself that she was not anywhere in the living room. "Out," Joe
responded instantly. "She said she had to get some fresh air."
   "An excellent idea!" Mr Nakanishi said. "Ryu! How about going
out to the wharf? It's a fine evening, and the wind is down."
Glasses, cartons and bottles were moved out to the harbour where
fully equipped fishing boats bobbed in readiness at the quay, and
they sat on the bare concrete, drinking and looking around. Nambu
expressed an interest in the fishing fleet, and Mr Nakanishi
offered to show him around. Side by side, they strolled down the
harbour, Seiyi bouncing in their wake.
   "Thank heavens for that," Ken said, drawing up his knees and
resting his head on them.
   As if on cue, his teammates gathered round him. "Maybe now you
can tell us what the problem is," Joe said. He wasn't terribly
interested, but Ken was depressed, and he felt he had to do
something about it. "Yeah, Ken, what's wrong?" Ryu said. "We're
here, we're safe..."
   "Ryu. Why did you join the Science Ninja Team?"
   Ryu sat back, momentarily brought up short by the directness of
the question. Then he started thinking. "It must have been, oh,
eight years ago... no, more. The Doctor had a yachting incident,
and I saved his life, and he said it was some quick thinking and
wanted to make it up to me. And he told us he lived in the capital.
So, I said, I've always wanted to see the capital, and he said he
could take me there, and the next thing I knew I'd been asked to
join the Science Ninja Team."
   "And you said yes."
   "Of course! It was the chance of a lifetime. You don't turn down
an offer like that."
   "Huh. Joe. Why did you join?"
   "You know that," Joe said, giving him an impatient nudge. "Those
Galactor bastards killed my parents. I had no choice."
   Ken laughed, briefly. "No choice. Right. Jun. Why did you join?"
   "I passed a test," Jun said uncertainly, not knowing where this
was leading. "Everyone in the area was given tests to do, and I
passed." "And I joined because onechan wouldn't go without me,"
Jinpei proudly contributed.
   "He made you do a test," Ken said, "and because you passed, you
joined. Just like that."
   "It was a great honour," Jun said defensively, sensing
criticism. Ryu nodded, as did Jinpei. "Not everyone has what it
takes to be a... a Science Ninja..."
   "Huh." Ken dropped his head on his knees, then raised it again
to survey each of his teammates in turn, the three ex-teenagers and
the youngster who was just now becoming one. "But didn't you -
didn't *any* of you - stop to think what you were getting involved
in? You might have been lab experiments for all you knew."
   "That's your job," Joe said jokingly. "You think for us, you're
the leader. We just follow."
   "And what would you say, did I do my job well?"
   Ryu had had enough. "What is the matter with you? We've won,
haven't we? Each time Galactor attacked, we've beaten them, and
each time they attack us again we'll beat them again, until we
finish them off for once and for all. That's our job, that's what
we're for! How can we keep on at it if you start going weak on us?"
   "*Thinking* means going weak?" Ken said, staring at Ryu until
the poor youth blushed and turned away. "Well, you know what I
mean..."
   "Okay, so what's your reason?" Joe cut in, coming to Ryu's
rescue. "What *motivated* you to save the world? Let's hear it."
   "Nothing," Ken said. "That's what frightens me." He rested his
chin on his arms, staring past all the expressions of scepsis and
disbelief. "Oh, I've plenty of reasons now - I've seen Galactor up
close, I know what they can do. But I never had a reason to start
with," he continued. "In fact, I don't even know if I could say I
joined, properly speaking. I just rolled into it, I was there, it
seemed the logical thing to do - I couldn't very well refuse. I
could say I worked for ISO because my father did, which is a pretty
shaky reason in itself, but I didn't, because I never knew about
that; or that I wanted revenge on the people who killed him,
although in truth he killed himself, and he did it twice. But way
back when it all started, at the time when maybe I did have a
choice, I had no reason at all; none, except blind faith and
obedience - now, does that sound like anyone you know?"

The person referred to was at that moment some miles away, and a
great deal higher in altitude. Tired from the climb, Katze sat
against a rocky outcrop and kicked off her shoes. She drew out a
fresh pack of cigarettes from the handbag, lit one, and inhaled
deeply, closing her eyes. Curling trails of smoke wafted from her
mouth and nostrils.
   Then she lay the burning cigarette on the rock's surface for a
moment, took off the blazer and rolled up her sleeve to the elbow,
exposing the smooth white underside of the arm. Still sitting, she
picked up the cigarette, took a puff, and with cold deliberation
stubbed it out on her arm, close to the wrist. Tears of pain sprang
to her eyes as it bit into her skin, leaving a small red circle
whose edges instantly started to rise. She waited for the pain to
recede, then relit the cigarette and stubbed it out again, half an
inch lower. She continued like this all the way down her arm with
military precision, staring indifferently through the running
tears, starting on the other arm when the first one was done;
knowing that, sooner or later, the accumulating pain and damage
would provoke Change.


         THE END


Missing lyrics:


Sleeping eyes, please come clean
I'm not giving you the third degree
When you live in no man's time
Ain't it hard to find some peace of mind
Sleeping eyes, don't you cry
And don't pretend this is not an ending
Your history, it seems
Has been swept out with the leaves

What you got buried in your back yard
What secret do you sleep with when the black moon comes
What you got buried in your back yard
What secret do you sleep with when the black moon comes

   from "Black Moon Creeping", by the Black Crowes



Trans-Amazonia
Flow motion traveller you got to find the answer
Dream warrior sun dancer
Trans-Amazonia keep searching seeker
You got to find the reason something sacred to believe in
Trans-Amazonia Eagle flew out of the night
And split the sky
Why
Now I realise the Ayahuascquero was right
Shaman can fly

   from "Trans-Amazonia", by the Shamen



Tha mi 'nam shuidhe aig an teine   (I'm sitting at the fire
Tha fion sios mo leine             There's wine down my shirt
Tha mi duilich                     I'm in a sorry state

Tog mi ard san iarmailt            Lift me high into the sky
Leis an inntinn agam san m'fhalt   With my mind in my hair
Tha sin narach                     That's shameful

Tha an coltas orm glas             My mood is grey
Ach san do gairdeanan a gheibh mi  But in your arms I'll find
blaths                             warmth
Na tionndaidh air falbh            Don't turn away
Is thusa a tha dh�th ormsa         It's you that I need


   Eisd! Eisd ris'n t-saoghal      Listen! Listen to the world
   Eisd! Eisd ris mo gheall        Listen! Listen to my promise
   Eisd! Eisd ri na faclan         Listen! Listen to the words
   nan athair 's nam mathair       of the fathers and the mothers 
   's na cloinn                    and the children
   Eisd rium....                   Listen to me...)

   from "Eisd" by Seonaid Nic Diarmuid, alias The Raven, a wholly
fictitious 21th century folkrock singer
   lyrics courtesy of Ennien Ashbrook


Thanks also to the following 20th century artists, not identified
in the text: Tracy Chapman, Fleetwood Mac, Aerosmith, George
Michael ("Listen Without Prejudice", definitely a highlight in his
career), Genesis, and various radio and TV shows, including the
immortal Monty Python's Flying Circus. All lyrics and lines
borrowed utterly without permission.