*********************************************************************
                            War 7 File 1
*********************************************************************

A DieHard Rides Out
By: Don Fasig - DieHard
Time: 3 or 4 days before War 7
Place: SW Florida

The black and chrome motorcycle pulled quietly into the Gas 'n Shop,
quietly for a bike of it's size and age.  It's rider, a short
compactly built man, stretched briefly before turning on the pump.

"100 miles down, 1400 to go." he mused.  "I thought I'd never get
started. Hope I'm not late.  I figure if I stay on the road 10 hours
a day - and with a little luck I'll make it."

"Man it was tough explaining to the wife why I *had* to go to
Toronto for 3 weeks........

"Don't worry, it's no big thing.  All in fun."

"But you said it's a War."

"Well, yeah, but they just call it that...really...they all say it's
loads of fun."

"You mean you don't even know?!"

"Well...not really, I mean, *I've* never done it before.  But I've
read about it."

"And why are you packing those things?!"

"What things?

"Those knives...and *things*!  You've even got your sword cane!"

"Well, ya never know.  I mean our headquarters does have a Laser
Defense System, and Security Surveillance System.  And Laura said
we'd have to defend our headquarters."

"Defend?  You said it was all in fun!  Who do you have to defend?"

"That's what we do.  Laura said we provide shelter for anybody and
act as peacemakers."

"Shelter who?"

"Uh, characters from the show?  Or members of some faction or
other...."

"YOU MEAN IT'S ALL MAKE BELIEVE?"

"Well uh...sort of.  Gotta go, love ya.  See ya in 2 or 3 weeks."

And fading behind him as he rode away -

"Two or three WEEKS! - And who's this Laura......"

The pump dinged it's message.  "Please pay inside."

Don shook himself, "Whoosh - so that's what a flashback feels like. 
Gotta be careful."  Still, it did feel good to be on the road.

*****Three days later, at DieHard HQ in Toronto...

Completely exhausted vowing to never again try to make that trip in
less than 5 days,  "Ya gotta stop and smell the roses.", he thought
as he pulled up to the guard booth.

"Don Fasig.  I'm expected."

    -   finis  -


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


The Lucky and the Dead (1/3)
Sat.  July 23, 1996 - Late Afternoon
Central Wisconsin
By: Partly K and The Perkulators


THUNK.

A dart embedding itself into the left eye of a large yellow smiley
face that as stuck over a dart board.

THUNK.

A second dart landed near the right eye.

THUNK.  THUNK.

Two more darts pierced the cheery sunshine yellow smile.  Partly
considered them for a second, then turned her attention back to the
computer.  She was surfing and Netscape was taking longer than usual. 
The stars behind the large stylistic N in the corner continued to move
in slow motion, and Partly got up to retrieve her feathered weapons
from their hapless target.

The yellow paper over the dart board was filled with small puncture
wounds and the black of the eyes was almost completely torn out.
Partly ripped it off the board and tossed it into the trash with four
of it's twins.  She deftly taped another on before sitting back down.

Netscape finally pulled up it's URL and Toronto Police Homepage filed
the screen.  Partly stared at it morosely.  It just wasn't fair!  She
whipped two darts into the board, their tips buried up to the wood.
She had just been getting into FK when Schanke died.  In a stupid
plane crash.  Then, just when Tracy was showing her true potential,
just when they had truly started to be friends, she had to die too.
First Screed, Urs and Vachon. Then Tracy.  Finally, disappearance of
Nick and Nat.  Sure, LaCroix was still around, but where was the
justice in that?

She quit Netscape without reading the Toronto news.  She wasn't sure
why she tortured herself like this.  She flipped on AOL and open her
mail while she played with the casino ten dollar coin that she had
setting next to her desk.  She had picked it up on Memorial Day last
May.  It was a typical coin with the Lake of the Torches Casino stamp
on one side and the special occasion collector stamp on the other.
She usually didn't keep them, but this one said:  In honor of all the
vetterns.  At the time, she had just been amused at the misprint, but
now it seems to be her last reminder of her life as a Perkulator.  It
just wouldn't be the same without Tracy.

The new mail screen came up on the computer and she almost choked on
the coffee she was drinking.  The top message was from GoodCopT,
Tracy's old AOL address.  It had only been two months since Tracy's
death, there was no way anyone should have her screen name.  Those
things took longer than that to recycle.  Her family should have
canceled her account by now, if not, AOL should have.  She put down
her coffee cup and tapped on the message.

        TO:  PartlyK
        FROM: GoodCopT
        DATE: 7/23/96
        MESSAGE:  Why didn't you tell me?

She clicked the message off and on again.  Same message.  "This is a
sick joke," she said.  If it were a joke.  But it had to be, didn't
it?  Tracy was dead and buried.  Partly had seen the news reports,
read the papers, even sent her condolences to the family.  She had
gotten a thank you note, explaining that all the money received was to
go to some charity or another.  She watched the message for a few
moments, willing it to disappear.  When it didn't, she sent it to the
printer and closed the window.  She went to the next message while the
printer spit out the short mystery.

The second message was from Kristina, the Perks' second in command.
Kristina was in Toronto right now, house sitting, and she was
wondering if Partly could make it up to see the sights and pay their
respects to Tracy. Perhaps even get all the Perks together for a
farewell party.  Partly considered this for a moment, twirling the
coin in her hand.  It was a good idea.  A party of Perks.  She smiled
at the thought.  She's love to go, if she had the money.  She looked
at the coin again.  Her mind suddenly made up, she quickly dashed off
a note to Kristina, attaching the cryptic message she had just
received.  She copied the message to the other Perks, telling them to
drop everything and plan on going up to Toronto.  She then flipped to
the travel page and arranged for plane tickets to be waiting at the
airports nearest to each Perk.  Her Mastercard was feeling warm and
she hadn't even taken it out of her purse.

Mary Chapen Carpenter came on the radio, and the song  was "I feel
lucky". It would take a whole lot of luck to pull this off, but she
had a feeling that she would make it.


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


The Cousins Come to Battle Stations, 1/1
by Lisa McDavid with input from Cousin Tok and Cherri Munoz

July 25th through noon of July 27th

"The Cow's in the waiting room," reported the CERK receptionist.

Such were Cousin Co-Leaders Lisa McDavid and Tok's mental states that
neither saw anything extraordinary in the message.

"Send her on up," said Lisa. She was doing things to a weird-looking
database.

"How did she know?" Tok asked, counting express envelopes and checking
off a list of Cousins' names. Cousin Merlin, a brown tabby cat, sat on
the floor at her feet. Cousin Willow tried to sit on the list and
"help" count with her little gray paw until Tok made her get down.

Lisa shrugged. "Unc -- I mean The General -- must have had some kind
of signal in last night's show. There are some things I don't want to
know about Lacroix, like how he knew the war was coming and when."

The elevator doors opened and Cousin Cherri, still glued into a cow
suit and fettered with a mooing device, stepped into the Cousins'
headquarters. Merlin immediately made a kamikaze dive for the Cow's
tail.

 "It's -- moo-- about -- moo -- time," she observed. "This --moo --
thing's -- moo -- moo -- hot." The device fell silent as Cherri sank
down onto a chair. "And I'm tired of trying to remember to go
different places all the time."

The last war had stranded Cherri in Toronto, glued into a cow suit
with a moo-toy attached to her ankle. Lacroix declined to rip it off
with his vampire strength on the ground that any Cousin who let
herself be cow-suited deserved to stay that way.

Ever since, Cherri had eked out a living as the mascot of a CERK
advertising campaign. Her picture loomed on billboards all over the
city with the caption: "CERK. Anything else is just moo-sic." The day
time dj's ran a contest in which listeners competed to be the first
caller to locate The Cow correctly.

The Nightcrawler replaced his soliliquies to Nicholas with admonitions
to The Cow. His imagery was quite poetic, if a trifle overloaded with
slaughter house and blood references.

The free publicity was endless. The Cow's attempt to order a Big Mac
in a McDonald's was taken to be an attack from Burger King. Burger
King was equally sure McDonald's was behind Cherri's request for one
of their hamburgers. Both summoned the police. Traffic tied up at
least once a day when The Cow crossed streets. Poor Cherri got enough
tickets to fill a recycling bin, at least according to the station's
copy writer.

Then came the day when she tried to look up solvents in the University
of Toronto library. The guards converged at the first moo when The Cow
entered the building. She was going quietly when several patients from
the Clark Institute, a mental hospital near the campus, who were in
the library on day passes assumed The Cow was one of their own. They
expressed solidarity by lining up across the doors and mooing too.

Students took sides, someone started throwing books, and by the time
the riot police restored order every media outlet and paper in Toronto
plus CNN was out front.

The result of a CERK conference among The Nightcrawler, Police Chief
Stonetree, the President of the Chamber of Commerce, the director of
the loony bin and of course The Cow was a warm and fuzzy agreement
which no one but the Vampire remembered signing.

The Cow remained at large.

Cousin Tok tossed the her notepad to Lisa. "Here, you read out the
names and addresses and I'll make sure they're right."

Cherri closed her eyes and settled back for a nap. "I don't envy you
two. Lacroix will have a conniption if anybody gets left out."

"I know," said Tok. "That's why we're making one more check before
they go off to Fedex."

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

The couriers moved out at dusk. All over the United States and Canada,
Cousins signed for packets from the International Association of
Rosebud Fanciers, containing tickets, parking vouchers and gas money
or subway tokens as appropriate. The Toronto map might have come from
any convention folder, but not the one of the sewers or the Standing
Orders from Lucien Lacroix, General, to the Toronto Irregulars, aka
The Cousins.

For the next twenty-fours hours, vacation time was suddenly taken.
Sick or dead relatives necessitated immediate attendance out-of-town.
The Cousins collectively engaged in enough creative excuse fiction for
an entire series of novels.

Shortly after midnight on the morning of July 26th, the bus from the
airport delivered the out-of-town Cousins to CERK.

"They're all here," said Tok, who had gone on plane-meeting duty.

Lisa said, "I told you nobody could miss Cherri!" in a curiously happy
tone.

Tok whipped around and stared at her, but the Cousins' outstanding
dipsomaniac had nothing in her hands. A cautious sniff failed to
detect any alcohol, let alone the ineffable scent of a Zombie
Beachcomber. Lisa was, Tok hoped, merely relieved at the success of
their plans.

"Ok, troops!" Lisa climbed onto the podium and whistled for silence.
"Welcome to Headquarters. Sleeping accomodations and bathrooms are on
the floor below this one." CERK had started life as a small
residential hotel before descending to offices en route to radio
stationhood. "We have arrangements to run a tab at several places in
the nearest blocks -- they're marked on your maps and you have meal
cards in your packets. Note that these cards are for meals and non-
alcoholic drinks only."

Several experienced Cousins snickered at this whereupon they received
Lisa's best, cold-sober Librarian's Shush full in the face and
retired, whimpering, to the back of the crowd.

"Now, then, come forward as Cherri calls your names and Tok will give
you your cell phone. Be careful with them. They've been specially
modified with a scrambler chip and the General only knows what else."

"But The General isn't telling." Lacroix had apparently materialized
at the far end of the room. Only Lisa and Tok knew that the emergency
stairs from his penthouse suit had a landing there, behind a door in
the panelling.

All heads turned. A full-grown bald eagle on Lacroix's shoulder
flapped its wings and let out a battle cry.

Merlin and Willow hid behind the phalanx of Cousins.

As the vampire strode into the center of the room, Lisa hastily added,
"This is Fred. He's our new battle mascot."

Lacroix glowered at her before turning to Anne Kohler. "This is
_Frederick_ the Great," he said. "You'll be in charge of him during
the day. You'll find he already knows who you are and that he's to
mind you. Your name's on the license as his official handler."

Anne held out her hand and the eagle, at a nod from Lacroix, settled
onto her arm. "I was missing my eagle at the zoo." She scratched the
soft feathers at Fred's neck. "He's beautiful!"

Nodding as if the compliment had been meant for him, the vampire
General stepped up to the podium and began to address his troops.


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


Reach Out & Touch Someone
(07/26 to 7/27, various times)

by Catherine Siemann, Melanie, Jane Credland,Cynthia Hoffman, Tara
O'Shea, Socrates (Dirk Giles), Susan M. Garrett, Lorelei Feldman, and
Croaker

CatheRaven@aol.com -- Catherine Siemann

Catherine Siemann sat in the eaves of the small room at her parents'
home that was her temporary location for the summer while she studied
for the monstrous comprehensive exam that was the next step on her
quest for the Ph.D.  Not that having to read fifty Victorian novels
was such a *rough* life, but she missed her New York City apartment,
friends and lifestyle.  Oh well.  It was only for the summer.  At
least there was e-mail, which made the relative isolation of Buffalo
seem not so lonely.  Wait, what was this? "Janette@fashion.com"
Catherine broke out into a big grin as she read the message especially
the private p.s. which said, " And make sure you dress for the
occasion -- but then, I know you will.  It *is* nice to know that some
of my followers have inherited my fashion sense."   Thank goodness
Toronto was only a 2 1/2 hour bus ride away (well, give or take an
hour in customs). Pulling out her bus schedule, and her suitcases, she
called down the stairs, "Hey mom, I have to catch a bus in an hour.
Mind driving me to the station?"  Tossing a dozen Victorian novels in
with the piles of black dresses, little and long, she staggered down
the staircase under the weight of her luggage . . . like any self-
respecting Raven/ette would.

******************
KnightCat5@aol.com (Melanie)

After receiving the mysterious email from Janette, I packed up my new
Civic (complete with a Vampire sticker) with all the Ravenette
essentials...black tight fitting dresses, hair pins, chokers and red
red lipstick and sped out of Southern CA to get to Toronto as soon as
(im)mortally possible...

***********
janes@interlog.com (Jane Credland)

The phone rang again, for the tenth time in the past half hour.  Why
did this always happen just before five o'clock.  Jane tore her eyes
away from the computer screen and glared at the offending instrument. 
At this rate, she'd never get this case conference memorandum finished
and go home.  She ignored the phone and silently wished whoever was on
the other end would just go away -- although her exact thoughts were
not that polite.  Luckily, after three rings, voice mail picked up and
she could concentrate again.

"Ms. Credland.  Ms. Credland, please."

"Shit!"  Jane swore angrily and saved what little she'd been able to
do.  "I *hate* being paged."

"There's a telegram out here for you.  The guy insists that you have
to sign for it personally."  Sarah, the receptionist at the law firm,
disconnected rapidly before Jane could object.

"Just wonderful."  Muttering angrily under her breath, Jane marched
rapidly out to reception, narrowly missing a collision with one of the
new law students.  The other secretaries just ignored her barely
audible tirade. She did exactly the same thing at least two or three
times a week; they were used to it by now.

"Jane Credland?"  The delivery man shoved a clipboard into Jane's
face. "Sign here."

She scrawled her name, tore open the telegram and stared at it.  "Now?
They have to do it now?"

Sarah glanced up curiously from the switchboard.  Unfortunately, the
phones didn't stop ringing long enough for her to ask what was going
on.

"Oh well.  I guess it's better that they do it now, while I'm still in
Toronto.  I wouldn't be able to afford the trip back anyway."  Jane
opened the door, still staring at the paper in her hand.  "Now, all I
have to do is persuade Louise to give me the time off.  Still, it's
not like they can fire me.  I've already given my notice."

"Jane?"  Sarah's voice pierced the haze of planning that had taken
over Jane's mind.  "There's a call for you."

"Take a message.  Tell them I've left.  Tell them I died."  Jane
smiled widely.  If there was a war, then the Ravens would be gathering
... all of them.

"It's Cynthia."

"Oh.. umm... is anyone using the main boardroom?"

"No.  I'll put her through in there."  Waving one hand vaguely in the
direction of the boardroom, Sarah answered the three lines that had
started to ring.

Jane closed the boardroom doors, then picked up the phone.  "Hi."

****
Cynthia Hoffman <choff@violet.berkeley.edu>

The calendar would be the end of her, Cynthia griped to herself while
sorting the mail.  30 days plus five for mailing, means if it was sent
out on July 25 they had until August 19 to respond ... and to think,
she used to believe her checkbook balance was the only unknown she had
to solve for every month.  Blast discovery anyway.

The shadow of someone leaning over her desk interrupted her internal
diatribe.  She had just launched into her automatic "the receptionist
is the desk by the door" speech when she heard:  "Telegram for Cynthia
Hoffman."

That did it.  No more docketing for now.  Her fingers and toes needed
a break anyway.  "That's me" she stated to the uniform in front of
her. "Where do I sign?"

Five minutes and two phone calls later, all that remained to show that
she had ever been at work that morning was a sticky note on her
computer screen which read:

        Emergency takes me to Toronto a week earlier than planned.
        Sorry for the inconvenience.

                                                Cynthia

The mail, along with the discovery calendar, were now someone else's
headache.  And Jane would be waiting for her at Pearson when she
landed.

-------------------

Tara O'Shea  Raven1228@aol.com

__________________________________________________

Subj:     No Subject
Date:     96-07-26 20:57:43 EDT
From:     janette@fashion.com (Janette)
To:       Raven1228@aol.com

Come to Toronto.

j

----------------------- Headers --------------------------------

"What, that's it?"  Tara grumbled.  Her clock radio, which had been
transplanted from her bedroom to the living room of her new flat since
the futon that currently served as the couch was closer to the air
conditioning unit, informed her it was 2:17 am.  The message had
arrived some six hours earlier.  Having finally switched from jeans to
nightgown and terry-cloth bathrobe, she was so looking forward to
falling into (onto) bed (the futon).

"How the hell am I going to get to Toronto?" she muttered, rubbing at
her eyes.  Since starting at the Agency, she had worked a sum total of
four full weeks in twice that time, and her funds were stretched far
past the limits of what could be called comfortable. She had spent
quite some time convincing her parents they didn't have to worry about
her.  She was a big girl, college grad and all that, it was time for
her to start acting like an adult.

So how exactly was she going to explain blowing what little monies she
had left on a five hundred dollar plane ticket?

But a summons was a summons.

"Okay, let's think about this. I can fly Air South Chicago to
Columbia, Columbia to Tampa--no, wait, they pulled out of Tampa,
dammit--" she started rationalising as she padded across the hardwood
floor towards her bedroom, and then her eye was caught by a bright red
cardboard shipping envelope perched carefully atop the bills and cds
on the dining room table.  Pouncing on it, she scanned the envelope,
but found no return address, just a shipping label, and a post-it note
from her roommate, who was crashed out in her room.

"This came around 7," Amanda had jotted down, and Tara removed the
sticker and opened the envelope carefully.  A thick envelope bearing
the familiar red maple leaf logo of Air Canada fell out into her hand,
and she shook her head, chuckling.  Snapping open the dot-matrix
printed itinerary, she scanned it while chewing on her bottom lip.

"Air Canada flight 818 departs Chicago at 5:00 pm July 27, arrives
Toronto 7:25 pm," she read aloud.  The return flight was left open.
Tapping the tickets against her palm, she couldn't help smiling.

                              * * *

As the DC-9 waited on the tarmac to be towed to the gate, Tara shifted
her carry on to her lap, pulling out her compact and studying her
reflection. Above the sand coloured silk blouse, she wore no make-up
except for lipstick.  Her brown eyes were only slightly red from lack
of sleep, behind the glasses.  She'd spent the day packing, and making
quick excuses to friends and family, and then hadn't slept a wink.
She tucked her fine black hair behind her ears, but the shortest layer
still fell forward. Her hairdresser's now half-grown-out-and-even-
decent attempt at a "Friends" cut six months earlier was actually
starting to grow on her, though occasionally she missed the Tori-red
'do'.  She hoped it wouldn't throw whoever was meeting her at the
airport for a loop.   Looking back, she realised that each time she'd
come to Toronto in the past three years, she'd been sporting a
different cut and colour.  *Just call me 'Sybil'.*

Clicking the compact shut, she pulled her customs/immigration form and
US passport from the back pocket of her blue jeans, having them at the
ready. The city beyond the window was just breathing in the first
breath of night, the sky in the west still showing streaks of fire-
touched clouds.  She couldn't help smiling as the Air Canada flight
lurched forward.

She wondered what the war would hold for her this time.

****
Departure - Socrates (Dirk Giles)

<I might as well bring in a cot and sleep here>, Socrates thought to
himself as he surveyed his task list for the next week.  <So much for
a vacation.> He was about to close the list and bring up the first
project when he noticed that the priorities were changing from high to
low and the due dates were being reset to the end of August instead of
the beginning.  Just as he was about to investigate the changes, the
New Mail Notification dialog box popped up and the sound of Janette
saying "Nicolas" the way only she can say it came from the computer
speakers.  <Probably a new task>, Socrates thought to himself as he
saw that the new mail message was from his boss.  *Your trip to the
workshop in Toronto has been approved.  Your plane tickets and car
rental information are at the receptionist's desk.  Have fun!  Jerry*

<What workshop?> Socrates thought.  Pressing the reply button, he was
about to send a message back when Notify went off again.  This time
the message was from Janette@fashion.com.  A shiver went down his
spine as he realized who the new message was from.  *Socrates, your
presence in Toronto is required.  I have made arrangements to enable
you to leave your <work>.  You know where to go.  Janette*

<Sounds like another war.  Better get going.>  The plane ticket was
for that afternoon, and he barely had enough time to pack a bag with
the necessary clothing and tools he thought would be required before
it was time to go. As he settled into his seat on the plane he noticed
that he would be arriving at his destination just after sunset.  <How
appropriate.>

**************
Susan M. Garrett (susang@vitinc.com)

Susan looked at her email box, read the message, blinked, then read it
again.  "Damn.  And I thought I wouldn't have to do this again."  But
after a quick check of her answering machine and her mailbox, she
figured out that she had no good excuse--or at least an excuse that
would be acceptable to the female vampire in Toronto who had sent the
message.

After packing everything she needed in the amazingly-large-and-death-
defying-suitcase (TM) and slinging the laptop over her shoulder, Susan
headed for the airport and the ticket she knew was waiting for her at
the Air Canada ("We get you there when and only when WE want to get
you there") desk with dread in her heart.

Not that she disliked Canada.  It was a nice place to visit--except in
the winter.  But there was a certain task that she was hoping to put
off as long as possible.  She wondered how on earth she was going to
explain to Janette just <why> she was stuck washing Nick's Caddie and
then, in a moment of sanity, realized that it was better not to think
about it.

***********
loreleif@ix.netcom.com (Lorelei Feldman)

   Lorelei downloaded her e-mail, and quickly scanned for the personal
ones. "list, list, another list... more liststuff... huh?  Janette?!" 
She opened it up and read it.  "Hey, great!  Looks like another War is
on!  How Janette manages to swing some of these things, I'll never
know; plane tickets out of Atlanta *now*, on this short notice?"  She
shook her head.  "Hey, *I'm* not complaining; *anything* to get me out
of this city for a few weeks right now! She picked up her suitcase,
still packed from her last jaunt to Chapel Hill, shoved a few more
items of black clothing and her makeup in it, grabbed up her laptop
and typing work ("gotta finish these transcripts for James") and
called the airport limo.  "If ya gotta go, go in style, of course..."
***********
Chris"Croaker" <croaker@servtech.com>

Chris was sitting at the computer, paging through ny.jobs. *How the
heck am I gonna be able to afford this semester? It's not like I'm
going to find -work- at this date....* He sighed, and paged on
through, then switched windows to his email. *Maybe someone wants to
buy the  economics book. That'd be a little cash, at least.*

There was only one email waiting for him, however, from
'janette@fashion.com'. *Janette? Oh, just -wonderful-... lemme guess,
she's either passing through, or needs a computer geek  somewhere.*
Sure enough, the message said to 'Come to Toronto'. "Well, hell. I'll
just tell mom and dad I found work in Toronto."

Then the email qweeped at him again. "What, more? Nope... not
Janette....Renimar? What's he up to? Oh... work in Toronto. They want
someone to do pascal programming? Cool... the dates are just right...
I'll have to 'borrow' the laptop, but that won't be a problem."

Within the hour, he was packed and in the car, heading for Toronto.
He'd be there before dawn. "Heck. At least I've lost weight. And the
shoppers will appreciate the car."

** Renimar is not a part of the War, he's just a friend of mine who
   lives near Toronto.


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


To Make a Dulcet and Heavenly Sound (1/3)
Friday August 26th/Saturday August 27th, 1996

**5:30 AM Eastern Standard Time**

Birds were chirping.

It was definitely FAR too early to be awake, or to just be arriving at
home.

A very exhausted Candice walked through the front door of her parent's
home on Long Island.  She started removing the various vestments of
the night's needs on her way up the stairs, threw the stilettos and
leather bits on the chair in front of her computer,

.......barely registering that the light on her answering machine was
blinking, and collapsed into bed.

**11:30 AM Eastern Standard Time**

...and just as his hands were sliding down the sides of her dress to
the very short hem line, the alarm went off.  Candice rose with a
bolt, breathless when she saw how late it was.

"Crap, I'm late for work!"  She rolled out of bed, threw on khaki
shorts and a tee shirt, hurled herself into her beloved Jeep, and sped
down off in the direction of New York City.

The answering machine was still blinking when she left.

**8:30 PM Eastern Standard Time**

The Jeep chugged and bounced back to it's resting place in front of
her parent's house.  She turned the car off and slumped over the
wheel, limp and tired.

Candice looked out over the hood of her car and thanked whatever god
out there was watching her -no one in white make-up had attached
themselves to the front bumper.  She could have sworn she'd knocked a
few on their collective arses when she blew her air-horn in front of
Madison Square Garden......friggin pedestrians....

"CANDI!!!  TEL-E-PHOOOONNNEE!!!" -the shout rang out over the sweet
peace and quite of the suburban neighborhood.  Apparently her little
sister, Becky, had heard the Jeep pull up when she answered the phone.
Candice groaned and grabbed her briefcase from the passenger seat, and
ran inside to grab the call.

 "Got it Bec!"

-a click on the line told Candice that her sister wasn't listening in,
so it was safe to talk.  She threw her briefcase on the counter and
headed to the fridge for a drink.

"Yeah hi, this is Candice."

"Evenin' Candice."

The voice was smooth and controled, but it wasn't anyone she
recognized. Puzzled, she started to worry.

"Who is this?..." anxiously she started to pace the kitchen floor.

"What, you mean you didn't get my messages?"  The voice sounded
slightly affronted and insulted, "I even tried calling you at work but
it seems your voice-mail is off-line."

Candice ran up the flight of steps to her room and finally noticed the
blinking answering machine.  She pressed play and her mouth went dry.

"Rr..r..Ron?...," her voice, barely a whisper.

"Heh, yup, that's me.  The one and only.  So are you coming or what?"


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


To Make a Dulcet and Heavenly Sound 2/3
by: Cousin Candice
time: directly after part 1

Candice stared at the phone in twitching shock.  Yes twitching.

//How could he have gotten my number?// she thought as the rest of her
mind raced, trying to figure out the details of the excuse to take a
trip to Toronto.  Her mind came to a screeching halt when she
remembered what being and employee of HBO meant:

Taking Trips To Meet Other Executives for Final Decisions on Various
Pieces.

 At least that's what her boss told her every time he went out to L.A.
and Chicago.  She picked up the phone and quite calmly said

"Yes.  Shall I meet you some place?"

Ron was just walking in the door to the Die Hard HQ.  He grinned like
a fool at the thought of asking her to meet him there -man would she
be pissed!!  His grin got even wider when his eyes traveled over the
length of the black leather couch. //Naaah, she'd like that *too*
much..//

"Hmm, tell you what.  Why don't we meet at the bar, say Monday at
midnight?"  Candice had to think for a moment.  She almost asked which
bar, but caught herself -she was almost ashamed of her stupidity.

"What bar, indeed.." she muttered on her way up the stairs to her own
room.

"What was that?"  Ron had heard what Candice said, but was in too good
of a mood to be a pester.

"Oh nothing, just trying to figure out what to pack, that's all.  So
midnight on Monday?  Sounds good, gotta go!"

<click>

Candice's heart was racing, but she was pulling things methodically
out of her closets and drawers and throwing them into her two
suitcases.  She looked over her bags one last time and threw the
leather and ..other things.. into the case when her mother walked in.

 "Can-can?  Where're you going?"

 "Oh, didn't I tell you when you were at the Pro-Shop?  Yeah, remember
I called you fom work and told you Pierre's taking me with him to
Toronto?"

"He *is*?  Oh Candi that's GREAT!  Ohmygawd, PEEETTEEERR!! CANDI'S
going away with her BOSS!!"

"Huh?" her father grunted from the kitchen.

Her mother advanced into her room and began asking all sorts of
questions but stopped when Candice gave her the Mom-I-Need-To-Get-
Going-Now Look.

"Oh," she looking a little defeated, "well then where can I drive
you?"

Candice paused again, how was she going to get there?  There wasn't a
chance in HELL she was getting on an airplane.  Ever since Flight 800
went down 2 miles south of her friend's house while she was visiting,
Candice's views of air travel and safety had decreased signifigantly.

"Umm..we're taking Amtrak up to Niagara Falls and then a limo's
meeting us and taking us right into the heart of Toronto.  So if you
could take me back to the station, I'd really appreciate it, mom."

Candice zipped up her luggage, threw her newly aquired dagger and
knife (family heirlooms) into her backpack, strapped her bokken to her
bag (hey, you never know when you'll need a good wooden sword...) and
climbed into the minivan.

As soon as she said her goodbyes to her mother, Candice pulled out her
new Nokia (the old one got smashed by a hard drive ..don't ask) and
speed-dialed Stu at the office on 42nd and 6th.

"Yeah."

"Hey Stu, s'me Candi."

"Oh hey Candi!  I was just thinking about you..."

"Yeah I'll just bet you were ya dirty ole man.  Listen I'd love to
make you all hot and bothered, but I don't have the time now -can you
do me a larger than life favor?"

"Well, there's no one left on the floor to incriminate me, so shoot."

"Can you book me on the next Amtrak to Niagara Falls, book me a room
in some hotel in Toronto and maybe wire me a little cash there?"

The desperation in her voice must have come through with the added
strain of timing, because Stu started babbling into the phone about
trouble and parents etc. etc. etc.  Candice started making her way
through Penn Station for the first time that day, pushing past stoned
teenagers, beggars, and other commuters and remembered why she had
started driving into the city.

"No, no Stu, I swear it's nothing like that at all.  Really.  I just
didn't have the time to make arrangements for myself for this
particular meeting -it was kinda last minute."

"Well do you have the lap-top from here with you?"  Stu had calmed a
little and had picked up the other line that ran into his office.  He
dialed Amtrak and started making the transaction over the touch-tone
phone -the only good thing about automated answering these days was
ticket reserve.

"Yeah I've got it in my backpack, along with the sketches for the ad."

Stu hung up the other line.  "Alright, you're set -and I'm having a
car meet you at the station, no if's and's or but's, am I understood
young lady?"

Candice stopped laughing long enough to thank Stu and mutter something
about wanna-be fathers.  "I'll e-mail you when I get there, alright
Pops?"

"Heh, do that -I'll feel better about you not being at your so-called
meeting that way."

Candice arrived at the ticket window, got her pass and headed for the
train.

"Thanks again, Stuart, really.  I'll call.  Bye."

<click>


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


Knight of the Living Dead
by Catherine Boone and Perri Smith

Part One

July 27, 1996 -- 12:01 a.m.
Approx. two months after Last Knight
Pasadena, California


"Oh my dear lord.  What the hell is that?"

"What?"

"That."

"That? Oh, that's LJC after the Ton o' Tuna incident in New York,
during the third war."

"Ah, so that's the famous Ton o' Tuna, huh?  Dang, and here I thought
that story couldn't get any more impressive... What about this?"

"Oh. That's the Cousins after LJC's revenge. You can see a couple
Knighties snickering in the background."

"Silly String? Hah! I love it!"

"Yup. Cool, no?"

"Cool, yes! Wish I'd thought of it. And this?"

"Ummmm.... oh, that's all of the Knighties at the premiere of that
episode we sabotaged, fourth war. There's Nick in the middle, hiding."

"Uh... looks more like you're the one hiding, dear."

"Yeah, well, that too. Most of us were hiding at that point."

"Hey, here's everyone cleaning up the loft after the NatPack trashed
it."

"And here's everyone cleaning up the loft after the Cousins trashed
it."

"And here's everyone cleaning up the loft after the Knighties trashed
it. I think we did the best job, don't you?"

"Oh, absolutely.  The s'mores in the carpet were an inspired touch.
It's a wonder Nick didn't kill us himself.  He looked like he was
going to."

"Nah, he'd put too much effort into saving us."

"True. Fortunately."

Cath and Perri stopped talking suddenly and shared a long silence
before they turned the last page in the photo album. At the top was
the picture of the two of them at the airport with Nick, grinning like
fools and  hugging him goodbye, at the end of the fifth war.  Then
there were the  clippings from the Toronto Sun, already starting to
yellow. 'Police Detective, Coroner Missing.' 'Double Disappearance
Follows Death of Officer; Police Suspect Foul Play.' 'No Leads in
Disappearance; Detective, Coronor Presumed Dead.'

"I wish we'd known, last time..." Perri sighed, touching one of the
clippings lightly.

"That it would be the last time?" Cath echoed the sigh and smiled
sadly at her own face, only a few short months ago. "I don't." She
turned her make sure Perri wasn't watching her, and bit her lip.  "I
don't think I would've been able to leave... y'know?"

"Yeah. Me neither. But we had a helluva dance while it lasted." Perri
closed the photo album gently and stretched out on the floor of Cath's
apartment. It had been a bad couple of months for losing friends, she
reflected, fighting back tears. "This really sucks. Bad enough that he
lets everyone in Toronto think he's dead, but then he leaves without
even saying good-bye..."

"Yeah. He could have at least told us he was okay, that he was
leaving, something, *anything*."

"And he *is* okay."

Cath hesitated a tiny moment.  "Right. He's fine. Just *really*
inconsiderate."

Perri noticed, but ignored it through long practice.  They both knew
how the other felt, as well as the fact that either could be right,
and that odds were that neither would ever find the truth. *Are we a
couple of  Mulders, or what?*  She grinned weakly at the thought.
"Absolutely."

The phone rang just them, jolting them out of the silence before it
could become another in their long string of self-pity marathons.
"It's probably Dianne," Cath said, grabbing it before any of her
housemates could. "Knightie Angst Central."

"Catherine?"

Perri watched her friend's eyes widen. The phone slipped out of numb
fingers as Cath continued to stare blankly at her. She sat up,
watching with concern, waiting for Cath to say something.  But all she
did was tear her eyes from her face to the receiver on the floor,
looking at it as if she expected it to come to life, or something.

Little did Perri know that that was *exactly* what Cath was waiting
for. Phones coming to life? Hell, why not?  Everything else was.

Suddenly she realized Perri was waiting for her to say something.  She
pointed accusingly at the phone, and tried a tirade, but all that came
out was "N--N--."

"Cath?"

Perri's question came at the same time as the voice on the phone. Cath
was still voiceless; Perri, losing patience, took the phone from her.
"Who the hell is this?" she demanded.

"Perri? Good, you *are* there -- your parents said you would be."

Perri felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her as white as
Catherine, but slightly more coherent. "Ni-- Nick?"

"Yeah, it's me. Look, I know it's been a while, but..."

Both of the women got their voices back at about the same time, with
about the same initial reaction. Which was still mostly incoherent,
but quite vehement. On the other end of the line, Nick jerked the
phone away from his ear before their joint howls of rage could break
his eardrum. He'd been right, he thought calmly. They were upset.

He waited for them to calm down, knowing it wouldn't take too long.
Cath kept time with Perri as she flew through French and Russian,
started  repeating herself in German, and finally stuck to English
while Perri switched without warning into something that sounded like
Spanish, but Cath couldn't say for sure.

Nick sat patiently through it all, but when at last Cath was starting
to sound pretty breathless and Perri was sounding like she would break
into Pig Latin at any moment, he decided enough was enough.

"Perri! Catherine!" he yelled.

They stopped. After a short scuffle on the other end, there was the
click of another extension being picked up and they were all on the
line. Both women decided to stick to stony silence, leaving Nick to
speak first.

"So you two are, uh, pretty mad at me, huh?"

*Gee, Nick, do ya think?* Cath saw the muscles in Perri's jaw start to
work. "Yeah," she said hastily, before Perri could explode again. "We
thought you were gone, Nick.  Maybe even dead. You didn't even tell us
you were leaving." Not a little accusation crept into her own voice.

"I know, I'm sorry. Things were... a little confused."

"It wasn't exactly skittles and beer for us either, thinking we were
never going to see you again," Perri said, her voice tight. "This was
not fun, Nick."

"I know." He was at least sounding guilty, Cath noticed, raising her
eyebrows at Perri. Perri nodded -- she heard it too. "I promise I'll
explain everything to both of you -- to all of you -- but I... need a
favor, first."

The two exchanged glances again, their shared brain kicking in out of
sheer habit. The message was something along the lines of '...cold day
in hell.' "What's the favor?" Perri sing-songed sarcastically.

Nick winced. "I need you to go to Toronto. I... left something in the
loft that's very important and I need you two to get it and send it to
me. When you do, I'll promise I'll explain everything."

Cath's eyebrows lifted. "You let us spend two months thinking you're
gone and running up huge long distance bills so we could cry on each
other's shoulders, wonder if you're all right, and  why you didn't
care enough to to make one lousy phone call to us. Then you *do* call,
calmly inform us you're fine, and ask us to go to Toronto for you. And
we should do this because....?"

Nick sighed audibly. This was going to be even harder than he'd
thought. "Because I need a favor and the Knighties are the only ones I
can trust. There's no one else I can go to."

Perri and Catherine winced simultaneously -- guilt worked both ways.
"Why can't you go?" Perri demanded, taking the offensive back.

"I have reasons to avoid Toronto right now," Nick said grimly.
"Please, will you two go? I'll pay your plane tickets, of course."

"Of course," the women echoed, exchanging a last set of looks. "What
is wrong with this picture?" Cath complained quietly.

"Probably that we're going to do it," Perri muttered, conceding
defeat.


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


Ear-li In The Morn-ing
by Catherine Boone
catheboo@cco.caltech.edu

5am, the 27th.
NOTE: the post before this, A Crusade of Knighties, has been moved
from 10am to 2am.  (So we don't proofread well.  Sue us.)

After three hours of sleep, Catherine was dragged kicking and
screaming back to consciousness by the sound of some godawful racket
coming from the window.  Without even cracking an eye, she listened
for a moment. Nope, not Nick.  The boy may snore, but he at least
doesn't span three octaves when he does it.  This was much more the
cat-mutilation sound, rather than the earthquake sound.  Which means
that it actually deserved investigation, rather than just opening the
blinds till the sounds stopped.  *Dammit.*

Catherine hauled herself off the floor of the loft, getting only
slightly tangled up in her sleeping bag in the process, and stumbled
out to the window, stepping gingerly over Perri.  *Well, one of us
should get our sleep.  Not good for both halves to be zonked at the
same time.*

As she peered out the window, Courtney appeared from behind her.  "I
think they're actually trying to play something."  She looked
dubiously over Catherine's shoulder at the leather-clad and heavily
painted group creating their own little wall of noise.

Catherine smiled, still watching them.  "Are you sure?  Besides, I
thought you liked this kind of music."

Courtney looked heavily disgusted.  "Don't even *try* to equate Nine
Inch Nails to those.. people down there.  Trent Reznor is cool."

"Hey, Trent *is* cool.  Who says different?" Suzanne came up behind
them, rubbing her eyes.

"I say.  Is that what that racket is?"  Scottie sat up on her mattress
in the center of the floor.

"No."  Catherine smiled at Courtney as Suzanne started explaining the
finer points of Nine Inch Nails to Scottie.  Suddenly, her brain
engaged the fact that it was about five in the morning.  "What are you
doing up, anyway?"

"My first meeting is in a few hours, so rather than try to get up at
seven, I just chugged some Dew when everyone else went to bed, and
started going through the more interesting stuff on Nick's shelves.  I
figure I'll crash sometime around noon, after the conference is done
for the day."

"Courtney, you have the most psychotic sleep schedule."  She couldn't
help chuckling.  "Have you cleaned him out yet?"

"Nope.  First guy I've ever actually met who has more books than me." 
A particularly discordant blast assaulted them, and Courtney turned
back with a grimace to look down at the alley below them.  "So, are
you gonna do anything about these losers, or do I have to pull out the
earplugs when I get back?"

Catherine looked slyly at Courtney, then at the small group of
Knighties looking either sleepy or annoyed, depending, then at the
band in the alley.  "You got some extra sets of those earplugs?" she
asked innocently.

Courtney wasn't even beginning to be fooled, as she glanced
apprehensively at her friend.  "Yeah, I could only find them at Trader
Joe's, extra-humungo economy size... why?"

"Coolness.  Be back in a sec."  Catherine grinned and promptly walked
out into the elevator, still clad only in her extra-long nightshirt,
and sent it down.  Now curious, Courtney watched her tromp right up to
the lead singer, one hand over her ear, the other making a cutting
motion across her throat.  They spoke for a moment, then the singer
nodded warily.  Catherine brightened considerably, and was talking
animatedly for a little while.  The singer looked uncertain, then
Catherine suddenly pointed up at the window, where Courtney was
looking out.

Courtney waved, and she knew it was too late to dive out of sight.  So
she gritted her teeth and hesitantly waved back, while the rest of the
band joined in.  The only thing she could think was *What on earth is
she doing?*, quickly followed by *and how soon can I kill her?*

"What on earth is she doing?" Scottie looked over Courtney's shoulder,
giving a little wave of her own.

Courtney shook her head.  "If I knew, I would have stopped her before
she left."

Catherine jogged back to the warehouse entrance, carefully avoiding
the broken glass of the alleyway.  Just as she opened the elevator
door, mere moments before Courtney attacked her for her little
display, the band started up in its next song.

Well, they weren't Trent Reznor, but hey, they tried hard, she'd give
them that.

Apparently they were good enough to satisfy Courtney, anyway, as a
huge grin spread across her face, and she raced back to the window to
watch happily.  They even got some of his performing right.  Kinda.
Suzanne gave a little cry of joy, and said trimphantly to the room at
large, "*That* is Nine Inch Nails."

Catherine looked to Courtney, and mouthed "eaplugs?" over the din.
The other nodded, and dug a packet out of her bag.  Catherine calmly
passed around earplugs to those who were still awake, a few politely
declining, not wanting to miss a live concert of NIN, even if it was
only impersonators.

Courtney looked back to Catherine, who was busy brushing the dirt off
her feet before she crawled back in her sleeping bag.  "Thanks,
Catherine."

"I figured you'd like something a little more tolerable to keep you
awake till you have to leave."  She smiled.  "Just keep the moshing in
the kitchen, okay?"

Courtney looked offended.  "I do *not* mosh."

Suzanne winked, "I do," and hopped off to the kitchen, already
bouncing to the rhythm.

Catherine's smile just got wider as she watched Suzanne, then turned
back to Courtney.  "Right.  Well, don't let any of the countertops
leap up and bash you in the forehead then.  Cool?"

"Cool.  See you tomorrow."

"G'night."  Catherine had learned a long time ago how to sleep through
Trent, even without earplugs, and was out like a light.


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


Knight of the Living Dead (2/3)
by Cath Boone and Perri Smith

Toronto, Quebec
July 27, 1996, 6:53 a.m.

The elevator door slid open easily, despite the fact that it hadn't
been opened in more than a month. Fortunately, no one had bothered to
change the code on the lock -- either Perri or Cath could punch it in
blindfolded.

All of the furniture was still in place, from the leather couch to the
refrigerator, but someone had covered everything with sheets. The same
someone had tried to clean up the fingerprint dust, but black residue
still clung to almost every surface.

"Myra?" Perri guessed out loud.

"Probably. We'll have to see if we can check on her, tell Nick how she
and Jenny are doing." She decidedly avoided the concept of Natalie.

"Yeah." Both of them knew the only reason for the conversation was to
keep from having to go into the loft, but they ran out of banal things
to say. They took the first step in.

Perri tried a light switch, but the power was off; the only
illumination came from the sunlight sneaking through the dirty
skylight. "Tell me again why a vampire has a skylight?"

Cath shrugged -- it was an age-old question they were never going to
get answered. "Probably for the same reason he has a stove. Do you
think the remote will work?"

"Not if the power's off." Perri rumaged in one of her bags and pulled
out the flashlights, tossing one across the room for Cath to catch.
"Come on, let's start looking."

"It'd be bad news if the cops found it when they were searching."

"Don't even think it -- besides, he said it was hidden."

"Right."

They knew most of the hiding places in the loft, and Nick had revealed
a few more on the phone. Behind the paintings (Perri winced away from
the blood on the huge sun painting she had always loved), in the
cubbyhole beside where the entertainment center had been, in the false
panel underneath the bar. The search took two hours -- with no results
except the discovery of a colony of dustbunnies under Nick's bed and a
spare set of keys to the Caddy.

"Well, hell." Perri stood in the center of the room, swinging her
flashlight around as if she's spot their goal laying on top of a table
or counter. "Dammit, how many places can you hide one little black
book?"

"It's a brown book."

"Don't get technical."

"Actually, since it's got all his bank numbers in it, it should be a
green book."

"It's got phone numbers in it, too."

"Whatever." Cath collapsed on the still-covered couch with a heavy
exhale. The couch squeaked underneath her weight. "We've torn this
place apart, where else could it be?"

Perri sprawled next to her. "Maybe the cops got it. We'll have to go
to the station and find out."

Cath laughed. "Oh, and they're just going to hand police evidence over
to us?"

Perri let her head roll onto the back of the couch. "Remember how many
times we called the station last war -- half the cops there know our
voices. And Amy and I got introduced to Tracy as friends of the family
-- Nick said he used the same cover to explain all those APB's to
Reese. We might be able to pull it off."

"Yeah, maybe." Cath didn't sound convinced. "I always wanted to know
what Nick kept in his desk anyway."

"Good. Let's take the Caddy, we need to search it anyway."

"Man, Nick's going to regret leaving those keys."

***********

Toronto Police Department, 96th Precinct
Same day,10:31 a.m.

"I can't believe Reese bought it."

"I can," Perri grinned somewhat guiltily. "That nice man was so
relieved to find out Nick actually had friends who missed him, he
would have let us in if we were green and scaly. Besides, we *are* the
only family Nick's got, unless you count LaCroix or Janette. Which I
don't."

"True. Want this box or that one?"

"That one."

They tore neatly into the boxes of evidence; Reese had asked them to
be careful since the investigation was still ongoing, but he hadn't
sounded like he had much hope of solving the case. Both of them had
had to fight back to urge to tell him Nick was alive; both had
resisted the impulse.

"Let's see, here's the picture of LaCroix, here's a plaque or
something --oh, Lord, it's the Partners of the Month plaque. Oh,
here's a notebook --nope, it's a spiral." Cath flipped through it
quickly, paused at one page and gaped.  "Good *lord*!" At Perri's
questioning glance, Cath snapped shut the spiral and said only,
"Remind me never to buy an old Cadillac.  I could practically live on
what that man spent on gas."

"Old case file, computer disks, tea bags -- tea bags? Must have been
Natalie."

"Paper, paper, electric bill -- this explains why there's no power --,
note from Tracy, more paper, form he never got around to filling out
from the Blackwing case--"

"Don't mention that name to me. Ick, what's this?"

"I think it used to be coffee."

"What'd he do, keep the same cup filled with the same coffee for six
years?"

"Smells like." Cath finished with her box and replaced the lid.
"Nothing but junk."

"Nada," Perri concluded. "Where are the evidence boxes from his
apartment?"

"Reese said they were around here somewhere." It took them less than a
minute to locate the boxes, and half an hour to go through them. The
only thing they accomplished was Perri breaking a nail.

"What now?" Cath asked with a defeated sigh.

Perri shrugged, examining her nail with a disgusted expression that
didn't quite hide her concern. "Beats me. Where else is there to
look?"

"The Raven? The church? The possibilities are almost endless."

"We can't even stick our noses in the church without being spotted,
much less the Raven. And there's no way we can cover any kind of
ground with only the two of us."

"So we yell for help. Discreetly. Nick's going to kill us, though."

"Your point being?"

Cath considered. "Right. Let's go."

"The phone at Nick's place is turned off, same as the electric and the
water."

"Payphone, payphone... oh man, let's just go to the Happy Souvlaki,
the FoDs don't have anything against us."

"Yet."


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


Fashionably Late, As Usual (1/1)
(Subtitled: Cousin Will Stumbles Into...Quebec?)

Saturday, July 27, 1996, 7:00 a.m.
Toronto, ONTARIO ... which is still in Canada, the last time that I
checked. :-)


The radio woke him up with a start.

"What the devil...?", Cousin Will tried unsuccessfully to mumble to
himself, only to realise that he was still too tired to speak, much
less *think* that particular thought.

<Now why in GOiD's name did I wake up this early?>.  He stumbled
around, found his official Rameses Shriners' Sauu Nessu Unit day timer
calendar <what a mouthful!>, and fingered through the pages... <July
27, now where is that...?>

"OH GOOD HEAVENS!", he yelped!  "I have to meet Cousin Julie at the
airport at 10:00am!".

Flying (so to speak) out of his room, he rushed to the kitchen and
inhaled his Quaker Oatmeal in less than two minutes.  The next stop
was the bathroom, whereupon he even broke his usual habit of taking
forever in the shower <"See Mommy, I even wash behind my ears",
suddenly remembering his childhood>.  Seconds later, it was back to
the bedroom to dress up.

"OH NO!!!  IT'S NINE O'CLOCK ALREADY!?!?!?!?" <...but I just got out
of bed a minute ago>.  Convinced that the Time Lords were out to get
him and that no matter how early he got up, he'd always be running
late, he continued his morning flight into the err, cockpit of his
brand new Chevy Corsica.  <Geez, I was never this concerned with cars
when I had my Buick...?  Waaaah!  I miss my Buick!>.  Of course, the
damn thing had almost *killed* him when it finally gave out - to wit:
part of the engine *blew up* - but he missed his beloved Subversive
Black Buick Century anyway.

In seconds, Cousin Will was off...thankfully, the Saturday morning
traffic had been merciful.  Even Highway 401 near the massive
construction near Dixon Road didn't slow him down too much <Whew!>.
Within minutes, he arrived at the airport and was pulling his car into
yet another expensive parking spot.  <Ugh!>.

"OH DAMN, IT'S TEN AFTER TEN!!", Will blurted out, seeing the display
on his car radio as he was about to pull his key from the ignition.
<Oh no, those people over there heard me and are looking at me
funny...I really have to do something about this habit of talking to
myself...at least I haven't gotten any answers from myself yet>.  He
smiled with that peculiar smile that only comes naturally to Cousins.

His heart was beating at a thousand miles per second, but he knew that
there would be no rest until he found his fellow Cousin.  He sprinted
through a door into the arrivals level, hoping that he had gone into
the right section.  Miracle of miracles, he saw a woman carrying a
sign saying "Cousin Julie".  He rushed over, quickly introduced
himself, and promptly fell over, panting.

"Hey, what took you so long, Cuz? It's 11:30!"  She looked a little
bit miffed, but was still happy to meet a fellow Cousin.

"You're (pant) kidding, it's (pant) 11:30...but (pant) it was 10:10
when (pant) I found my parking spot...(pant, pant)  Somebody must
(pant) be stealing time or something, good grief!", Will managed to at
least whisper.

"Hey you, take a rest for a minute, then we'll get going."

Two minutes later, Will had managed to stop panting. "Okay, let's be
off".

Just as they were about to walking out of the arrivals area, Cousin
Julie spotted another sign:


"KNIGHTIES MEET HERE.

PERRI AND BOO WELCOME YOU TO TORONTO, QUEBEC".


<Toronto, Quebec?>  Will whispered: "Hey Cousin Julie, put your Cousin
sign away - let's take a look at this!".  Walking over, Will noticed
that nobody was minding the sign.  <That's strange...>.  He then took
a closer look at the sign, and to his horror, he spotted an
inscription in small letters:

"Vive le Quebec Libre!  Vive le Canada dans le Quebec Libre!".
(Long Live a Free Quebec!  Long Live Canada in a Free Quebec!")


Will's face turned pale white.

"What is it, Will?  What is it?", Julie asked, horrified.

"We have to get out of here!  This is too terrible for words!".


Back in Will's car, Julie asked, "What was that all about?".

Will replied, face still deathly pale ... "It all fits together
now...Le Parti Quebecois, Le Bloc Quebecois, and now Perri and
Catherine ... it's terrible.  We have to stop them..."

"What are you talking about, Will?"

"The Knighties...We have to stop the Knighties.  They're plotting to
take over Canada for Quebec.  Their first target is Toronto.  THEY
MUST BE STOPPED!!!"


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


I Love it When Plan B Comes Together

by Kelly S. Gritten, Jill Kirby, Jamie Melody Randell, Jaime Kohles,
and Jennie Hayes.


"I think we've got a problem,"  Karen's voice sounded rather worried.

Amy sat up, almost pulling the phone off the table.  "What problem?"

"I just saw a couple of Knighties on the street.  They were headed
into the precinct.  They're the ones you and Jennie have all the
pictures of."

"Knighties we have lots of pictures of?  Hmmm...must be Perri..." Amy
mused, "and maybe Scottie?"

"I'm not sure, but they looked like they meant business," Karen
replied, "and if their business interferes with our...project, it
could be *big* trouble."

"Thanks.  We're just getting ready to move our stuff to the 'Natpack
hostel', as Lynn has already started calling it.  Maybe you can head
over there after work?  We need to meet and talk about this,"  Amy
said decisively.

"OK, will do.  See you later!"

Amy hung up the phone and turned to Jennie.  "We have trouble,
possibly. Karen just saw a couple of Knighties downtown.  She's not
sure which ones they are, but they looked like they were on business,
and they were heading into the precinct."

"Oh, oh.  We don't want anything to possibly draw attention to our
activities, I hope they don't cause too much of a ruckus.  Maybe
they're just up here to look for Nick, and since he's not around, they
might leave right away again,"  Jennie suggested hopefully.

"And maybe pigs will fly,"  Amy shot back.  "You don't really think
that, do you?  It's horribly optimistic, even for you!"

Jennie sighed.  "Plan B?"

"I think that might be wise.  We put it in place for a reason, after
all. This might just be it.  And it can't hurt.  We don't really have
to do this for much longer, anyhow."  Amy pointed out.

"OK, I'll get my address book and get started.  Can you find the
others and let them know?"  Jennie asked.

Amy signed 'OK' and headed down the dormitory hallway towards the
other Natpackers' rooms.

Jennie dug in her purse and found her little book, then began dialing.
"Sharon?  Hi.  It's time - there are Knighties snooping around town.
We're putting out the call.  Can you make it?"

*****

Location: Jaime's house, Salt Lake City, UT
Time: Saturday, July 27  1:30 pm

Jaime was already on the phone planning her next "let's go out and
dance with strangers" night with her best friend, Kayleen, when the
call waiting clicked.

"Hang on, Kay, I've got another call.  Hello?"

"Jaime?  It's getting crowded up here with suspiciously familiar
faces.  I think we're gonna need help."

"Oh, my God.  I'll be there in a few hours. How many groups have
already arrived?"

"We've seen Knighties, but we checked around and several members of
other factions seem to be missing so I expect we may be seeing
Cousins, Mercs and Vaqueros as well.  And Perkulators.  Becky
apparently headed out on a trip today."

"Then I'd best hurry.  Make sure there's room for me wherever we're
staying.  See you in a few."

<click>

"Kay?  Gotta go, there's trouble.  I'll keep you posted."

And with that Jaime hung up the phone and made a beeline for the
airport.

*****
Jamie MR, the Webgoddess and Listmommy, stepped out of her golden
chariot... actually, it was a Toronto streetcar; she missed the last
step, stumbled and fell half a foot to the ground.

"Owch," she commented, examining the scraped patches on her knees.

She limped up Yonge Street to the Second Cup, ordered herself a large
cappucino, spent the next ten minutes heaping brown sugar and cream
and cinnamon into the drink, then seated herself at one of the outdoor
tables. Listening to a street musician play rock music, she lit a
cigarette and inhaled happily, then began to clean and bandage her
knees with the first-aid supplies she'd picked up at the drugstore
along the way.

In the last few weeks, she'd gone coast-to-coast riding the Dawg,
visiting friends from one side of the U.S. to the other, and though it
had been a lovely trip, she'd never quite recovered; she was tired, a
little dizzy, definitely somewhat frayed around the edges.

But she was in Toronto.  And that was cool.

She sipped at her cappucino happily, occasionally pausing to lick foam
off the end of the straw.


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


Knight of the Living Dead (3/3)
by Cath Boone, Perri Smith and the Knighties

Toronto, Quebec -- The Happy Souvlaki Deli
July 27, 1996, 12:00 p.m.

*****

The ring of the phone echoes through the stable; Marg got it by the
second one.

"Marg? It's Cath. Can you meet us at the loft in a few minutes?"

Marg blinked. "The loft? What are you doing...?"

"Meet us there and we'll explain!"

Marg shrugged. "I'll be there in an hour."

*******

Sandra was reading her downloaded email when the phone rang. She
picked it up and said, "Hello?"

"Sandra?  It's Perri."

Sandra clutched the phone a bit tighter and frowned slightly. Perri
Smith?  Why was she calling?  They hadn't had much contact since the
last war and none since Nick...  She blinked. But all that came out of
her mouth was a perplexed, "Yeah?"

"How soon can you get to the loft?"

"Nick's loft?"

"Of course, Nick's loft."

"I don't understand.  Isn't he...?"  She couldn't say the word *dead*.

"No, of course not.  Can you come?"

Sandra let out a huge breath.

"Sandra?  You okay?"

"Yeah.  I'm just glad I was sitting down."  She sighed and then said,
"I'll have to make some arrangements for taking care of Amanda and get
back to you.  But I'll try to get there as soon as I can."

*****

Marcia was getting ready to go on-line when the phone rang, almost
startling her out of her upholstered rocking chair. "Hello," she
answered it, retrieving her track ball with her other hand.

"Marcia? It's Cath."

"Cath, hi, what's up?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. The short version is that we
heard from Nick, you were right, he's fine, but he needs us in
Toronto. Can you come?"

Marcia thought about it for all of three seconds. "Who'll meet me at
the airport?"

"Marg. See you at the loft."

******

"Katrinka? How soon can you come to Toronto?"

Katrinka studied the pile of work in front of her, calculated how far
she could push her professor, and decided. "Tonight."

"Good." Cath hung up and Katrinka instantly dialed the phone again.
Time to call in that trip her uncle kept offering...

******

"Scottie? It's Perri."

Scottie sat down. "Let me guess. Another war."

"Please God, I hope not," Perri sighed, "but with our luck, it will
be. How soon can you get to Toronto?"

"As long as no one bricks me into my house, I should be there tonight.
Is Nick paying?"

"Natch."

*******

"Amy, stop playing with your nephew and get to Toronto."

*******

Courtney sighed as she stared at her computer screen. "Stupid *@#!!
array processing!" she muttered darkly.  Her Matlab program was being
particularly uncooperative today.  She was just about to spitefully
give the hp workstation a good thump when the phone rang.  "Drat!"

She frantically searched though drifts of papers that had accumulated
on her desk. "Where is the darn thing?"  She climbed over a pile of
textbooks and found the phone hidden on its side behind an obsolete
circuit board.

"Hello, this is Courtney..."

"Courtney!!! Hey, you need to come to Toronto!"

"Uh...Catherine? Is that you?"

"Yup!  Come to Toronto!  Come... *come* to Toronto..."  she repeated
in her best spooky ghost voice.

"What? Why?"  Courtney managed.

"Well, um, you can, ah, see the sights!" she grinned.  "Yeah."
Catherine was sick of repeating the same thing over and over to
various Knighties, so she was drawing things out a little.

There was a brief silence on Courtney's end of the phone, and then she
said in her best Norwegian accent, "See the loveli lakes..."

It was Catherine's turn to say, "What?"

"The wonderful telephone system..." Courtney continued.

Catherine began to grin.

"And mani interesting furry animals..."

The grin turned into giggles.

"Including the majestik moose..."

Catherine was laughing helplessly.

"A moose once bit a vampire..."

Catherine fell off her chair, a vision of Nick being chomped on by a
moose causing her to lose the last shreds of her composure.

"No realli!  He was Karving his initials..."

Catherine was on the floor, laughing uncontrollably and banging her
head against the wall softly.  Perri, noticing that by this time
absolutely every eye in the Deli was focused on the payphone in the
corner, decided to come to her friend's rescue.  She walked over and
shook her head sadly as she looked  at Catherine.  "Things haven't
even  started yet and you're already cracking up."

Catherine pointed at the phone swinging from its cord, still giggling.
Perri could hear a faint voice coming out of it, saying "Mynd you,
moose bites Kan be pretty nasti..."

Perri picked up the phone.  "Now that you've incapacitated Cath,
here's what's going on..."  Catherine had managed to recover by the
time Perri finished talking to Courtney and hung up. Perri turned to
Catherine. "She's coming. Turns out she has a radar and remote sensing
conference up in Toronto right about now anyway, so her advisor  can
pay for her trip."  Catherine nodded, not quite trusting herself to
speak yet for fear of giggles, and went back to the phone.  What shall
I say to the next Knightie? she thought. A smile spread across her
face,  and she began giggling softly again.  "Wi not trei a holiday in
Toronto  this year?" she muttered, picking up the phone.

*******

"Allison, got air in your tires?"

"Yes."

"Good. How long will it take you to get to Toronto?"

Allison leaned over and snagged a map. The loft was less than an
hour's bike ride from the west side of Toronto, where she was working
on the route for the upcoming charity bike tour." "Not long. What's
up? Is it Nick? Trouble?"

"Too *damn* much, yes, and of course."

*********

"But the Olympics are on!"

"Karin, you can watch them here!"

"Well... all right. For Nick."

"Great. And bring cookies."

*********

"Well, they're coming."

"They are indeed."

"You sure this was a good idea?"

"No. But we have to find that book before anyone else does, or we
really *will* be toast."

"But LaCroix--"

"-- probably isn't even in the city anymore; Nick's just being
paranoid. Anyway, who's going to know we're here?"

"Get real! With this many Knighties, after about three hours the
entire city will know we're here."

"....This was definitely a bad idea."

**********

Okay, Nick's alive, the Knighties are en route and we're sure the rest
of you are already making evil and devious plans. Go to it. <g>


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


How Do You Solve a Problem Like the Merc Guild?
   by Dianne la Mercenaire <Cat.Goddess@pobox.com>
      (Duly Elected Grand High Poohbah of the Forever Knight
       Mercenary Guild, with the aid and on the behalf of the
       20 Merc participants in this, the Seventh FKFIC War.)

[takes place after night of the Living Dead (3/3) ...and before
everything else ;-]




A War had begun, and Merc Central was once again open for business. As
usual, being Mercs-- the only affiliation who followed the Wars
themselves instead of a single figure in them-- they knew it was
coming. They had for some time. It was simply in their blood and in
their bones.

(Oh O.K., it tended to feel more like a slight dizziness and mild
gastric upset, but does that sound _nearly_ as good?)

They were already arriving. Not knowing yet what the conflict actually
was, they nonetheless gathered instinctively at the first hint of
blood in the water....

-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+

Sara was putting the finishing touches on Merc Central. As designated
Merc House Mommy, she not only got to charge rent (we *are* Mercs,
after all!), but she had final say over the accommodations.

But for someone with such power over life, death, and cramped muscles,
she was quite modestly plumping the pillows and making sure there
would be plenty of sweet rolls in the morning and pizza in the
afternoon... keeping the hot tub clean and on... making sure the
coffee pot is working _perfectly_....

-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+

*Mmm, now _this_ is the life,* Abby thought to herself as she leaned
back in Dianne's chair. She swiveled around a couple of times before
she got down to business. The office was perfect. Especially the
window with the view of... Now _why_ are they doing that in public???
*Eeew, I didn't need to see that!*

The computer called to her. It was time. She opened up Windows. *Macs
are better. Macs are better. Macs are better. Windows is evil...*
Hooking into telnet, Abby sent Dianne a message.

_________________
To:  Leavin' on the midnight train <Cat.Goddess@pobox.com>
CC:  You down with the MMG? <VQRW76A@prodigy.com>
Subject:  Spies 'r Us

Hi all.

Due to the delicate nature of spying, I won't be staying at Merc
Central. I'd hate to have the other factions retaliate here. I'll
still be working at the store, but my hours will vary.

When you need me, I'll be around.

ps. Dianne, nice office! But that lock needs work.<g>

abby
albrecht@usc.edu
_________________

Abby sent the message and logged off. She knew she should be going
before anyone caught her, but Minesweeper was calling to her. After
winning and adding her name to the top of the scores, she left.

-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+

Downstairs a knock was heard at the door. Mel Taylor walked over to it
and opened the little window.

"What's the password?"

"Chocolate." A pair of voices rang out. No question about it -- they
were Mercs. They were *wrong*... but they were definitely Mercs. Mel
opened the door.

Two people walked in. Well, actually one person, a 5'4" brunette who
looked like she wanted to bounce, but didn't have the energy, walked
in, with a computer under her arm. The other, a slim redhead in a hat,
rolled.

The one in the purple wheelchair spoke first. "Hi. This is Kira, I'm
Liz the Lucky and this is the 'Electric Purple Death.' We're from
California."

Abby strolled slowly down the staircase, her hand sliding over the
smooth mahogany railing. She looked at Liz' chair, "It's gorgeous.
What all does it do?"

Liz grinned. She loved showing off her baby. "Well, these babies,"
pointing to some pods on the sides of the chair, "contain a couple of
built-in squirt guns, there's space in here," tapping the white-cross
on black velvet brocade covered armrests, "for garlic grenades or
stakes, there's a crossbow behind my head and a few other surprises in
the backpack. It climbs stairs, too. I figured as long as I was stuck
in it for the War, I might as well have something good. So I had Berg
make it. Is he here yet? I have 242 pounds of M&Ms in the car for him
in payment."

Angela Lai gasped. "You _drove_ here all the way from California?"

Kira nodded. "Yup. Over fifty hours, practically non-stop in a car
stolen from Liz' Mom, with me at the wheel the whole way. Liz here
doesn't have a driver's licensee."

"And we haven't had a decent meal since the souvlaki at my house." Liz
chimed in.

Kira looked at her. "You're hungry _again_?"

Liz somehow contrived to look innocent. "Hey, I'm on cortisone. Sue
me. Is Sara Orel here?"

The House Mother raised her head. "Over here."

"I don't know if you remember this, but sometime last year I did you a
favor and in return you said I could have my own room in the next War.
Guess what?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. What if I put you in the Lilac Room? It is
across the corridor from the kitchen and opposite the lift to the
second floor. Nice room."

"Thanks."

-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+

Abby turned as they left, heading back upstairs. (After all-- who
knows what other secrets might yield to her handy-dandy super lock
pick?)-- and found herself face-to-face with the Grand High Poohbah
herself.

Well, face to _chest_ anyway.... Dianne la Mercenaire was just a hair
over six feet tall, and the stairs weren't helping at this point.

"I... um...." Abby began.

Dianne just smiled a evil little smile, perfected over the course of
the two past wars.

Abby wasn't sure exactly what that smile was supposed to convey, but
it reminded her of sharks, and piranha, and... other dangerous things
with big, sharp teeth. She opted for the 'live to fight another day'
plan and changed course back downstairs.

Dianne's smile broadened slightly as she turned to go...

...and ran smack into Berg standing on the riser behind her.

"*&^%!" she exclaimed poetically. "How did you do that?"

Berg looked at her in surprise. "I'm a Merc, appearing out of nowhere
(for a fee) when needed is what we *do*!" Puzzled, he shook his head,
trying to get the cheap, infomercial taste out of his mouth.
"besides," he added, "I was just practicing...."

Dianne frowned as she tried to re-start her heart. "Stop practicing,
dear. You're _quite_ good enough."

-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+

"Don Airy dragged the rowboat solidly onto the beach at the lake.
'Keep an eye out for the cops, son. We can't make money off these fish
if we get caught too!'

"The boy looked around in a dulsatory fashion, 'Dad, I hate fishin'
and I really hate cleanin' fish. Nothin' worse than that. I could be
watchin' TV! They have a 'Real Life' marathon on every night this
weekend, all four days, and *every* Canadian actor is goin' be hosting
a segment. All 38 of 'em! And I gotta miss it.'

"Don kicked an empty wine bottle out of his way and dropped the fish
onto a clear spot on the beach. He sighed and began gutting the fish,
jumping back so the guts and blood wouldn't soak his sneakers. He
lopped off the heads and let them fall into the pile of offal and
stepped aside to skin them.

"After a short time, the boy nudged his father, hard, almost knocking
him into the gory mess.

" 'Da-dad? Somethin's watching me...outa that stuff.'

"Don regained his balanced and glared at his son, 'Murson, you've been
watching too much TV! There's nothing in that stuff *to watch* you! If
you.....'

"A loud slurping noise came from the pile of fish organs.

" 'Appypolly loggy, droogs!' Screed said, with his most sincere smile
on his gore-dribbled face, 'I gotta bag this govoreet, but I'll smot
... ya ... later!' He watched in bemusment as the man and boy ran over
the dunes, past their car, leaving their fish...."

------------------

"That's *disgusting*!" Lisa Reeves said, as Sonja Launspach visibly
tried not to gag. "What a nightmare!"

"Not a nightmare! It was a *good* dream, the malinky droog was back!"
John the Ratpack Merc insisted, as nearby Mercs edged even further
away from him. They knew that the Grand High Poohbah had decided that
Screed and his follower were Mercs by nature and ought to be included,
but they were now thinking of mutiny. (Not that they didn't anyway...
but they were thinking much harder now.)

-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+

The front door opened again and a short girl with long light brown
hair pulled back into a ponytail dropped her leather knapsack by the
front door of Merc Central. A few people turned around to look at the
stranger in their midst.

"Hi, I'm Lizbet," she greeted the Merc-world in general. "I didn't get
to meet any of you last time."

"Gee, you look exhausted," Samantha Smiley said. "What happened?"

"Well, I got left behind on the SS Holy Cow when it docked after the
Highlander Cruise," Lizbet explained. "I had to dive overboard and
swim to shore. And do you know, I had to hitch across Canada to get to
Toronto? There aren't any trans-universe flights from Seacouver to
Toronto!"

"Trans-universe?" Leigh Johnston asked, confused.

Lizbet nodded. "Yup, from the Highlander universe to the Forever
Knight one."

 Suddenly the fish-gut story was looking more sane...

-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+-+*+

With her Merc Mommy General, Christina nowhere in sight, Dianne was
trying desperately to make some kind of count of who was there... and
who was _where_.

"Lisa... well you know about Lisa's little work crew down in the
basement?" Sara looked at Dianne, who nodded. (Dianne had a tendancy
to do this reflexively-- it's amazing what people will spill when you
act like you already know all about it. But in this case she *did*
know-- as she knew about the *hefty* pay-off the Guild was getting for
the inconvenience.)

"Lane's 'borrowing' a friend's Lear jet, and last I heard a bunch of
people were grabbing rides with him... some of them even in real
seats. That may be how Calliope and Erin MacLean are getting here.
Toni's bumming a ride to Toronto with her sister-in-law, Christina's
around here _somewhere_, and I'm pretty sure I saw Dawn Steele
sneaking about at one point."

Sara shook her head. "With Mercs it's just *so* hard to keep
track...."

Dianne nodded in sympathy. Just try "leading" them....


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


Invitation to an Exhibition
By Sarah Chodrow, Diane Echelbarger,  AJ Schaafsma, Lana Soward,
and Spifff, all unaffiliated

Saturday, July  27
Noon
Spifff unlocked the door to her apartment and her houseguests followed
the elfin blonde inside.

Lana immediately headed into the living room and grabbed the phone.
She'd been trying to get a hold of Feliks Twist for the better part of
the morning, but his secretary kept saying he was with his plants.

Sarah looked up from her book, tried to tuck her  hair back behind her
ears for the 12th time that morning, and got up to help unload the
shopping bags. "Hi guys, how was the expedition?  Find anything
interesting?"

"But, of course!" Spifff chortled, freeing the cats from the master
bedroom, where they'd been penned all morning.

Diane dropped her bags of groceries on the kitchen counter and pushed
her over-long bangs out of her eyes.  "We found some really fresh
salmon for dinner.  I love shopping in Kensington Market!  It reminds
me of Pike Place back in Seattle."  She began to store their
purchases-- most of which were destined to wind up as dinner that
night-- in the cupboards and refrigerator.

AJ kicked off her shoes and followed Diane into the kitchen.  "My feet
hurt.  When we go out again tomorrow, I am not wearing those sandals.
Barefoot first, I think.  If  there are any more markets like that, I
want to go see if I can find more of these."  She held up her hands,
displaying six puzzle rings.

"Oooohh, tres cool!  Shiny objects.  When did you buy those?"  Spifff
asked.  "AJ, I could loan you some running shoes."

"Various times over the last five years."  AJ pointed to each ring in
turn. "Let's see...  I have two plain four bands, this is my eight
band, it's not as hard as it looks, the snake is a four band, and the
dolphins are a three band.  ...I'm on a tangent again, aren't I?..."
AJ shrugged.  "Runners would be awesome Spifff."

Lana hung up the phone and eyed the groceries that Diane had dropped
on the counter.

"Did you remember to get more Diet Coke?" she asked.   "I don't want
to run out in the morning.  It wouldn't be a pretty sight."

"Absolutely," Spifff assured her.  "Breakfast beverage of champions."

"Yuk.  Aspartame.  Don't give me any by mistake.  Then you'll see
ugly." AJ made a face as she remembered the last time she had 'Diet'
anything.

"Yeah," Diane agreed as she stuffed the salmon in the fridge, adding
rhetorically.  "I mean, soda without sugar, what's the point?"

Lana began going through the bags, tossing various items to AJ at the
cupboard and Diane at the refrigerator.   Coming across a bag marked
"The Harbord Bakery", she held it up and said, "Lunch?"

Diane nodded.  "From the best deli in town.  We got bagels, too,
Sarah."

Their purchases were soon disposed of, and the five Forever Knight
fans helped themselves to their beverages-of-choice and gathered on
the balcony, where Lana distributed the sandwiches they'd bought on
the way home.

"That's a great view of Casa Loma!" Diane enthused around a mouthful
of corned-beef-on-sourdough.  "I want to get back there again this
trip." She washed the sandwich down with a swig of Coke.

Spifff unwrapped her falafel.  "It's one reason I picked this flat."

"So what's next on the tour?" AJ asked as she bit into her turkey and
ham sandwich, shrugging ironically in Sarah's direction.  "The last
time I was here it was for a tour of the CN Tower with forty cadets." 
She groaned theatrically.  "I twisted my knee, and the Science Center
in a wheelchair was not fun.  Maybe the locations from the show so I
can get some pictures?"  AJ snapped a few shots of the famous Toronto
landmark.

 Sarah said, "I don't have many suggestions for today-- anything I can
walk to is fine by me.  The Underground can be fun, although if it's
nice out, I'd rather be outside.  And as for tonight, I'm pretty
flexible. I'll do touristy things, or check out the clubs. I'm not  a
big drinker, so I'll be glad to volunteer as designated driver if
y'all want to go clubbing. Believe it or not though, tomorrow I'd love
to go to the zoo.  It was great when I was 8, and I want to go back
and see it again.  Spifff, you know where everything is, and what's
open when.  What do you think?"

Spifff responded, "Tell you what, let's do the Eaton Centre thing. On
the way we can take a quick shufty of University College, home of one
of Toronto's resident ghosts, and cruise past a couple of Forever
Knight shooting sites on Yonge Street. You know, like the Elm Street
Pizza Pizza.  After a shopping frenzy in the Eaton Centre we can zip
over to BCE place, it's right in the neighbourhood. Lots of photo
opps."  She grinned.  "We can dooo the Zoo tomorrow. So, if you guys
are ready, shall we frappe la rue? or if you prefer we could just hang
out here and bond with the cosmos. I am one with the carpet. Pinch
me."

Diane debated asking for a translation of the last half of Spifff's
answer, then decided to just reply to the part she understood.  "The
university has a *ghost*?  Way cool!"  She fed a scrap of corned beef
to her cat, Tuppence (who had somehow slipped into Diane's car two
days ago in Wisconsin and remained concealed until they were over the
border). Then, just to be fair, she offered some to Spifff's cat,
Comet.

AJ, who'd been pestering Sarah with questions about Shabbat, broke off
to agreed enthusiastically to Spifff's plan.  "Ooh!  That sounds fun! 
'The ghosts of Toronto!'"

The others agreed.  Destination chosen and lunch completed, they re-
entered the apartment and prepared to depart.

As she refilled her water bottle from the brita in the fridge, Diane
said, "Y'know, Spifff, I still can't believe you managed to whangle
*all* of us free passes to that exhibit opening Monday.  I mean, a
special exhibit on *Brabant* at the Royal Ontario Museum!  Who'd've
thought it?"

Spifff shrugged.  "One of my professors curated the show. He had some
extra passes so I immediately thought of you guys."

 Sarah grinned,  "Aren't academic connections wonderful?"

"Well, I'm sure the sizable donation that we made didn't hurt," said
Lana, as she tossed her empty soda bottle into the blue recycling box.
"It'll be nice to see it without having to be stampeded in a crush of
Knighties."

"I wouldn't count on that," Diane warned, passing her the full-color
brochure and pointing out a line of fine print.  "It's sponsored by
the Brabant Foundation."

Lana threw up her hands in mock horror.   "Maybe we could slip in
early, like the back way?"

Diane didn't answer; she was on her knees, prying Tuppence out from
under the couch.

"It'll still be fun," Sarah insisted as she cornered Comet, picked him
up, and followed Diane to the master bedroom.

"Yeah," AJ agreed.  "How often do you get invited to an Exhibition
opening?"

Diane tossed the Tonkinese in a long arc onto the bed (where she
landed with an indignant "Yow!"), snatched Comet, stuffed him into the
room, and slamming the bedroom door shut before either cat could
escape. "The cats are secured," she announced.  "Let's go before they
start yowling!"

The five women filed out of the apartment.


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


Vaquero Summer Fun 1/2
Location: Cindy Brewer's House, IL.
Time: Saturday Midday, July 27th.
By Sherri Campbell & Torrey Harris

These posts brought to you by the Vaquera/o Loop, consisting of the
following madpersons: Alexis, Ann Scura, Bonnie Pardoe, Carla
Pickering, Charlyne Walker, Cindy Brewer, Crystal Guffey, Debra Eve,
Gay Eckes, Heather, Jay Diemert, Jenn Nieboer, Jerimi Paul, Jill Marie
Gillham, Katya, Laura/Apache, Lisa marie Nullar, Lisa-Marie Maitland,
Lori, McKenna Gibson, Nancy W., Sarah Houghton, Shannon, Sherri
Campbell, Stephanie Babbitt, Storm, Terry Madden, Toby Bolinger, Toni
Spadafina, Torrey Harris. And Kat, who isn't a Vaquera. :)
------------------------------------------------------------

The backyard at Cindy's house was a chaotic jumble of yelling people,
splashing water, and sheer unmitigated noise.  Sherri sat with her
back to the wall, nursing a tall, iced drink, watching the
festivities.  Turning to Torrey, she semi-yelled. "This was a *great*
idea!  Why didn't we think of having a Vaquera/o get together
earlier?!!"

Torrey looked around with an expression of pleased complaisance.
"Well, it was sort of a mutual uprising. I'm sure glad Cindy
volunteered to have it at her house. It's so nice to have it sort of
in the middle of the country."

"Yes, it *was* nice of Cindy. Especially with that inground pool! I
can't believe how far everyone came for this.  Do you realize we have
people here from California, Oregon, Rhode Island..."

"Hey! Who's from where?!"

"Um. Okay, I'm from Oregon; Bonnie, Debra E. & you are from
California; Jerimi and Terry from Idaho, Lisa-Marie (with the dash)
and Carla are from Rhode Island. Okay, we also have people from Miami
- Charlyne; Tennessee - Crystal and Jill G.; Apache is from
Washington, D.C.; Jay Diemert is from Southern Alberta; Lisa Marie
(without the dash) is from Tucson, Az; Lori is from near to St. Louis
in Missouri, Sarah from Massachusetts, Stephanie is from Atlanta
Georgia, Storm is from Wisconsin, and Toni is from Brooklyn.  Let's
see... nope, I don't recall where the others are from."

"Wow, we are widespread!"

Torrey nudged Sherri to look at the pool. As they both turned to
watch, they saw Ann sneak up on Jill and dump her into the water. As
the resulting chaos swept over all the people in the vicinity of the
pool, Torrey noticed the phone was ringing.  Seeing no-one nearby was
inclined to answer it, she reached over and grabbed it.

"Hello?" As she listened, her face gradually got sterner and grimmer. 
"All right. Thanks." She hung up the phone, and turned to Sherri.
"It's starting again. That was Katya. I know she was really
disappointed she couldn't come to the party, so I had given her this
phone number.  I'm sure glad I did. She said that the Knighties and
the Cousins are converging on Toronto."

Torrey whirled around to Sherri. "We need to get to Toronto, fast! How
can we do this?"

Sherri thought. "I know! Where's Apache?" They stood and looked for
her in the chaos.  Spotting her off to the side, half-hidden in a
corner under a tree, they sprinted to her side.

"Apache!  We need to get to Toronto, fast! What do you recommend?"
Sherri spoke quickly, and quietly.

Apache looked at the two of them, and realized they weren't joking.
"How many? All of us?" At Torrey's affirming nod, Apache thought for a
moment. "Well, I guess all we need to do is charter a plane."

Torrey's jaw dropped. "Uh, Apache? Charter a plane with what?"

Apache grinned at her expression. "With my gold card, of course!"
Rising from the bench, she strode to the phone, and began making
arrangements.

Torrey looked at Sherri. "You were right! Apache is nice to have as a
friend!"


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


The N&N Pack Call

July 27,1996        12:15pm
by Laura MacMillan (Soulseeker)
     Chana Rossman

I walked into my apartment carrying a load of folders and and heavy
briefcase from work.  I had to prepare a proposal for a client by
Monday.  With one swift movement, I let the pile of folders drop
heavily on her living room couch were they landed with a resounding
thud.  I sighed heavily.  It was not going to a fun weekend.

It was a hot and humid day. I headed to the bedroom to change into
something more relaxing like shorts and a t-shirt. I was half way
there when the phone rang. I considered ignoring it after all that's
what I got the voice mail for. By the second ring I was standing over
the phone looking down at the call display. Just great, unknown name,
unknown number. It could be important or it could be someone I didn't
want to talk to. Third ring. My curiousity got the better of me, I
slowly picked up the phone.

"Hello? .......Captain Reese? This a surprise, what can I do for you?"

As he explained why he had called I could feel my knees weaken.

"I'm sorry Captain, I wish I could be of more help. ....Yeah, thank
you, will."

I sat down on the couch before my knees gave out. I began to feel a
sense of danger and the sickening sense of impending doom. Something
was wrong ... very, very wrong.  I knew what I had to do. I picked up
the phone and hit the fourth number on speed dial.  After a few short
rings a woman's cheerful voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Mel, its me,"  I answered warily.

"Oh, hi Laura. What's up?"  asked Mel, happy to hear from her long
time friend.

"Something has happened. We have to convine an emergency meeting of
the Nick&Nat Pack as soon as possible, in Toronto."

"What's happened?"

"I'll explain everything I can when you get here. The plan is to meet
at Susan's house just outside Toronto tonight. Do you still have the
list who to call?

"Yeah..." Mel sounded unsure.  "Laura, you sound really worried."

"I am, Mel,  I really am."  I hung up the phone.  I reached into the
back of my address book and pulled out a yellow sheet of paper which
contained a long list of addresses and phone numbers. I picked up the
phone and began dialing.  My weekend work had been totally forgotten.


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


Flashback to Insanity
Time: July 27,  1pm
By Lana G. Soward

NOTE:  Adrian Wetmore occurs courtesy of War 5.

Flashback to Insanity

Adrian Wetmore juggled his groceries in his arms, trying not to drop
them as he searched for his key to the building.  He always forgot to
get his keys out before he picked up things, the result being that he
had to perform a juggling act to get to them.

He was saved from having to search further, when the door was opened
and five women came through the door.  The last one held the door open
for him and he went through.

"Thanks," he said  and then turned to stare at her as she walked away.
She reminded him of someone, then he remembered.  She was one of the
two people who brought that delusional patient to him last year.   The
one who thought vampires were real and that he was Duncan McLeod of
Highlander.

---------------------  Flashback to War 5 ----------------------------

Dr. Wetmore leaned back in his chair.  "Is something wrong?"

Jane shook her head, unable to think of anything to say.  Lana looked
up curiously and let go of Dawn in shock.  "Sh*t."

"Duncan."  Dawn squealed, and scuttled around the desk.  "I was
beginning to think you didn't love me any more."  She jumped into Dr.
Wetmore's lap and flung her arms around his neck, plastering his face
with kisses.

"Miss....er...miss..umph."  Dawn latched onto his mouth as soon he
opened it.  One of her hands began running up and down his chest.

Jane and Lana sunk into two of the chairs on the other side of the
desk. Lana groaned and covered her face.

Gasping for breath, Dr. Wetmore managed to get out a couple of words,
"My name's not Duncan."

"Ohhh sweetheart, did you have to give up your life in Seacouver?
What name are you using now?"

"Seacouver?  Where....."  Utterly confused, Dr. Wetmore tried to pry
Dawn off him.  "My name is Adrian...Adrian Wetmore." "Adrian?"  Dawn
giggled, "You used the actor's name.  What a wonderful idea."  She sat
back and leaned against the desk.  "By the way, we've got Kelley
trapped at headquarters."

"Kelley?"

"You know."  Dawn chided him, "The evil immie of the week.  All you
have to do is get her sword and we can go get her."

"My...my sword?"

"Well how else are you going to cut off her head."  Dawn blew lightly
in his ear, "Can I watch?  I've always wanted to see you get someone's
quickening."

"Cut off her head?"  Dr. Wetmore was appalled.  He grabbed Dawn's arms
and pulled her off, shoving her away.  Lana drew her back into the
remaining chair.  Dawn collapsed into the chair and began hugging
herself and rocking again.  Tears streamed down her face.

"That was uncalled for."  Lana was indignant.  "Look what you've done
to her.  Do you treat all your delusional patients this way."

Dr. Wetmore straightened his shirt and ran one hand through his hair. 
"I'm sorry, but she took me by surprise."

"Can you help her?"  Jane asked quietly.  "Can you undo what has been
done to her?"

"Why don't you start at the beginning and tell me everything you know
about her problem."

----------------------- End Flashback --------------------------------

Adrian had finished putting his groceries and sat down to think some
more about the events of last year.  He'd never seen so many people
that were under a mass delusion before in his life.  The police had
dropped about thirty people off at the clinic, all claiming that
vampires were running around Toronto.  By the time the last of them
had been released from the clinic, he know more about vampires than
he'd ever wanted to.


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


Rolling Wheels (The Immortal Beloveds Enter)
by Felicia Bollin and Chanda Keith
Time:  Approx. 3:00 PM, Saturday July 27th

"Let's see. Now what's in my mailbox today?"  Chanda Keith muttered to
herself as she dug through her email.  "Dead horses?  Boring.  Women
in the JLA.  Nope.  No mention of my favorite.  Fiction?  Wait a
minute.  Is that by a Nick & Natpacker?  Where's delete?  Can't they
find something else to talk about?  Ahhh.  New Tiny Toon fiction.
Good. More Nick & Natpack fiction. Not good.  That stuff should be
labeled. Letter from Mistress Janette.  Oh, now there's a good story. 
Cousinly fiction is so much better than...  Wait a minute!  A letter
from Mistress Janette?  What?!!  Let's see what I have here."

"A WAR!!  Yes!!  Yes!!  Yes!!"  she cried, hitting "print" and dancing
around the computer.  "I better see if Felicia wants me to pick her up
and....  Wait a minute.  Slow down.  First you have to get
transportation to Toronto.  Now where did I put those pictures of my
cousin when he was thirteen?"

Nearly a hour later Chanda had finally talked her cousin into loaning
her a van from his family's car lot.  Amazing how cooperative he was
when she had mentioned showing pictures of him as a kid to his new
girlfriend.  Now, she just had to call Felicia, reply to Mistress
Janette's letter and pack.  She quickly typed in a response to
Janette's message and then started to unhook the computer as she
dialed Felicia's number.

"Hi!  Felicia, it's me, Chanda.  Did you get an email from Mistress
Janette?  Good.  I'm just packing to leave.  Do you want me to stop
and pick you up?  No, I haven't gotten a driver's license since the
last war. Hey, I drive better than Nick and they let him have a
license.  Don't worry. Besides, if you come with me you can get a
sneak preview of that tape I told you about.  The van my cousin's
loaning me has a VCR.  Oh, and speaking of the cousin, I just heard
him pull up in front.  Talk to you later."

She flew about the room shoving things into suitcases while her cousin
carried the computer out to the van.  Several minutes and about ten
bags of clothes, twenty boxes of disks, a stack of medieval mysteries,
Reformation notes from last semester and several other boxes of
assorted junk later, she was ready to go.  Chanda grabbed her cats,
snatched the keys from her cousin before he could think to ask if she
were legally able to drive, and took off for the freeway.

She was approaching the Tennessee border and watching for any sign of
the highway patrol when she spotted the first problem.

"Move it, Nicky,"  she said to the white cat who had just leaped onto
the windshield.  "Wait a minute!  You're not Nicky!  What in the
world?!!"

She quickly pulled to the side of the road to do a kitty count. One,
two, three, four.  Four?  she thought.  I only have two cats!!

"Oh, no!!!"  Chanda cried as she looked at her two stowaways, a pure
white cat and a tortoiseshell.  Her neighbor's cats.  How in the world
did her neighbor's cats get in her van?

"Well, you two are just going to have to go to Toronto with me because
I can't turn around to take you home now.  I don't know what your
owner is going to do when he finds out,"  she muttered as she pulled
back onto the road.

Somewhere in Kentucky, Chanda started to notice that cars in the
opposite lane were slowing down to stare at her.   She glanced in the
rearview mirror and quickly spotted the reason.  Mosquitos, apparently
every mosquito in the south, were gathered in a giant swarm just
behind the van, hungrily pursuing their favorite meal, her!

"No!!"  Chanda screamed as she hit the gas.  She just hoped that she
would lose them before she got to Toronto.  She really didn't want to
have to present herself to Mistress Janette covered in mosquito bites.
*** "Hey!"  Felicia chirped, settling her luggage onto an empty chair
in the van--- and settling, and settling, and settling, Chanda thought
a trifle resentfully.  *She* was supposed to be the Ravenette who
lugged the most stuff.  What gives here?

"Ready to go?"  Felicia stuffed the last package in and knelt
gracefully (if you discounted the popping noise in her knees, which
rather spoiled the overall effect) onto a long seat.  "Gee, you look
awfully bedraggled.  Did something happen?"  she asked innocently,
checking her scarlet lipstick in the rear-view mirror.

Chanda opened her mouth to say something, then stopped and changed her
mind. "No, nothing.  Nothing at all,"  she added unnecessarily, as she
glanced out the back, then into the rearview mirror.

Quite nervously, Felicia thought.  How odd.  Then, she dismissed it.
"So, you have a place for me to plug in my laptop, right?" Felicia
asked, finding the place even as she talked.  "Then let's get going!" 
She powered up the laptop and eagerly peered at the queue of waiting
messages.

"Those are *all* the Immortal Beloveds we have?"  Chanda asked, torn
between hilarity and horror as she pulled out of the driveway.

"No, of course not."  Felicia peered absently at the cute little
monitor, simultaneously fitting on her glasses and continuing to type
as Chanda struggled valiantly with the wheel.  "Most of them cabled or
emailed to say that their travel plans would be taken care of by their
primary faction."

All her attention still on the monitor, it was a good thing that
Felicia didn't notice the gathering swarm of mosquitoes that Chanda
could see quite plainly from the rear-view mirror.

Great, Chanda thought.  Just great.  I thought I lost them back when I
crossed the Mason-Dixon!!

"Hey, you did say something about a--- _video_, didn't you?"  Felicia
asked, looking up so fast she almost caught Chanda off guard.

Settling back into the seat, Felicia gave a gasp as Chanda flicked on
the VCR a trifle smugly;  then smiled a cat-and-cream smile.

Famous last words, yes? :)


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


The Old Switcheroo
story idea by Diane E. (gryphon@execpc.com)
written by Mel Taylor (cn1015@coastalnet.com/MelTaylor@aol.com)
Timeframe:  ***Saturday, July 27th, Before Sunset***


As screw-ups go, this one was turning out to be quite the blue-ribbon
winner.

Shocked by what she'd seen, Mel turned away from the Raven's door and
counted to ten.  <Damn,> she thought.  <No way there's any of
LaCroix's special stock in there.>  Taking a deep breath, she eased
open the door to the once-stylish club and walked in.

 It looked like all hell had broken loose.  Dust, cobwebs, graffiti,
and glass turned the club into a sad shadow of itself.  It was obvious
that the Raven/ettes had a long road ahead of them.

And it was obvious that as a Merc on her first job, she was in serious
trouble.

This wasn't good.  This wasn't good at all.  She had a client who was
expecting merchandise and delivery tonight.  As a Mercenary, she was
bound by duty to deliver.  She checked her watch again.  There wasn't
enough time to contact her spies----pish, who could trust them
anyway?---to find another source for the merchandise she needed.

<Think, think, think,> Mel chanted to herself, fishing out  a roll of
Tums and biting off the first one in the pack.   She walked to the
bar, wincing as glass crunched under her sneakers.  A battered
cardboard box caught her eye.  She bent over, peeled back the flaps,
and  examined the dark green bottles inside  hopefully.  They were
empty and dry, their parchment labels veined with cracks.

The club's musty air  and chilly shadows were  getting to her.
Shuddering, Mel turned to go, then reconsidered the box of empty
bottles again.  <You never know when you might need empty bottles> a
small, Merc-like voice prodded her.  She picked up the box and left
the club quickly.

<I'm toast> Mel thought, heading back for the car.  <The Vaqueros are
going to kill me, and right now, I can't say I'd blame them. Why did I
ever think I could pull off a stunt like this?  I should have stayed
home and--->

Mel looked up and cut off her inner voice, which had a tendency to
whine during moments of great stress.   She had a solution to her
problem.  Shifting the box of empty bottles to get a better grip on
it, Mel pushed open the door to the butcher shop.

"You want *what*?" the kind-faced man behind the counter asked her a
few moments later.

"Pig's blood, and I'd like for you to pour it into these bottles,
please," Mel added pleasantly as she heaved the box onto the counter.

The butcher eyed her and wiped his hands nervously on his apron.  He
peeled back the flaps and looked into the box.  "You've got about two
cases worth of bottles in here.  That's a lot of blood."  He paused
and gave her a stern look.  "You're not one of those Satan
worshippers, are you?"

"No, no," Mel assured him, honestly horrified.   Sheesh, she was only
a lapsed Catholic, after all.  "I use it in my paintings."

Twenty minutes later, she was storing the newly-filled bottles (now
nestled in two sturdy crates provided by the helpful butcher) in the
trunk of her car.   Okay, so this wasn't LaCroix's special stock.
Maybe her clients wouldn't care or  wouldn't notice the difference.

Blood was blood, after all.  Wasn't it?

Mel got in her car and popped another Tums.


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


The Lucky and the Dead (2/3)
Sat.  July 27, 1996 - Late Afternoon
Toronto Airport
By:  Partly K and The Perkulators

Partly stood the airport, dancing to the songs playing in her headset.
Robin looked up from her book long enough to frown at her energetic
friend.


"Will you sit down, Becky?"

Partly smiled at the redhead.  "Can't.  Three whole days away from Wil
and Myr, loose in a wonderful city, and money to burn.  What more
could you ask for?"  Partly loved her husband and child, but she
needed to get away once in a while.

"How much did you win anyhow?"

"Well, not counting the money spent on airline tickets, we've got
close to five thousand.  American, of course."

Lynne finally joined in the conversation.  "Five thousand DOLLARS?"

Partly nodded.  "Two nights at the blackjack tables and three playing
the slots.  Still got the original stake, too."  She flashed the
silver "Vettern" coin at her second in command.  "I also bet on two
horses: Tracy's Gold, and Commissioner's Daughter.  Both were long
shots that won going away.  Never doubt the Vetter Better system --
the quickest way to get money that I know of."

"Partly?  Kristina?"  The voice from behind them came from a woman
wearing a smiley face shirt.  "I'm Lynne."

"Glad to meet you, Lynne,"  Partly said, then made the introductions.
"Courtney, Shannon, Fredric and Robin.  Kristina is waiting for us
outside. You all got your luggage?"  There were nods all around, and
in a mass of bags and suitcases they headed for the exit.

"Did you get any more messages from GoodCopT?"  Courtney asked as they
piled into the rented van that Kristina had gotten for them.

"One each day."  Partly climbed in the front seat.  "All the same
except the last one that added a 'You could have trusted me'."

"Spooky."  Partly didn't know who said that.  Everyone was in and
Kristina headed down town.

"You're telling me.  I don't like getting e-mail from ghosts"  A horn
blew off to her right and Partly caught a glimpse of someone out the
window as Kristina pulled away from a stop sign.  "That's a
Natpacker."  She pointed out the window.  Everyone looked, but they
were too far away.

"Are you sure?"  Robin asked.

"I know a Natpacker when I see one," Partly said.  "She almost got hit
by an orange truck.  Do you think Jennie's still up here?"  Partly had
gone to college with the head Natpacker.  No one answered.  "Keep you
eyes open for others.  Something might be up."

They rode in silence for a second, then Courtney yelled, "Stop!  Stop
the car."  She had the door open before the van slowed.  "Look!"  She
pointed to a large pink banner hung on a hotel.  It read:  'BUTTUNS
raffle today'. "I wonder what that's all about?  I mean, didn't you
say never to doubt the Vetter Better system?"

Partly grinned.  "I did."  She jumped out of the van, being sure to
grab her purse.  "Kristina, why don't you drive around the block.
I'll be back."

Five minutes later she was back in the van with a handful of raffle
tickets.  "BUTTUNS is Businessmen United To Teach the Unemployed New
Skills and there are hundred of prizes being given away today at
eight."  She checked her watch.  "It's six now, how 'bout we get
changed and come back here?"

Everyone nodded in agreement, and Kristina headed out once again.


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


The Die-Hards Arrive
By: Laura Ruggiero with additions from the other Die-Hards
Time: July 27,  mid-afternoon
Place: Toronto

The taxi dropped the short, young-looking woman off at the apparently
abandoned building.  "Are you sure this is the address?" the he asked.
"No one comes out here any more." Little did the driver know just how
much activity had been taking place out here these last 2 months.  The
Die-Hards had bought the place with the intent of setting up a Forever
Knight museum and memorial.  It would do well a war HQ now; with the
sudden decent of knighties, cousins, and other fk fans onto Toronto,
something had to be up.

"I'm sure this is the place," she said as she paid the driver with a
mischievous smile on her face. "I ought to be, I am part of the group
that bought it."   As the taxi pulled away, the driver shaking his
head, the woman walked to the gate.

"Can I help you miss?" asked the security guard, stepping out of his
booth by the gate.

"Hello there.  I represent the die-hard Forever Knight fan group that
bought this place.  My name is Laura Ruggiero."

"Oh, of course, I'm George. If you don't mind me asking, why would you
people be interested in buying this place?"

"We love the show Forever Knight, a show which, until recently, was
filmed right here.  By turning this place into a museum and memorial,
we are trying to keep the show alive any way we can.  And for the next
two weeks we are trying another method of doing just that.   Are you
are familiar with the concept of live action role-playing?"

"Sure," George said, "my little brother LARPs every chance he gets."

"Well we are testing out a new role-playing system based on that show.
We thought the old studio would be a perfect place to try it out."
Laura and the other Die-Hards had planned carefully, what better way
to provide themselves a "cover" for all the strange things that would
soon be happening.  With the Paragon surveillance equipment still in
place, and a few modifications (like the laser defense system, always
moved from one HQ to the next) added to the place, the former Paragon
studio was the perfect place for the Die-Hards, a group dedicated to
the show as a whole.

"I guess that makes sense.  Here are the identification key cards you
requested.  When will the rest of your group show up?"

"They should be here soon, just send them on in as they arrive,"
Laura smiled.  Any time as many of the FK fans got together as was
happening here, it could only mean one thing, war.  Wars were a lot of
fun, and with the help of Feliks Twist in managing the money left form
the last war, the Die-Hard war chest was comfortably full.  There was
more than enough money to cover setting up and running the HQ for the
war, paying for plane tickets to get all the Die-Hards to and from
Toronto and to cover all the sundry expenses they would incur while
here.  Laura had called the Die-hards earlier and asked them to drop
everything and head up to Toronto.


Laura entered the studio, and quickly inspected the facilities.   All
was in place, even the special arrangements necessary for Ron, so she
pulled out her Virtual PowerBook and downloaded her e-mail.  * I am so
happy I convinced my brother to let me keep this, * she thought, * it
was so very useful during that Gathering of Highlander list members
back in March, and it will prove useful again, here.*  *I guess a note
to the list is in order*
------------------------------
From: larug@siu.edu (Laura Ruggiero)
Subject: War: Die-Hard HQ is open
Cc:

This is an open message to all taking part in the war.
Ron the Enforcer and I (Laura Ruggiero) are the Die-Hard "leaders" for
this war. The Die-Hard HQ is open and ready to shelter all, mortal or
vampire, who desire sanctuary.
We are well able to defend ourselves from attack and have
accommodations suitable for anyone.
We have taken over the recently vacated Paragon Studios, so the HQ
should be easy enough to find.  Be prepared to properly identify
yourself if you drop by, there is an armed guard at the front gate.

Laura Ruggiero (larug@siu.edu)
Die-Hard Co-Coordinator (what have I gotten myself into?)
----------------------------
*There, that should do it.  And I should be able to get in some  work
on my thesis before the other arrive.*

================
A few hours later the others began to arrive.  Several  were veterans
of previous wars, others were new recruits.  The tall (6' 3") and
muscular Chuck Harding was the first to arrive, his salt & pepper
short hair and goatee made him fairly distinctive.  He was dressed in
shorts, a pocket tee-shirt, and sandals, and of, course he had on his
ever present glasses.

Donna Burns was next, she had brown hair and hazel eyes. She was
dressed in jeans, and was wearing her prescription sunglasses.  At 5'
6", she was not used to towering over people but, tower she did over
their "temporary coordinator" Laura.  Along with the expected baggage,
she had her son's laptop so she could keep up with her mail and keep
in touch back home.

Bruce Gray arrived next, having already dropped his wife off at the
Knightie HQ.  He stood about 6 feet tall with sandy brown hair and
large square wire-framed (aviator-style) glasses with grey eyes.

Then Toby Bolinger arrived, at 20 he was the youngest in the group,
but he wasn't going to let that stop him, a twinkle of mischief showed
in his brown eyes as he met the others in the group.  At 115 lbs, his
slight build just might come in useful in certain circumstances in the
war.

The next mortal members of the Die-Hards arrived not long after Tony,
at 5'4" , Moria concodered herself short, but she towered over Laura. 
Her hazel  eyes, dark brown hair, fair skin, and freckles  gave the
false impression of a quiet, demure woman; her new friends would soon
encounter her exceedingly wicked (and sometimes raunchy) sense of
humor.

The next to arrive was Don Fasig, the illustrious "List Gardener."
(If anyone tries to mess with list subscriptions in this war there
will be a swift response, enough said).  His brown eyes had  flecks of
gold in them, although normal, it did cause a few of the Die-Hards to
briefly wonder if there would be two vampires in the faction for this
war (especially since they knew he was from Florida and yet was not
tanned).

The sun had set by the time Kristine Ward had arrived, she was tall
(5'8") and had very dark brown eyes and short brown hair.  When she
smiled it was quite apparent how she had acquired the nickname
"Devilspawn."

 As Nancy entered the DH's headquarters, from her long flight from
Washington, DC, she was excited and overwhelmed about working with so
many talented (and slightly wicked) individuals.  Nancy may be only 5'
2 1/2" (hey, gotta remember that half! :) with an innocent and angelic
face, but that's where the "sweet" stuff ends!  A night person always,
the hours that the DH will keep is just another advantage - since it's
nights that she comes "alive." (She is *NOT* a morning person.)

Ron the Enforcer was the last to arrive (by far the oldest in the
group <eg>), dressed very stylishly in a banded collar shirt with a
vest, slacks, and a very cool looking (especially when flying) duster.
He hid his green eyes behind aviator style glasses.  His shaggy brown
hair was much in need of a brushing after his flight over to the HQ.
At 5' 8" and with his athletic build and good looks, he would have
attracted attention anyway, but with the added charisma of being a
ancient vampire and an enforcer, all came to a stop momentarily when
he entered the room.

Everyone was quite enthusiastic about the war and all had  ideas they
wanted to share.   "Well, I hope you are all prepared to keep a
vampire's hours for the next few weeks. " Laura said.  " I know some
of us are," as she gives Ron a quick smile.  "Lately I've been staying
up most of the night anyway for various reasons.  I hope the rest of
you are able to adjust to a similar schedule."

The initial meeting lasted several hours as they discussed what had
brought them all to Toronto this time.  Somewhere during that time
Laura  began to massage her neck, at 5.0 feet tall she was much
shorter than most of the Die-Hards, and having to look up all the time
was already beginning to take its toll.

-----------
Note:  All Die-Hards have identification key-cards, which unlock the
various buildings and rooms, and the guards know us on sight.


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


PAYMENTS
AUTHOR:    Posted By Mercenary Cousin Lisa for an anonymous
                benefactor
Location:  Somewhere in Toronto
Date:      Saturday, July 27th
Time:      late afternoon

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

She picked up the Toronto Sun Times newspaper, and quickly flipped
through the pages -- it should be a big story.  "Where is it?  Page
twelve?!  Well, this is definitely it:"

"THEFT OF 'PRINCE'"
by Kathleen Hastham, Staff Writer

A break-in occurred late on July 23rd at the Grenville Bouquiniste, an
antique book store in downtown Toronto.  Owner Thackery Grenville
claims the only item missing is a book, Niccolo Machiavelli's
'Prince.'  The first edition copy, dating from 1531, is priceless
according to Grenville. Independent investigations by both the Metro
Police and a private insurance company are in progress.  "Whoever the
thief was, he knew what he was doing," said Captain Stonetree of the
46th Precinct.  "The alarm was disabled and no other items were taken.
This guy knew exactly what he wanted before he got here...."

A wicked smile crept across the young woman's face as she ran a finger
over the box containing the invaluable book.  A bit of pretty gift
wrap and this part of the bargain would be complete. Now for the phone
call.  She picked up the cellular phone and dialed long distance to
the States.  "Be there.  I know it's Sunday, but you're *always* at
work."

Five painfully long rings later: "Hello?  Um... M&M/Mars, Stuart Evans
speaking."

"Stu!  It's me."  She absently twisted a stand of hair about her index
finger.

"Hey!  How ya been?  I haven't heard from you since--"

"Since I rushed that order for you last month?"  A hellish task she
would not soon forget.

"Yeah.  You saved my butt.  You know, any time I can do somethin' for
you--"

"Well, that's why I called.  I need your help."  She wrinkled her
perky little nose as she spoke these last words.

"Sure.  Shoot."

"I need peanut M&Ms."

"Um, they sell those at the supermarket, ya know."

"I need *just* the blue ones."  She crossed her fingers and hoped that
he would come through for her.

"Who-a!  I can't *do* that.  That's strictly against policy."

"Ah, come on.  For me?"  She said, smiling her sweetest smile.  "I did
pull an all-nighter for you."  She knew that he could not see her coy
puppy-dog expression, but she hoped it was evident from the tone of
her voice.

"Okay."  He sighed with resignation.  "I'll try and manage something."

"Thanks, you're a dear!  I need a ten gallon drum sent to Lisa Prince,
c/o Merc Central, Toronto, Ontario, Canada.  And remember -- only the
*blue* ones!"

"Okay, but that's the last time I ask *you* to rush an order for me."

"Sure it is, Stan, sure."  She couldn't help giggling -- he always
said that.  "Thanks again -- talk to you soon!  Give that pup of yours
a pat on the head for me.  Bye."

She sighed as she hung up the phone.  "Well, that's that!"  And well
worth the effort, she hoped!  "Now where did I put that red curling
ribbon?"


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


I Love it When Plan B Comes Together (continued)

Place:  Toronto Airport
Time:  Saturday July 27, late afternoon


"Why do airports have all the ambiance of a sleep  deprivation
chamber?" Jill Kirby mused, glancing around the sterile walls
disdainfully.  Jill was looking particularly elegant today--she had
been using the time in Toronto profitably to augment her wardrobe in
interesting ways.

"Why do drinks cost five times more at an airport than they would at
the last outpost on the edge of the Sahara?" Kelly Gritten grumbled,
sucking a fountain Pepsi comprised of at least ninety-five percent
water through a straw.  She surveyed the contents of the cup glumly,
then dumped it into a nearby trashcan and wiped her hands, damp from
the condensation on the cup, on her jeans.

"Why does it take the luggage three times as long as the  duration of
the flight to show up?" Sharon Himmanen muttered  irritably, pacing
across the pale airport floor like a caged  monkey...er, tiger.  Her
combat boots tapped out an impatient rhythm on the floor.

Needless to say, the other passengers waiting for their  luggage to
appear on the silver conveyor belt which had  been circling
hypnotically for the last fifteen minutes  without a single duffel
bag, backpack, or formerly pristine guitar-case now horribly mangled
and resembling nothing  more than a Barbie Corvette trampled by an
elephant, agreed  with the complaint.

Alora silently watched the silver panels of the luggage belt  sway by,
her eyes lured by the afterimages of light bouncing  off the shiny
metal. "Oooh," she finally moaned.  "I feel sick."

Mei nodded miserably in agreement.  More than any of the  other
NatPackers who had flown into Toronto that morning,  she seemed to
have suffered from the ravages of Murphy's  Law of Air Travel:  even
if you do manage to catch your  flight, which will be delayed two
hours but it won't matter  because your alarm clock won't have gone
off anyway, and  besides you won't be able to find any of the clothes
you had  planned to take, so you leave the house with nothing more
than a cellular phone clutched in your hand...even if all that
happens, you won't be able to open the shiny silver bag of  peanuts
that the well-coifed flight attendant hands you as  your only
sustenance for the trip without a protracted  struggle, and when you
do finally RRRRIPPPP it open, the  peanuts will go flying everywhere. 
So Mei just sat slumped  next to Alora, her cellular phone in one
hand, and crumpled  piece of peanut bag in the other.

With all the torment of Nick trying to make a decision, the  baggage
carousel finally spat out the first piece of  luggage.  A small brown
toiletries case landed abruptly on  the conveyor and circled one, two,
three times without being  claimed.  The waiting crowd stood
absolutely still, daring  somebody to be the first and only to pick up
their luggage.

"Come on," Sharon ordered the luggage to appear quietly.   She had
been the last to arrive at the airport, where Jill and  Kelly, who had
been in Toronto since--she frowned at the  thought--Natalie Lambert's
disappearance, had arrived to  pick up those NatPackers returning to
the city this weekend. Using that unique NatPackers talent for
organization, she,  Alora and Mei had arranged to fly in at about the
same time;  as befitted the unique NatPacker talent for having plans
go  awry, they had all arrived much later than anticipated.

Suddenly other pieces of baggage erupted from the chute in  an
avalanche of mismatched luggage.  The crowd dived  upon the pile in a
frenzy, and Jill and Kelly joined Sharon in  the fray to find her bag.

"Brown bag with a gold buckle," Kelly chanted to herself,  pushing
past a troop of Girl Scouts to scope out the luggage.

"Brown bag with a gold buckle," Jill reminded herself, but  promptly
became distracted by two animal carriers which  had arrived on another
conveyor.  At least Katie was being  safely cared for while she
herself was in Toronto.

Sharon stood back a little, surveying the crowd grimly.  The  pile of
luggage had begun to thin as people claimed their  belongings, but
what remained was still hopelessly jumbled.   If she could just get a
glimpse of her bag...

"Got it!" came one NatPack cry from the left side of the  luggage
carousel.

"Found it!" came another, from the other direction.

"Hey!" Sharon shouted.  "Stop!  That's my bag!"

Jill and Kelly, each clutching identical bags, looked around  in
confusion as Alora pointed to Sharon, who was in pursuit  of a tall,
long-haired man lugging another brown bag with a  gold buckle.  The
man looked back frantically at Sharon, who  was gaining on him, and
hastened to the doors leading  outside.  Alora followed, with Mei
shouting from behind  them, "Sharon, wait!" but they were already
outside.

Jill and Kelly dragged their prizes over to where Mei was  standing,
preparing to follow their friend, but Alora came  back into the
airport, shaking her head in confusion.

"What happened?" Jill demanded.

"It was the weirdest thing.  This guy took Sharon's bag and  threw it
into a waiting car and they took off.  Kelly's car was  still in the
loading zone, so Sharon jumped into it and went  after them."

"My car!" Kelly wailed.  She loved her Autumn Wine (tm)-colored  Chevy
Cavalier--it had been her stepmother's mid-life crisis  car until her
parents gave it to Kelly as a wedding present.

Jill patted her on the shoulder consolingly, but continued to  quiz
Alora, who was still shaking her head in confusion.  "What else?"

Alora looked uncomfortable for a moment, then shrugged. "I must have
been seeing things," she said finally.

"What?" Mei demanded.

"Well, the driver of the car--he looked a lot like the Guy."

"Like The Guy!!" Jill and Mei shouted.

"Great," Jill continued.  "We'll never get Sharon back now."

"Uh, guys.  I don't think that will be a problem, actually,"  Kelly
interjected.  They turned to look at her, and found that  she had
opened the two bags identical to that of Sharon.   One was filled with
neatly wrapped packs of hundred dollar  bills.  The other was crammed
with small white packets, one  of which Kelly had opened and tasted
sparingly.

"Drugs?" Alora demanded.

She shook her head.  "Nope.  Salt.  We won't have any problem getting
Sharon back now."


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


A New Store in Town
   by Sara Orel <FA55@academic.truman.edu>
      [posted by Dianne, GHP <cat.goddess@pobox.com>]

[timing-- after Merc intro post... Saturday day]

[Comments to FA55@truman.edu, but don't expect an answer very quickly!
Anyone wanting to use the chocolate shop or characters, please coordinat
e with those named herein, or for me contact Dianne la Mercenaire
(Cat.goddess@pobox.com).                            Sara Orel]
---


Sara sighed, and brushed the hair from her face.  Crouching in a
window of a shop in the direct sunlight while painting a window was
not her idea of a fun time, particularly in the heat of July in
Toronto.  Oh well, she thought, with the sunlight at least there was
no need to worry about vampires.

"Here you go, Sara" said Kira, handing her a glass of Club Soda with a
lime twist.  "You look a bit hot."

"Mrmsrnphhhh" Sara managed, as she gulped down the drink.  "Thank you
very much."  She straightened, then stretched.  It felt wonderful.

"Looks good," Kira commented, as she took back the glass.  "I'm glad
it is you doing it, and not me."  Her blue eyes twinkling, Kira went
back to the counter of the shop, where she was testing out the
computerized cash register.

"And I am glad that isn't me.  I have enough trouble getting Windows
95 to work, let alone a computerized cash register."  Sara sighed
again and went back to the window painting, dipping her brush in the
white paint this time.  "I guess I was the logical choice, as the name
was my suggestion.  I just don't like it that much."

The white highlight around the M done, Sara put down the brush and
went outside to see the view from the front.  It wasn't bad, actually,
con-sidering it was her first time painting a window.  The RDM stood
out from the rest of the words, as did the "Chocolates and Roses"
beneath it.  At the bottom of the window were the words "Rich, Dark,
Mysterious" and the note "We Deliver in the Metro Area: Call us for
Details".  In the lower right was the fine print: "A Mercenary Guild
Enterprise" (she had refrained from adding the Guild slogan: "We're in
it for the money," a particularly appropriate comment after that
rather acrimonious meeting today about the overdue Guild fees, and
missing rent (she rather sus-pected Dianne of having eaten some of the
chocolate offered in rent after the last war, but one did not accuse
the GHP without proof, and she hoped she would be able to collect it
this time around. The Guild needed cash to pay the mortgage on the
house and for bribes (you know, the CRTC, the building inspectors,
etc.).  Chocolate didn't buy too many city officia