dear all--

I've just finished reading the last of the War posts (my 
goodness, we were a prolific lot!) and I thought a small word 
of thanks was due our listowners--Jaye, Laurie Salopek, and 
Lisa McDavid--for allowing us to take over and totally spam 
the FKFIC-L list for the past three weeks.

The War began with the lists being held by the listserv--how 
appropriate that it should end that way as well! The 12+ hour 
delay in seeing the final posts <did> play merry havoc with 
our attempts to write a wrap-up, though... Thank goodness the 
format allowed for a multiplicity of possible endings! :-)

Great job, everyone. You were brilliant, creative, totally 
confused, and vengeful by turns. I'm still not quite sure how 
we ended up with THREE separate Wars--the filming, the 
screening, and the episode itself--not to mention an 
"alternate universe"--but it was fun. It was exciting. It was 
exhausting. It had all the elements of a true blockbuster: An 
intriguing murder mystery. Double-crosses and hidden 
identities. Tender love scenes ["Lu!" <*giggle*>], puppy love 
scenes [Tami and Sandra, you know who you are!], 
unadulterated lust [shame on you Cousins--that's the 
Knighties' job!], bondage (yep, I'm looking at *you* Candice 
and Darkangel), torture, kidnapping, greed, sabotage 
[*meow*], blackmail, coercion, breaking-and-entering, 
disguises [hello, Tara and Dawn!], dressing up, dressing 
down, cross-dressing, several musical numbers, car chases, 
fine dining [lobster with garlic butter--yum!], a food fight, 
stunt animals, and the E-mail Loop from Hell.

Am I forgetting anything? I pity the poor person who actually 
<volunteered> to edit this monster!

As Jennise said late on Saturday night, after we'd posted the 
wrap-up: "I'm not <ever> doing THAT again!" Then she 
staggered out to her Saturn (which escaped the War unscathed, 
unlike Nick's Caddy, Natalie's car, Janette's Porsche... 
Thank you Susan Garrett!) and tooled off into the night.

I haven't seen her since.

As for the next War... Maybe in another decade or two?

We now return you to your regularly scheduled FK discussion. 

-- Karin Welss


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

FK WAR #4

Background and Rules
by Jennise & Karin


                    KARIN
          In the beginning there was the
          First FK War, at the end of
          which Jennise Hall achieved her
          fondest wish-- to become a
          professional scriptwriter.  Her
          very dear friend Karin even got
          her a staff position on Forever
          Knight--

                    JENNISE
          Karin, Karin, wake up. You're
          dreaming again. Many of our
          readers were there. They know
          you sent your innocent little
          friend off to Toronto for a
          meeting with this great
          producer. You NEGLECTED to
          mention THAT HE WAS A
          VAMPIRE!!!!!!!!

                    KARIN
          Minor detail--

                    JENNISE
          You consider the appointment I
          arranged for you a minor
          detail?

                    KARIN
          Well, I <do> miss chocolate.
          Sometimes. But I don't have
          freckles any more. Anyhow,
          back to the story--at the end
          of the First FK War, we were
          brought across...

                    JENNISE
          By Pops.

                    KARIN
          ...And hired as his staff
          writers.

                    JENNISE
          I was hired as writer you're
          the Boom...

                    KARIN
          WRITER. My spelling's better
          than yours anyway.

                    JENNISE
          Fine. Shall we move on to FKWAR
          2? Or at least the only thing
          that happened that was of any
          importance. The filming of
          the... How shall I phrase it--
          the "bogus alternate episode"
          of FK.

                    KARIN
          Ah, yes, we had them all
          fooled. Running around that
          island in a frenzy, harassing
          those poor actors, defaming the
          reputation of the characters--
          ah, those were the days!

Jennise's laughter fades into a deep sigh.

A door opens; Jennise and Karin spring guiltily to attention
in front of their word processors.

                    JENNISE &KARIN
               (in unison)
          Good morning, sir!

                    LACROIX
          Have you finished the
          introduction yet?

                    KARIN
          Yes, sir.

LaCroix perches on the edge of the desk and peers over at 
DORIAN, Karin's sleek, powerful, yet temperamental HP9000 
Series 700/800 workstation. Karin and Jennise speak in 
perfect, almost mechanical unison

     *  You're not required to write your scenes for this
      episode in script format. You may write in any
      format you feel comfortable with.

     *  Put
        WAR:
        in the subject line of all War posts.

     *  In the past, some factions have coordinated their
      creative efforts--if you're interested, post a note
      to FORKNI-L to get in touch with other faction
      members (and don't forget to put  WAR: in the subject
      line!). However, if you'd like to throw a
      monkey wrench into the works, feel free. All canon
      characters are available to everyone. Derailing the
      storyline with an unexpected twist is half the fun of
      participating in a War.

     *  Just be respectful if someone has put dibs on the
      next part.

     *  If you want to put dibs on a next part, please post
      that part within 24 hours to keep the storylines
      moving smoothly along.

     *  No flames or personal attacks. This is supposed to
      be fun. Anyone throwing a temper tantrum in public
      will be snacked on by one of the vampires.

     *  If you want to use a listmember in one of your
      storylines, get their permission first.

LaCroix hears them out, then purses his lips disapprovingly.

                    LACROIX
          Is that the best you could do?

                    JENNISE
          Did we miss something?

                    LACROIX
          Of course not. Print out a copy
          of the script for my third-
          season pilot. I want to take it
          to my meeting with a certain
          producer.

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

Note: This War picks up on a storyline from FKWARS #2, 
wherein LaCroix attempted to hijack the Forever Knight 
episodes by plotting with two writers he brought across at 
the end of War #1.

Coup d'Etat (1)
by Jennise Hall 
and Karin Welss

The Pacific Rim Restaurant, perched high on the seaside 
cliffs in Malibu, was quiet on a Wednesday night. A gentle 
veil of rain blurred the shadowy outline of the rugged 
California coastline, making it appear that the restaurant 
was floating in darkness. Inside, the room was filled with 
the low murmur of discreet conversation and scented with the 
delicate aromas of freshly grated ginger and soy.

Seated at a linen-covered table, LaCroix lifted a goblet of 
George de la Tour Private Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon, a 
satisfied expression on his face. He studied the deep garnet-
colored refractions in the soft glow of the table's candle, 
and smiled at the man sitting across the table, a moderately 
famous television producer who we shall identify only as Mr. 
P. "Without my help," LaCroix said smoothly. "There is no 
third season of Forever Knight."

Mr. P., accustomed to the elaborate dance of Hollywood 
negotiation, countered: "I doubt that. I still have other 
possibilities..."

"Are you certain?" LaCroix sipped delicately at the Cabernet. 
"I offered USA my show about the werewolf lifeguards on a 
Santa Barbara beach. _Baywatch_--with a bite. And the Great 
White North Network--"

"How did you find out about that?" Mr. P. demanded. "No one 
outside my office knows about the deal with GWNN!

 "--Has decided to renew _Rin-Tin-Tin, K9 Cop_ instead."

Mr. P. closed his eyes in despair "You've left me no choice, 
have you?"

LaCroix merely smiled, and handed over a script. "My proposed 
third-season pilot," he said. "Courtesy of my own staff 
writers. I wanted to give a preview of the direction I intend 
for the upcoming episodes."

If Mr. P. was dismayed, he hid it well--for a mortal. "I see. 
Well, I'll certainly take it under consideration, Mr. 
LaCroix." He accepted the thick folder from his new business 
partner and sighed. What was it about Hollywood that made the 
financiers fancy themselves creative spirits? "Why don't we 
do lunch--"

"Dinner," LaCroix corrected him.

"Right, yeah, dinner with your writing staff next week. Now 
that you've provided the go-ahead for Season Three, we need 
to coordinate proposed story lines, that sort of thing." Mr. 
P.--was nothing if not a seasoned producer, and he had 
bounced back quickly from the shock of finding LaCroix in 
charge of the show. After all, Mr. P.--had survived CBS and 
Letterman. The screen writing undead held little terror for 
him.

"I look forward to it," His victory assured, LaCroix was the 
embodiment of graciousness and sophisticated charm in his 
black Armani suit. "Let us drink to our partnership, Mr. P.--
I'm quite certain that it will be a rewarding one for all of 
us."

"To the third season of Forever Knight," Mr. P. toasted, 
raising his own glass of Kenwood Chardonnay.

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

Later, comfortably ensconced in his home study, Mr. P. read 
the last few pages of the script and sighed wearily. It was 
good--it just wasn't quite what he had envisioned for <his> 
show.

LaCroix's show, now. But it <was> a third season, never mind 
who was writing the checks this time around. And Mr. P. owed 
a lot to the fans that had kept the momentum for renewal 
going, who had written and phoned and never lost hope. 
Somehow, a free t-shirt seemed a paltry gift with which to 
thank them.

He stared thoughtfully at the blank screen of his home 
computer. He couldn't. He <shouldn't>.

But he would.

It was a way of foiling LaCroix's coup d'etat while at the 
same time allowing his faithful supporters the creative input 
they craved. Mr. P had a devilish smile on his face as he 
brought up his email program, and began to compose a message.

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

Received: April 1, 1995 18:56 
From:     Mr. P <jp@AOL.COM> 
To:       FORKNI-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU 
Subject:  FK Renewed!

We've just received word that Season Three has the green 
light, thanks to the generosity of a certain unnamed sponsor 
who's also a big fan of the show.

Thanks, everyone--we couldn't have done it without you. To 
express my gratitude, I am inviting you all to be in the 
third season pilot episode. Forever Knight would be Forever 
Not without you, and it's only right that you should be able 
to participate.

I look forward to working with you.

Mr. P

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

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

A Visit in the Night 
by J. Michele Freemon

Michele pulled the Li'l Orange Witch into her usual parking 
spot and killed the engine, sighing with relief. 'Home at 
last!  Why I *ever* gave up my Monday off...' She climbed out 
and loaded up with the Diet Pepsi and canned cat food she'd 
stopped to buy. She gave the hood of her pickup an absent pat 
as she headed for her large efficiency. She pushed open the 
door and heard the familiar welcoming 'Mrrrrooooww!'

"Hello to you, too, Tiger cat." She dumped the groceries in 
the kitchen, automatically ducking the phone line stretching 
from the wall plug to her 'puter. 'One of these days I'm 
gonna have to tack that up a little higher,' she thought. 
Heading back toward the closet, she flipped on the 'puter as 
she passed. "Hey! The Suns ought to be back up by now. Cool!  
I can catch up on the FKfic list!" Some part of her mind 
commented on the folly of talking to oneself, but she ignored 
it, as always.

Lady Jane Grey had joined Tiger in demanding their evening 
treat. "Yeah, yeah, I'm working on it," Michele tossed over 
her shoulder, quickly changing into her favorite oversized 
tee. Back in the kitchen, she opened a can of Super Supper 
and grimaced at the smell. She divided it between the two 
bowls and presented the cats with their treat, stroking each 
of them once as they dug in. Continuing her homecoming 
rituals, she lit a stick of Night Jasmine incense and placed 
it in the brass holder on her altar. She brushed some ash 
from last night's stick off the pentagram and straightened 
the cloth.

Grabbing a Diet Pepsi, she plopped down in front of the 
'puter. She grabbed 'From Every Stage' and popped it into her 
boombox, smiling at the sweet tones of Joan Baez. The best 
part of her yearly "Alphabetical Listening Spree" was the 
tapes she forgot the rest of the time. She lit up a ciggie 
and logged on to her net account.

For the next 45 minutes Michele went through her newsgroups, 
grumbling at a few posts bashing poor Dr. Kevin, her favorite 
GH character. She finished up with a return and stretched, 
flipping the tape. Grabbing another DP, she called up Pine 
and eeped. "Fifty new messages! I *hate* it when they do 
maintenance on the Suns!" She sorted the new mail into 
folders and started with the other lists, saving the FK posts 
for dessert.

She finished the last HIGLA-L digest, then opened the FK 
folder. She read quickly and reached the final message, a 
short one according to Pine. "Maybe I should work on that 
story for James' and Darkangel's list, hmmm, Lady?" The cat 
glanced up, gave her what looked remarkably like a shrug and 
went back to rubbing her head in Michele's shoe. Laughing, 
Michele glanced back at the 'puter and nearly choked on her 
DP when she saw the From: line.

"James Parriot?! Writing to the list?" She read carefully, a 
grin forming on her face. A minute-long fantasy of agents and 
producers beating down her door after her stellar performance 
in the FK season premiere flitted through her head. "Oh, 
yeah, *that's* gonna happen! Stick to reality, 'Chele!"

She hit the Compose key and dashed off a quick message to her 
stepmom, requesting a fresh non-revenue pass. "Having a 
relative who works for an airline does come in handy 
occasionally..." The grin still on her face, she leaned back 
and sung along to "Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts."

'I really gotta pull Joan out more'n once a year!' she mused, 
silently for once, then jumped at the light knock on her 
door. "Now, who is that at 1:17 in the am?" She trudged over 
to the door and stretched up to look through her peephole. 
"Huh. Nobody there. Probably a prank." She turned back to the 
'puter, her thoughts already on the evil-but-oh-so-fun things 
LaCroix was doing to Janette in her story. She made it 
halfway before the knock came again. The peephole still 
revealed only the parking lot, but before she got more than a 
step from the door, the knock was repeated. "All right, 
that's quite enough of that!" She threw both deadbolts and 
flung open her door.

LaCroix calmly stepped into sight and through the door. 
Michele's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "Close your 
mouth, my dear, and then close the door," he ordered, once it 
became obvious she was going to do neither.

She automatically did as he commanded, then turned to face 
him. "Lucien?! Uh, I m-mean *Uncle*? I-I mean, Mr. LaCroix, 
sir..." she finished feebly.

LaCroix smiled, "Uncle will do nicely, I think." He strolled 
over to her futon and sat down, stretching his long legs out 
in front of him.

'Good thing I actually folded that up this morning,' Michele 
thought, followed swiftly by, 'How *does* he manage to look 
threatening and sexy at the same time--sitting on a futon six 
inches off the floor no less!'

The sound of thunderous applause came from the boombox and 
Michele jumped, rushing to it and hitting stop just after 
Joan asked her audience, "Would you do 'Amazing Grace' with 
me?" She turned back to the gorgeous vampire sitting on her 
sofa-bed, the bed part somehow being uppermost in her mind, 
even though it was currently a sofa.

LaCroix merely nodded slightly. "Thank you. Please, my dear, 
have a seat."

Michele eyed the spot next to him, decided she wasn't that 
brave and stepped over his legs to the armchair instead. She 
curled her own legs under her and leaned over the arm to face 
him. Her Southern Belle hostess instincts kicked in--he was, 
regardless of anything else, A Guest. "I'd offer you 
something to drink, but..." her voice trailed off and she 
cursed her Southern heritage for the first time since she 
found out her family had once owned slaves.

LaCroix chuckled, the sound sending delicious chills up her 
spine. "Perhaps one day I will take you up on that offer," he 
murmured. "But not tonight. Tonight we have more important 
things to discuss."

Michele's eyebrow raised at that. She was regaining her 
composure and his offhand reassurance sped up the process. 
"What might those be? And why discuss them with me?"

"I was... Intrigued by your 'Forever Not' story," he replied. 
"A bit blunt, but it showed promise. And your story for the 
erotica list is most... Absorbing." His tone was dry, but his 
eyes were glowing just the tiniest bit.

"But I haven't posted that, yet!" One of LaCroix's eyebrows 
rose, and Michele's eyes narrowed. She made a mental note to 
get her cracker friend to install some protections, then 
quickly crossed it out. She had a feeling Uncle wouldn't 
appreciate that.

"Your first assignment is to finish that. And send me a 
private copy." He grinned at her and her jaw almost dropped 
again. She gave him a shaky nod. "I trust the current 
hostilities have not escaped your notice."

"No. I'm pretty good about keeping up with my mail."

"Good. Communications are paramount in wartime. And prompt 
replies to my messages are, of course, compulsory."

"Of course," Michele replied, her tone as dry as the dead 
cactus on her bookshelf. One side of LaCroix's mouth raised 
as he contemplated the petite brunette. He rose smoothly to 
his feet and pulled out a business card. He stepped over to 
the 'puter desk and, glancing down, placed it on her chair.

"I won't keep you from your writing, but expect a message in 
the next day or so." He returned to stand in front of her and 
extended a hand to help her to her feet. She wound up 
standing uncomfortably close to him and both sides of his 
mouth turned upward as her heart rate doubled.

LaCroix led her to the door, keeping her hand wrapped in his 
cool one. "You will have that finished by morning, won't 
you?"

"Somehow I don't think that will be a problem," Michele 
replied. "I'm feeling rather... Inspired."

"Good." He raised her hand to his lips and, just as she'd 
written, let his tongue lightly graze the back of her hand. 
Michele grinned as she realized she'd been right about 
exactly how much of a turn-on that was.

She closed the door behind him and snapped home the 
deadbolts. Turning, she leaned weakly against the door. "Oh, 
wow."

LaCroix lingered outside until his acute hearing picked up 
the tappity-tap on the keyboard, then turned and launched 
himself into the night sky with a decidedly wicked smile.

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

Casus Belli (1) 
Michelle D. Noel

Michelle was sitting at her desk, reading the article she had 
to prepare for Wednesday's seminar. She couldn't keep her 
mind on her work, however. Mr. P.'s e-mail message she had 
received earlier in the day kept distracting her thoughts. 
List members; in the third season premiere. That was great 
news. She just had to make sure she was back in Toronto by 
June, so she could participate. She smiled at the prospect of 
actually being *in* an episode of FK. But who was the 
mysterious benefactor who had assured the third season? 
Michelle had her suspicions of course, but then did it really 
matter who it was? She tried again to concentrate upon the 
article--she was pretty sure that her Religion and Society in 
the Later Middle Ages class would be much more interested in 
that than in a vampire-cop show, even if it *was* set in 
Toronto. And even if there was the occasional flashback to 
medieval Europe. As she continued to read about 
historiography of medieval religion, sipping at her Diet 
Coke, it reminded her that she still had to compose that 
letter to Lisa about Pagan survival in Janette's time. 
*You've got Forever Knight on the brain tonight, don't you, 
Mitch?* she thought to herself. It was Mr. P.'s message. That 
and the fact that on the previous Monday, the topic of the 
lecture in her mediaeval law class had been the theology and 
canon law concerning penance in the early 13th century, just 
when Nick had been brought across. And the fact that Shannah 
had brought her tapes of the first season from home this 
week, and so she'd finally had a chance to see "False 
Witness" (filmed right across the street at Trinity College). 
And because she had met Valerie too (and Valerie had brought 
a tape of "TFI," "The Fix," "Father's Day," *and* "Be My 
Valentine"). She sighed. This just wasn't working. *Maybe I 
should go to bed,* she thought. She could always read the 
article tomorrow. She was still debating when she heard a 
knock at her door.

She looked at the clock. Four-thirty a.m.? Even if it was 
really only 3:30 standard time... She got up. "Hold on a sec. 
The door's locked," she called out quietly as she walked the 
few paces to the door. She didn't know who to expect at that 
hour, but she certainly wasn't prepared for the man who faced 
her. Startled, she stepped back to let him enter. She tried 
not to stutter, but was largely unsuccessful. "C-c-come in." 
He smiled at her discomfiture as he entered and she closed 
the door after him.

"You must know why I am here, Michelle." The sound of her 
name on his tongue chilled her spine.

"I think I have an idea..." she hesitated, unsure of what to 
call him "LaCroix." The last was said as a question.

He had taken his gaze from her after his initial statement, 
and was looking around at the decoration of the room, her 
posters, her shrine. It seemed a casual activity, that of any 
visitor. But Michelle knew that LaCroix was not just any 
visitor. He looked at her again. "You are a Cousin are you 
not? You may call me Uncle."

She swallowed and realized that her mouth was dry. She 
wondered if it would be rude, or worse, a loss of face for 
her to take a drink from the Diet Coke still on her desk. 
"Uncle." she said.

He walked to the bookcase and picked up a piece of marble 
which was displayed on the top shelf. "Tell me. Why do you 
think I've come to see you?"

He was testing her, she knew. "The message. From Mr. P. about 
the episode. You are the mysterious benefactor?"

He put the marble back where it had been and took up a piece 
of clay. "They will attempt to wrest control from me. The 
followers of Nicholas and the others. You will prevent that 
from happening."

"I'll do everything I can. I have sworn loyalty to you."

"Indeed." He looked again at the piece of clay in his hand. 
"Where is this from?"

She was taken aback for a moment at the change of topic. 
"Ostia. Ostia Antica. I got it this summer when I was in Roma 
studying Latin. It's a brick." She tried not to giggle 
hysterically at the pun.

He ignored it anyway. "I had a house in Ostia." He put the 
clay brick back where he had found it, and then looked back 
at her, his eyes piercing into hers. "Here are my 
instructions." He let her drop her eyes and held out a piece 
of paper to her. She took it, trying not to let her hand 
shake. He grabbed her by the wrist. "Me non defice," he said 
in a voice menacing enough to make her legs almost give way. 
She dropped the page onto the floor. He laughed a little at 
this and released his tight grip, moving his hand down to 
take hers. "Bon soir, cherie." He kissed the back of her hand 
lightly, caressed the side of her face, and then he was gone.

It took a while for her to recover. But she picked up the 
sheet of paper and glanced over what was written there (in 
New Roman Cursive script, the scholar's part of her brain 
told her). She had to get the word out. She turned her 
computer on, dialed in, and logged in to ncf. First she sent 
a message to the list, to let all the Cousins out there know 
how to contact her. And to tell the Mercs that she would 
offer to buy loyalty. Then she sent a message to her fellow 
Cousin, Craig. He had connections in Ottawa, after all. He 
would help. Especially when he found out what Uncle had in 
mind.

(trans. note: "casus belli" means the justification or 
opportunity of (the) war; "Me non defice" means "do not 
fail/disappoint me") 

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

Casus Belli (2) 
Craig Gilmore

Craig hobbled into the bedroom and tossed his backpack into 
the corner with a clumk. "I must be mad, five hours of Ju-
Jitsu is entirely too much at my age." The computer whined as 
he turned it on, and flipping off the lights, he flopped down 
into the chair in front of the computer desk. He logged onto 
NCF and as he waited for it to get through the usual blather 
he started sorting through the tapes on the table beside the 
player. "Right. Theme music I need theme music, Vangellis? 
Nah too mellow. "Lost Boys" soundtrack? Nah, too upbeat. 
"Hellraiser" soundtrack? Definitely not, way too dark and 
grim."

As he rejected each choice it was tossed back onto the desk 
with a clatter. "Ahhhh, perfect." Slipping the tape into the 
radio, Craig pressed play and the strains of Bach's Toccate 
and Fuge in D-Minor filled the room, just in time for the 
computer to finish preliminaries and get down to Business. 
Craig headed to the post office and with a clicking of keys 
started to read Mail. Shortly thereafter a startled 
exclamation burst out of the room.

"Mr. P. wants us to be in the FK shoot! All right! Oh by the 
gods, how am I going to get to TO? Hey maybe I'll actually 
get to talk to uncle."

Craig puzzled for a moment, and then amended, "Or maybe Uncle 
will talk to me."

Having been completely cut off from watching FK since the 
rackinfrackin CTV had canceled the show Craig's only contact 
with FK had more importantly Uncle's wishes had been the list 
and via Michelle. Thinking of Michelle, Craig scanned through 
the rest of his mail. "Ah ha!", he exclaimed with delight," 
Cousin Mich has sent me mail." Having recently decided that 
he was too nasty to be anything else but a cousin and that 
Uncle was the most stylish thing in fangs to come along in a 
long time, had caused Craig to beg for inclusion amongst 
Uncles loyal followers.

Turning back to the message he began to read. As he read his 
eyes grew wide behind his glasses, and then narrowed.

"So, it seems that someone has been interfering with Uncle's 
radio station. He must have pulled a few *strings* to have 
CERK put on the air, and if someone had found out, and 
started to complain. Perhaps someone was working against 
Uncle to prevent his takeover of the FK show. This could also 
explain the sudden switch that CTV had pulled. Interference 
by the CRTC into the broadcasting industry could be 
inconvenient to say the least. Uncle's loyal followers had to 
have contact with Uncle, or else their well co-ordinated 
effectiveness would be lost. And from what was contained in 
the letter, Their plans for the upcoming filming would 
require most of the Canadian Cousins to co-ordinate very 
closely to prevent interference with Uncles enlightened 
concept. This little problem in the CRTC would have to be 
found and defused.

Craig leaned back in his chair, and slipped in the 
"Hellraiser" tape.

"It looks like I have some calls to make."

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

GERthering Together 
by Sandra Gray

Sandra lay awake, staring up into the darkness. After the 
events of the last two days, she should have been wiped out. 
But the excitement of being at A Weekend With Ger apparently 
was hard for her to throw off. Her two Knightie roommates had 
succumbed to fatigue, but Sandra was still restless.

More than restless, she was thirsty. And there was nothing in 
the room to drink currently except water.

Sandra decided a soda would be better. There was a pop 
machine in the hotel. She quietly got out of bed and slipped 
on pants and a shirt in the bathroom. Taking some coins from 
her purse and the room key, she quietly left the room, 
careful not to wake her roommates.

At the pop machine, she looked over the selections. She put 
in the first coin and had started to add another when she 
heard footsteps coming up the hall. Looking toward the sound, 
she saw Geraint Wyn Davies approaching!

She felt her face flush as she dropped her second coin. She 
quickly bent to pick it up and so did he, their hands 
touching. Sandra pulled her hand back and he picked up the 
coin. She swallowed and straightened. Ger held out the coin 
with a smile, and Sandra found herself being distracted by 
his blue eyes. "I see I'm not the only person thirsty," he 
said.

Sandra regained enough presence of mind to take the coin and 
turn to the machine. "I couldn't sleep," she said, putting in 
the coin and then the third one.

"Neither could I," said Ger.

Sandra's heart pounded and she could feel herself starting to 
break into a sweat. She busied herself pushing the drink 
button, hoping she wouldn't say something else stupid.

"By the way, I know I mentioned it before, but I wanted to 
say again that the picture you drew of... Nick... for the 
auction was very nice."

Sandra looked at him. He smiled. "Thanks," she murmured.

"You're very talented. I appreciated you using your talent to 
help the Children's Hospital."

"It's just a hobby," Sandra said. "I was glad to help." Then 
she remembered her soda and bent to retrieve it from the 
slot.

"Are you going to participate in the filming of the third 
season premiere episode?"

Sandra looked at him. He looked so very much like Nick, it 
was hard not to think it was him. "Ummm... Yeah, I--I'll be 
there."

Ger put his coins into the pop machine. "Great!" he said and 
pushed a button. He retrieved his drink and looked at her. 
There was a moment of silence as Sandra became lost in his 
blue eyes. "Well... Good night," he said, almost hesitantly.

Sandra felt a chill run down her spine. What if he...? He had 
come alone to the "GERthering", after all. She licked her 
lips and swallowed, heard herself say, "Good night." He 
smiled slightly, then turned and walked off down the hall.

<Idiot!> she chastised herself as she watched his retreating 
figure. Maybe he'd just wanted to talk to someone. Now he was 
gone.

Sandra sighed and walked back to her room.

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

A Rock and a Hard Place 
by Sarah Welsh

Sarah regarded her INBOX with growing distress. She should 
have known that LaCroix and the Cousins wouldn't let her 
alone after his visit. She jumped back up the list of War 
posts to the personal message from Cousin Candice. "See you 
in Toronto," she had written. Was that a suggestion or an 
order, she wondered. Officially, she wasn't a Cousin anymore 
so she shouldn't have to take orders from them. However, she 
decided with a sigh, "officially" had very little influence 
over LaCroix.

She logged out of her account, turned off the computer, and 
stared at the wall in thought. She was hardly in a position 
to disobey a direct order from LaCroix. Once a Cousin, always 
a Cousin, Candice had reminded her. Well, that wasn't exactly 
true Sharon Himmanen, she knew, had switched sides once and 
had survived it. But Sharon had gone back to the NatPack. 
Sarah wasn't affiliated with anyone; she had no protection. 
She wasn't even an official mercenary, despite her wonderful 
video tapes. She had always prided herself on being 
independent. Now she wasn't so sure.

So should she go to Toronto, or was she safe staying home in 
Fort Worth for the duration or at least until she heard from 
the one to whom she had pledged her services? On the one 
hand, she had three exams and a fifteen-page paper due this 
week. On the other hand, she doubted very much whether 
LaCroix would accept academic responsibility as an excuse. 
She had never been to Toronto, but she had friends who lived 
there; if she did go, she would have a place to stay. But she 
didn't really know anyone on the list that well. Her one 
close friend, her intrepid editor Jen Lackey, was driving a 
car full of Cousins according to the latest reports from the 
front lines. She could use some advice, but Cousins Candice, 
Caile, and James were the last people she wanted to have any 
intimate knowledge of her intentions or lack thereof. How to 
get a message to Jen?

Sarah grinned. She knew that memorizing her ex-college 
roommate's login and password would come in handy someday. 
Turning the computer back on and logging back into the 
system, she telnetted to North Carolina and rattled off a 
quick note to Jennifer, filling her in on the situation and 
asking for guidance. Hitting ^X to send the message, she sat 
back in satisfaction. The assorted Cousins wouldn't have any 
interest in an e-mail from someone in North Carolina who 
wasn't even on the list. Her query should be safe from any 
prying eyes next time Jen checked her mail. Nothing to do now 
but wait for a reply. And study.

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

What is it good for?
Lorelei Feldman

Lorelei grumpily pulled her long hair out of the computer, 
where it had managed to fall for the umpteenth time, dropped 
her screwdriver, pushed  the cover back on the CPU, and 
hopefully held her breath and pressed the power button.

*Yay! It's working, it's on... I HAVE A MODEM!* She breathed 
a sigh of relief. *Finally! And it's only...* She looked at 
the clock. *2:30 in the morning. Which means my >body< thinks 
it's 5:30... No, wait, there's been a time change! Spring up 
makes it... 6:30. Oh, joy. Just what >I< needed.*

She rubbed her neck, stretched, and looked wincingly over her 
shoulder at the mess that was her apartment. *Gee, I 
>thought< I had a floor in here somewhere.* The entire studio 
was knee-deep in clothes, food, and music. The three 
suitcases and one large bag which had formerly held said 
flood stood near-empty in the middle of it, victims of her 
frantic search for a three-by-one modem that she knew was in 
there >somewhere<.

*And what kind of idiot designs a 2400-baud, non-removable, 
modem, and attaches it to the motherboard?! Probably the same 
fool that trains hardware support people to tell you, at the 
end of a hellish 19-or-so-hour and three-time-zone day that 
you've just fried said motherboard. I'm glad I looked in 
there again. Bending two pins back into shape is certainly a 
lot cheaper than a new computer.*

She sighed again, reconfigured her software for the new, 
faster modem, and logged on, waiting with dread for the 
certain flood of mail after a week and a half off-line. *Only 
405?! Did I get unsubbed?!*  Frantic, she checked the date of 
the last posts. They all seemed to be there. *Guess I wasn't 
the only one on Spring Break.*

Several hours later, she was even more tired, but far too 
excited to sleep. *Toronto?! And we get to be in the 
premiere?!!* Bouncing slightly in excitement, she considered. 
*Well, I know I can make it, my prof's understanding. 
Besides, I can always tell him it's further vampire research. 
It worked in the last war, why change a good thing? And at 
least this time I have a little more warning. Let's see, 
there's time enough to iron some clothes, and I just bought 
all these great gorgeous outfits back home in Atlanta... This 
will be so much fun! Back to Eastern time... Or is it 
Central?* She leaned over the bed and grabbed her dayrunner 
out of her black leather backpack. *I don't believe this! 
Does the world end at US borders? Where's Canada on this map? 
Oh, well. I can always ask Janette.

One last quick visit to the e-mailbox resulted in a message 
to the Raven, confirming that the usual expense account 
accommodations would be made, and when she would be needed. 
Stretching out her back and legs again, which seemed to be 
eternally cramped, she grinned smugly. *Well, at least with 
Janette paying, I'll be able to afford first class this time. 
I'm sick and tired of coach!*

At last, she took a shower and collapsed onto her black-and-
burgundy satin-sheeted futon, falling asleep to plans of 
clothes-shopping, acting, and socializing in Toronto. *And 
just wait until my non-list friends see me in the premiere!*

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

What Show Was That, Again?
by Amparo Bertram 

Amparo finally returned to her dorm room after a long weekend 
at home going over taxes with her parents. She dumped her 
duffel bag out on the laundry pile in her closet, kicked off 
her shoes, and settled into the creaking wooden chair in 
front of her computer. Her roommate, Lisa, glanced up briefly 
from where she sat at her desk, busily studying like a good 
pre-med. "How did it go, Pod?"

"Fine, fine," Amparo muttered. She could tell the agonizing 
tale of her financial woes some other time. Right now she had 
a lot of e-mail to catch up on. She dialed into her account 
and spent the next few minutes oblivious to everything in the 
world but her computer screen.

Suddenly she let out a high-pitched yelp.

Lisa jerked up her head. "What happened?" she asked, 
concerned.

Amparo just pointed mutely at the white characters filling 
the screen until she got her breath back. "See that? I can't 
believe it! The fans of "Forever Knight" have been invited to 
be in the third season's pilot episode."

Lisa wrinkled her brow. "Which show is that? The one with the 
FBI agents?"

Amparo sighed in resignation. "No, it's the one with the 
vampires. Remember?"

The light dawned. "Oh, yes, the one that keeps you up so late 
Saturday nights. So... Is that good news?"

"Are you kidding? To be in an episode? To actually meet my 
favorite..." She stopped herself, realizing she was on the 
verge of gushing uncontrollably. "Ignore me squealing to 
myself for a while until I devise a way to get to Toronto."

"You mean you're actually going?"

"Of course! Besides, here I am, living in Michigan, and I've 
never been to Canada. This is my big chance. I'll never 
forgive myself if I pass it up."

Lisa turned back to her book on how to prepare for the MCAT. 
"Well, I hope you have a good time, Pod. Don't forget to set 
your VCR for that Mountie show you like so much. I know how 
you get when you miss it."

"Don't worry." She scrolled through the rest of her e-mail in 
a euphoric daze. "They don't start filming for another month. 
Plenty of time to find some like-minded individuals to stay 
with."

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

Unexpected Encounters...
by Amy Bittenbinder

*It really is a good think I've managed to escape Uncle's 
attentions for the last few weeks. With this new war, he'd 
have me doing all the drudge work... As punishment for my 
weakening, he'd do something awful like that.*

"Come on Nika, it's time to go outside, you can chase birds 
or bugs or something out there... Leave Pandora and Lucifur 
alone! *And* Delilah!"

*You would think by now she would know those rats are *not* 
play toys... Silly cat*

The street was empty, too empty... It felt just a bit too 
quiet. It made me nervous... And Nika was struggling against 
her walking leash just a bit more than usual.

*Funny, you'd think she wanted to go back inside, usually she 
just wants to get off and run without me attached..."

Suddenly a cold chill ran across my spine... *Oh, no, no!, no 
no no...* I stopped still. I was hoping I was wrong, just 
once could my feelings be wrong!

Nika, after several minutes of desperate trying was loose. 
She let out a fierce Yowl, and ran up the street, and around 
the corner. Chasing her was not my favorite activity under 
any circumstances, but if I was right, all I wanted to do was 
get Nika and get back in the house.

Running and the corner, my worst fears were realized... There 
stood Uncle, and my cat, who doesn't like *anybody* but me... 
Having their own conversation... At least Uncle was talking 
to her... And of all things, about Hunting... Only I was sure 
mice were not the topic. All I wanted to do was turn around 
and get back to the house... Now was not the best time for a 
confrontation with Uncle....

I slowly turned around, but soft words sounded behind me... 
"Lashoka, come here."

The voice was soft, but I could hear the anger beneath it. 
Knowing better, I meekly went over to him. He handed me my 
cat. "Thank you." was all I could manage.

"We have to have a little talk." he said.

"About what..." I said feigning ignorance.

"I think you know... But, let me remind you... You are a 
Cousin. You are NOT a Knightie...You know how I feel about 
people following that Brick Nicholas..." he said, becoming 
more agitated as he continued.

"I know I said, I really did, but they pulled me in, the had 
me convinced that morality, and The Cure for Nick were the 
best things, that I really *was* a Knightie, that is was fun 
to be good, and kind, and warm-fuzzy all the time..."

"Your excuses are not acceptable, and on top of that you've 
been hiding from me... I hope you are ready to accept your 
true nature, and work for us in this war... I expect you to 
be as obedient as all the others... *You are Mine to deal 
with,* not a toy for Nicholas's enjoyment, or an aide for 
Natalie's use... *You WILL stay away from them, unless I 
otherwise tell you, UNDERSTOOD?*

"Y-y-yes Uncle... I promise... What ever you need me for, you 
or the other Cousins, I promise, just tell me what to do..."

And giving me one last look, a look of mixed disgust and 
understanding, he was gone, and Nika and I stood by ourselves 
on an empty street corner, contemplating what I had just 
gotten my self into with my promise of help, too *all* the 
other Cousins. *I could get very busy. fast.*

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

Waiting for Action (1)
by Sandra Gray

Sandra turned on the computer. Supper was over, Bruce was 
still out, and Amanda was watching TV. She wondered if she'd 
find anything this time.

Sandra had checked the FK list several times that day 
already, expecting to see word of the outbreak of war 
hostilities. But the list had been quiet. And the longer the 
quiet went on, the more concerned she became.

She scanned the mail messages. There was nothing new from 
Nick or his temporary roommate, Romulus, aka Ron the 
Enforcer. They were just as concerned about the lack of war 
action as she was. Silence, in this instance, was certainly 
not golden.

Sandra scanned through the list messages and was brought up 
short by one message, which read:

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

Received: April 1, 1995 18:56
From:   Mr. P <jp@AOL.COM>
To:    FORKNI-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU
Subject: FK Renewed!

We've just received word that Season Three has the green 
light, thanks to the generosity of a certain unnamed sponsor 
who's also a big fan of the show.

Thanks, everyone--we couldn't have done it without you. To 
express my gratitude, I am inviting you all to be in the 
third season pilot episode.

Forever Knight would be Forever Not without you, and it's 
only right that you should be able to participate.

I look forward to working with you.

Mr. P.

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

What was this? A letter from Mike Levine saying that a third
season of the show had been approved had already been posted 
to the list. And who was this "certain unnamed sponsor"?

Sandra checked the email address again. It was different from 
the address to which she had written Mr. P (and gotten 
replies back) on several occasions. Did that mean this was 
the start of the War? Some ruse of the Cousins to lure other 
listmembers to their doom?

There was one way to find out. She looked up the address and
sent her own message to Mr. P., which read:

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

Date:  April 1, 1995 19:30
From:  tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu
To:   jamesp@aol.com
Subject: RE: FK Renewed!

Dear Mr. P.,

I just saw a message (reproduced below) which states that FK
has been renewed for a third season and that you want
*listmembers* to be in the pilot episode?! Is this message
actually from you or is it a hoax? Please let me know.

Thanks for reading this and I hope to hear from you soon.

Sandra Gray
tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu

Begin forwarded message:

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

Sandra read the message over and, satisfied with it, hit 
send. After some thought, she wrote another message:

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

Date:  April 1, 1995 19:30
From:  tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu
To:   NicKnight@aol.com
Subject: Message from JP

Dear Nick,

Did you see the "message from JP," FK Renewed!, on the list?
Sounds a bit suspicious to me with that "unnamed sponsor" 
bit. What do you think?

I'm just writing to let you know that I know of another e-
mail address to Mr. P and have written him a letter about his
"post." If it's a hoax, I expect he'll write and tell me.
If it's *not* a hoax, well, LaCroix *did* try to substitute
his own episodes of Forever Knight in War 2. Could it be
possible that he's trying a *legitimate* way of controlling
the show again?

I'll let you know what Mr. P tells me as soon as I hear from
him. Of course all this could just be an April Fool's Day
joke.

:)

Sandra
tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu

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

Sandra looked over the note to Nick and then sent it. Now
there was nothing to do but wait to hear back from Mr. P.

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

Waiting for Action (2)
by Sandra Gray

Sandra came back into the living room. She had just finished
reading Amanda her bedtime story and had tucked her into bed.
She scanned the computer for new mail messages.

There was one from jamesp@aol.com. She called it up and read
it.

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

Date:  April 1, 1995 17:00 PST
From:  jamesp@aol.com
To:   tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu
Subject: RE: FK Renewed!

Sandra-

The message was not a hoax. I meant every word. Filming will 
start on June 5th. I hope that you will be able to take part.

I'll be posting a more detailed letter with all the specifics
to the list soon. Right now, though, I have a dinner 
engagement so I have to cut this short.

Thanks for everything and thanks for your support of the 
show.

-JP

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

Sandra looked at the letter in some slight shock. Mr. P. 
*was* going to let listmembers have an input into the 
premiere episode! The list post wasn't a hoax! Man, talk 
about fulfilling a fantasy! Being part of the show would be 
almost as good as... She'd better not think about that.

Her mind raced with all the possibilities. Surely it would be 
chaos trying to find parts for who knew how many listmembers. 
Sandra had every intention of trying to get there. In June--
Bruce could take a vacation and they could leave Amanda with 
her mother.

Sandra drew her thoughts away from the future and back to the
present. Nick needed to get this information. She extracted
Mr. P.'s letter and then composed a letter to Nick.

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

Date:  April 1, 1995 21:00
From:  tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu
To:   NicKnight@aol.com
Subject: Not a Hoax!

Dear Nick,

I have heard back from Mr. P. (his message is reproduced 
below). The message from him posted to the list today is a 
legitimate message from him--not a hoax!

So now what do we do? The day isn't over yet, but surely if
there was to be a War, we would have heard something by now?
Unless you think the Cousins plan to make trouble at the June
filming? There is that "certain unnamed sponsor" from his
list letter.

Then again, maybe the filming is just all on the up and up.
Say, maybe you could use your "credentials" to get some
first hand information from the production office up there?

:)

Sandra (excited at the prospects regardless)
tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu

Begin forwarded message:

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

Satisfied, Sandra sent off the message to Nick, hoping to 
soon hear back from him.

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

Sitting It Out
by Valery King

Valery logged off her university computer account with a 
sigh. So the third season of FK had a mysterious benefactor, 
did it? She could guess who that was! Karin and Jennise had 
been strangely silent lately about their writing activities, 
and Valery being Valery she hadn't pressed them about it but 
that hadn't kept her from speculating. Ever since that 
weekend three years earlier at Karin's she had been avoiding 
any discussion about LaCroix. Her memories of his visit were 
very vague, but she figured that whatever it was the master 
vampire had tried to do to her mind hadn't "taken." Her 
remorse over what she and Karin had done to Susan over that 
faked script business, along with those crunchy frogs she'd 
sent Scottie had been a bit too much for her conscience and 
she had dropped the Cousin business.

Of course, the Cousins believed that no one ever escaped 
their--and their master's--clutches. "Once a Cousin, always a 
Cousin!" was their cry. If they chose to forget that Valery 
had faded out of their ranks, well, that was fine with her.

But perhaps she should get her offer out on the board anyway, 
despite the dangers of attracting LaCroix's--and his 
minions'--attention. She felt she still owed something to 
those people attacked by Cousins that felt too shocked and 
demoralized to be able to strike back right away. Because of 
her involvement in the local opera company's upcoming 
Rigoletto production she could not do anything but offer 
Sanctuary for a few days. It ought to be safe enough; after 
all, hardly anyone knew where *Oregon* was, let alone Albany! 
Besides, a Cousin or vampire who chose to come after a victim 
here would have to get past Singh first! Valery would bet her 
Siamese cat could outstare any vampire in existence, and 
those wicked claws would take care of the Cousins. She 
herself wouldn't be around much; rehearsals were taking her 
out of the house almost every night for the next three weeks.

As for her own safety, well, those rehearsals would mean 
they'd have get at her at the theater, and she had yet to 
meet a vampire that could best an opera conductor! And she 
would wager that any confrontation between LaCroix and Dr. 
Marlan Carlson would see LaCroix as the loser.

Well, it might well be that such an event would never happen. 
Most of the War participants could, she knew, take care of 
themselves and each other very well, and no one would need 
Sanctuary. But she'd put the word out anyway. 

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

Specifics, Give Me Specifics! 
by Sandra Gray

April 5, 1995 12:00 PM

Sandra sat down at the computer with a cup of coffee and 
switched it on. She scanned the mail messages and noticed an 
address of interest. She called up the message.

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

Received: April 5, 1995 12:30 PST 
From:     Mr. P <jp@AOL.COM> 
To:       FORKNI-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU 
Subject:  Premiere Filming

My e-mail has been flooded with questions about the previous 
message I posted to the list a few days ago (FK Renewed!). I 
am overwhelmed at the response!

After discussion with other members of the staff, we've 
decided on a few things that I am now writing to you about.

1. The third season premiere episode will be the first
    episode filmed. Filming will begin on June 5, 1995.

2. Because of the *large* number of listmembers who are
    interested in being part of this episode, we have
    decided to extend the normal one week episode filming
    period to *three* weeks. This will allow for sufficient
    time to consider inputting your suggestions for this
    episode and for logistics in having people on the set.

3. In accordance with number 2, extra security will be on
    the set.

4. We will be working from a basic script that has already
    been approved but which will still have room for
    adjustments.

Anyone who wishes to participate in the filming of this third 
season premiere episode should e-mail me again so my staff 
people can confirm a list of people who want to be involved.

Thanks again for your support of Forever Knight and see you 
on the set June 5th!

--JP

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

Well, there was more confirmation of Mr. P.'s intentions to 
allow listmembers input into the filming of an episode of FK. 
Sandra was glad to finally see some more specifics.

She wondered how many listmembers would be taking part in the 
filming. Time to write some messages.

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

A Knightie Joins In (1)
by Amy M. Denton

I walked into the Boynton Computer Lab at 11:55 p.m. to check 
my e-mail. Since the summer had started back in May (in 
Texas, there *are* no seasons) it was just too humid to check 
mail during the day. I had a laptop but it was in Houston 
(why, I don't know, it just was). Fortunately, the Boynton 
Building had been persuaded over the course of several 
semesters to leave at least part of the lab open.

I waved to the lab assistant then sat down and logged in.

'You have 85 new mail messages waiting.' is the prompt that 
greeted me.

"I swear, I'm switching to digest, this is ridiculous." I 
muttered and proceeded to wade through all 85 messages. I 
suppose it's my fault for being on 4 mailing lists but come 
on folks.

I was almost done when I got to message 82. I had to read it 
twice to make sure I wasn't seeing things. Then I almost got 
up and danced around the lab. The lab assistant, Rebeccas, 
long use to my weird behavior looked at me as I bounced in my 
chair.

I quickly zapped mail off to Sandra asking what the deal was. 
Almost instantly I got back the message:

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

TO: z_dentonam@titan.sfasu.edu 
FROM: TMP_HARKINS@PHYSICS.JMU.EDU 
SUB:  Re: What's the deal?

Amy,

You weren't seeing things. JP has indeed offered the fans the 
chance at being in the season premiere. Shooting starts on 
the 5th so if you're going, you better leave soon.

Also Nick has kindly offered to pay all of the Knights/ies 
way to Toronto. Just e-mail him the nearest airport to where 
you live and what time you can leave and tell him if you need 
a ride to where the Knighties are staying.

See you in Toronto.

Sandra, tmp_harkins@physics.jmu.edu

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

By this point I *was* dancing around the lab. By this point 
lab assistant was quite certain I had lost my mind. After e-
mailing Nick, I waited anxiously for a reply. I didn't have 
to wait too long. About a half an hour later the computer 
beeped to tell me I had new mail and lo and behold it was 
from Nick.

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

TO: z_dentonam@titan.sfasu.edu 
FROM: Nickni@aol.com 
SUB: RE: Transportation

Amy,

Glad to hear that you will be coming. This should prove to be 
interesting. The travel arrangements have all been taken care 
of. You just have to get to Houston. Someone will be there to 
pick you up at the airport here in Toronto.

Nick Knight nickni@aol.com

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

I quickly logged off and dashed out the door. Who cares if it 
was 12:30 a.m. I was going to Toronto!!!

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

A Knightie Joins In (2) 
by Amy M. Denton

As I looked out the plane window at the darkening Toronto 
skyline, I could feel my excitement grow. So much had happen 
since I had walked in the computer lab less than 24 hours 
ago.

After running home, and throwing what stuff I could find in a 
suitcase, I collapsed on the bed promising myself I would 
only sleep for a few hours. When I woke up almost 12 hours 
later I panicked. For a few minutes but then I calmed down, 
called InterContinental and found out that the plane Nick had 
me on didn't leave until just after 7 p.m.

>>Now why did he do that?<< I thought. Oh, well, no matter. 
It was only 1:30 p.m. and Houston was just 3 hours away.

I had hopped in the car and was on my way. I was keeping an 
eye out for Cousinly tricks but the trip was uneventful. I 
arrived at Houston InterContinental at 4:35 p.m. I called my 
mom let her know where I was going and then sat down to wait. 
Only problem was I was so excited, I couldn't sit still.

Now, just a few hours later (3 and 1/2 to be exact) I was 
about to land in Toronto and have the time of my life!

As I got off the plane and walked down the gangway (I think 
that's what it's called) I scanned for familiar faces. I was 
looking for Sandra but I got the surprise of my life when 
none other than Nick Knight himself walked up and said hello 
to me.

I was stunned and blurted the first thing that popped into my 
head. "What are you doing here?" >>Real good, Amy.<< I 
thought. >>That was intelligent.<<

He smiled and said "I can leave, if you want me to." He 
turned to go.

"No, that's quite all right. I just wasn't expecting you."

"Life is full of surprises. Do you have any luggage to 
claim?"

I nodded. We waited for a few minutes for my suitcase to 
appear and talked about nothing in particular. I had to keep 
my imagination firmly in check. (That was not easy)

He offered to carry my big bag and I gratefully accepted. I 
thought about making some crack about trunk space but changed 
my mind. All I needed was to convince that I really was 
weird. (Like flying to Toronto at the drop of a hat wasn't 
weird enough)

"Why did you come get me? I flattered and all that, but 
aren't you on duty?" I asked as we walked to his car.

He smiled again. (He really needs to do that more often, he 
has a gorgeous smile) "Well, I am but I left Schanke at the 
precinct and...This will sound a bit odd... I wanted to meet 
one of you. I know I had the chance during the last war but I 
was preoccupied then and I kinda blew that chance."

I almost snorted. >>Preoccupied? I'll say. Hypnotizing 
another person would take a lot of attention.<< I thought.

We reached the *car*. That infamous sea-green Caddy. I 
giggled when he opened the trunk.

He looked at me. "What?" Something wrong?"

'The most trunk space in 30 years.' floated through my head 
but I didn't say anything. I just shook my head.

It was a nice drive to the house Nick had set up for the 
Knighties and that Caddy of his has the *smoothest* ride of 
any car I've been in lately. It was all over too soon. We 
pulled up in front of the house and Sandra came out to greet 
us. He took my bag out of the trunk and handed it to Sandra, 
who promptly put it on the ground.

He bade us good-night, watched us walk into the house and 
drove away. I almost floated into the house. My day had been 
made.

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

Toronto, Here I Come 
by Perri Smith

"Let me get this straight. You've been offered the chance to 
be on that vampire series you like so much, you're not 
getting paid, so you're taking time from the temp agency and 
your job hunting and flying Toronto, and some police 
detective you've only met once is paying. And there are going 
to be a lot of your Internet friends there?"

"Yeah, Mom, that's about it. And it's not like I can't call 
around from Toronto to follow up on those resumes--how are 
the newspapers going to know where I'm calling from. And I 
know Nick from more than just the one meeting."

"Joe, talk to your daughter."

Perri's father didn't even look up. "Need help packing?"

"No, Dad, got it covered." Perri grinned down at her mother. 
"Mom, you didn't even blink when I said I was going to 
Boston. Why should this bother you? I'm gonna be on tv! On 
Forever Knight, no less."

"I'd feel better if you knew more of these people."

Perri sighed. "Look, Mom, Tara's going to be there, a lot of 
the Knighties are going to be there, it's going to be fine! 
Are you going to drive me to the airport or not?"

"Of course I'll drive you, I just..."

Perri tuned her out with years of experience. she had been 
getting ready for this trip for two months, it wasn't likely 
she was going to get talked out of it know. Besides, she 
couldn't leave Sandra up there all alone.

As long as someone met her at the airport... And that someone 
wasn't Ron...

****

Actually, it was Amy Denton. Perri met her partner in crime 
from the last war with great glee. They hopped a cab (after 
Amy displayed the traveling money passed to them from Ron) 
and headed for the Knightie house to meet Sandra and the 
others.

They had a lot of catching up to do, a premiere episode to 
film--and a Cousinly plot to foil...

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

Toronto on a Spare Minute
by Selma McCrory

*I don't have time for this,* Selma thought as she boarded 
the airplane that would take her to Chicago, and ultimately, 
Toronto. *This is not a good time.*

But she'd seen the posting by Mr. P., and she occasionally 
enjoyed visiting. And some of her friends had talked her into 
it. So here she was, visiting Toronto for a second time.

To act. She'd taken time away from her job search to *act.* 
Considering the last time she'd done acting in Toronto, she 
was amazed that she was even considering this.

And worse, she was expecting a decision on that job for the 
California State Legislature to come any day now. She 
couldn't afford to miss that. She wanted that job very badly.

But sometimes, friends came first. And she owed a certain 
loyalty to Natalie...

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

From Texas to Toronto
by Elaine Polemenakos

"Elaine, you are out of your mind to be doing this!" I 
thought to myself as I checked and double checked that I had 
my plane ticket. "You have little enough time to work on your 
Senior Thesis as it is without jetting off to Toronto for a 
couple of weeks." Of course, when I ordered the ticket, I had 
used plenty of rationalizations. My thesis is on television's 
role in the civil rights movement. I would be going to a 
television production, and Nick had spent time in the 60's, 
so he would be a valuable resource, right? Right. I had never 
been to Toronto, so this would be an educational experience, 
right? Absolutely!

But in all honesty, I was going to visit Natalie, (who had no 
idea I was coming for a visit) and to try and put those years 
of high school and community theater to good use by trying to 
get a part in the premiere. Since all the other NatPackers 
were headed in the same direction, now was the best possible 
time. I would just be a good girl and work twice as hard when 
I got back. Yeah, sure I would.

As I left the confines of Texas A&M University, I felt a 
shiver of excitement run up my spine. At least I'm pretty 
sure that's what it was...

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

Decisions
by Catherine Boone
and Courtney Hilliard

    It was many years ago that I became what I am
    I was trapped in this life like an innocent lamb
    Now I can never show my face at noon
    And you'll only see me walking by the light of the
        moon...

The familiar strains of Sting wandered through the cramped 
computer lab as Catherine plopped in front of an IBM to check 
email and chat a bit with netfriends before her first class.  
*I really should hook Nick on Sting one of these days. I 
think he'd fully identify with this song.* As she logged in, 
though, the song continued...

    How could I be this way when I pray to God above 
    I must love what I destroy and destroy the thing I 
        love...

"Hmm, on second thought, better not. The last thing that boy 
needs is to be more depressed," she muttered, and fiddled 
with her account to read her latest mail. First was a message 
from JP, then almost immediately after was an e-mail from 
Courtney, with the enigmatic title, "So, When Are We 
Leaving?" 

Confused and intrigued, Catherine waded into the first 
message. In mere minutes she was bouncing up and down 
excitedly in her chair, knowing that if anyone wandered into 
the lab at that point she'd leap up and give them a big hug, 
completely ruining her reputation of being a calm and 
rational human being. To be able to go to Toronto and 
actually _meet_ all of the people who'd until now been simply 
netpals! Taking a break will be a minor challenge, given her 
summer work schedule, but they promised flexibility, so 
they'd better give it to her!   

Preoccupied with thoughts of new friends and the possibility 
of actually influencing the third season premiere, Catherine 
nearly fell out of her chair when a voice interrupted her 
reverie:   

"Catherine! Did you get my e-mail?" Courtney was grinning 
widely.   

"You bet!! So, when _do_ we leave?" Catherine was still 
bouncing.   

"Man, I can't believe how many miles I'm going to put on my 
car..." Courtney sighed, then brightened. "But its for a good 
cause."    

Catherine, an irrepressible Knightie, began to gush about all 
of her wonderful ideas for Nick and how he would fool LaCroix 
and find the cure he always wanted, while Courtney listened 
and smiled.         

After several minutes of this, Courtney decided enough was 
enough. "Catherine, snap out of it! If you want to do this 
sometime this century, you'd better start packing!"  

Catherine broke off the gushing. "Packing! Right!" 

She dashed out of the computer room, still smiling widely, 
barely remembering to logout in her haste.   

Courtney, left alone in the computer room, turned back to a 
computer with a thoughtful look on her face. Several minutes 
of websurfing ensued until she had what she wanted displayed 
on the screen. Leaning forward, she stared intently at the 
two pictures. One was of a Nicholas Knight, homicide 
detective, gleaned from the new web pages of the Toronto 
police.  The other was of a radio personality known as the 
Nightcrawler.  

Courtney sighed. Decisions, decisions... Nick was so 
endearing, so adorable sometimes--and he might honestly need 
help. But LaCroix was so very intriguing; something in him 
appealed to Courtney's darker side. She stared at the 
pictures a few minutes longer, then made her decision. There 
was a mischievous glint in her eye as she went off to see how 
Catherine was doing; she intended to keep her decision to 
herself, at least for a while.

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

Real Estate
by Sara Orel

BRRRRNG . . . BRRRRRRRNG . . . BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNG!

Sara thought, rather annoyed, that it was amazing how long 
the telephone rings could get when you were waiting for 
someone to answer... She tapped her foot and bit the end of a 
fingernail.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNG!

Just as she was about to give up, there was a clunk, a crash, 
and a rather breathless "Hello?"

"Wendy?"

A few more crashes, and there was a yelp. "Ramona!"

"Ah, yes--the killer cat. Wendy, this is Sara, from 
Missouri." 

"Oh, hello Sara. Good to hear from you. You know you haven't 
written since you were up here last spring..."
Sara didn't know quite what to say. It was true; over the 
course of the last year she had been a lousy snail mail 
correspondent. "I do wish you would get a modem; we could 
keep in closer contact then. I really am much better via e-
mail."

"I have access through work now, actually. The hospital is 
on-line. But if you don't write or call it is difficult to 
get an e-mail address for you." Sara knew that Wendy wanted 
her to feel guilty; a bit of guilt is a good thing. 
Particularly since she knew what she was going to ask of her 
friend was a huge imposition.

"So, are you really going to work in Africa this spring?"

"I'm really excited about it. I didn't tell you in your 
Christmas card <guilt, guilt> but I got funding to do a study 
of prenatal care in Ethiopia and I hope to do some comparable 
work in Cairo. You are actually lucky you caught me; my 
flight to Paris is Monday night."

Sara sighed mentally with relief. "Yeah; I am very lucky! 
What are you doing with your cats?"

"George and Ramona, who by the way is now chewing on my hair, 
go to my sister's tomorrow."

"Your sister? How lovely. I guess that means she has gotten 
over her morbid fear of cats?"

"Good lord, no! But they survived last year, so I am sure 
they will manage to tolerate each other again this time."

"Well, maybe we can help each other out" Sara said hopefully. 
This was her first try at Mercenariness (others seemed to 
have the idea of always trying to get something out of even 
social transactions fit them much better; Sara was simply too 
nice to be a Mercenary, she sometimes thought. It was 
followed by the thought that she would have to do something 
about that niceness really fast, but back to the phone call). 
"I was actually hoping to freeload off you for a couple of 
weeks. I have some research <well, sorta> to do in Toronto, 
and I was going to be able to come up on Tuesday. If you 
don't mind, can I borrow your house when I am in the city?"

"And you are offering to watch the cats while you are here? I 
guess that would be okay."

A sigh of relief. Darkangel will be proud of me. My first 
foray into the world of something for nothing. Let Wendy 
think I am doing her a favour. I know her sister hates her 
cats.

Wendy was speaking... "But since I leave Monday evening, how 
do I get the keys to you?"

"Will you be going around the museum on Monday?"

"Well; I work at Cedar Sinai. That's not too far away."

"You could leave the keys for me at the Egyptian Department. 
Or you could drop them off at Near Eastern Studies at U of 
T."

"No; I always used to get lost when I tried to find you 
there. Why don't I just leave them for you at the security 
desk at the ROM?"

"Great. Thanks, Wendy. I'll take good care of your cats. 
Promise."

"Just let my sister know when you will be leaving town and 
she can stop by and pick them up. I'm sure she will be 
thrilled to avoid them for a couple of weeks. I'll leave 
instructions on the coffee table in the living room."

"Great. I'll pay you back sometime."

"I doubt I'll be coming to Missouri anytime soon, but I will 
have lots of questions when I get back from Egypt. I'll call 
you."

"Have a great time in Ethiopia, too."

"I will. But I have to go--I just was coming in from the 
pizza store when you called and the slice is a bit 
congealed."

"Enjoy it. By the way do you know a Doctor named Natalie 
Lambert?"

"No. Should I?"

"No reason--she just works for the coroner's office. I 
thought you might have run into her in medical school--I know 
you were doing research for a murder mystery novel, and I 
thought you might have run into coroner types then."

"Nope, sorry. Look, I really have to go... I'll leave the 
keys at the ROM Monday."

"Thanks a lot, Wendy."

Sara listened to the click as her friend hung up. At least 
she had been her friend before this week. Heaven only knew 
what she would think when she came home to a house that had 
been used as a mercenary base for the War. It was well 
situated, on Crawford just south of College Street, in an 
area renowned for its coffee shops and Italian bakeries. At 
least the mercenaries would not have a problem staying awake 
for the war's duration.

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

Resurfacing 
by Sara Orel

Sara heaved (rather undignified term, that) a sigh, and 
closed the house door behind her. It was more difficult to 
get away from Missouri than she had thought, and then 
arriving in Toronto in the middle of the night and unable to 
get into the ROM until morning to get the house key had 
necessitated a serious ramble on the 24-hour streetcar 
routes... But she was now at Wendy's house, and ready to 
sleep off the last several days of hectic disentanglement. 
But there was something she had to do first (besides feeding 
George and Ramona, both very affectionate creatures).

"Here you go, kitties." She poured out dry food into the cat 
bowls and, having completed that task, sat down at the 
computer.

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

TO: forkni-l@psuvm.psu.edu

Greetings to my fellow Mercs! And salutations to all the rest 
of you out there. I am now in Toronto, with great enthusiasm 
and freedom for battle. I can be evil if necessary, will be 
evil if no one hires me. I might attack the Cousins first, 
but I could go after Ravenettes... Anyone who wants to take 
advantage of my evil impulses before they come back to haunt 
you and make your life unbearable should catch me now. I have 
radio programming experience, am good with ancient languages 
and know way too much about ancient Rome for my own good. I 
also know Toronto and can use that knowledge to your 
advantage (or my own).

I am not cheap, but I am verrrrrry goooooood (could provide 
references if desired). I would love to be bought...

Interested parties can contact me via e-mail. I accept all 
interesting assignments for all solvent parties (artifacts 
are fine as well).

Mercenarily yours (I hope),
          Sara 

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

Sara sat back and smiled. She probably sounded anxious for a 
job, but that really wasn't the case. She had spent the last 
couple of days figuring out some fundraising ideas that would 
not involve anyone hiring her. Of course, if she could get 
money for the ideas as well as their execution it would be 
the best thing. She had hoped to get in on the friendly and 
Cousinly offer of a Spanish fishing trawler, but if it wasn't 
going to happen that way, she still wanted to earn the money 
to buy one herself. And she had ideas how to go about it, 
too...

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

The Ambitions of an Artist
by Cousin Candice

Candice arrived in Harder Hall around 8pm Sunday night.

"It's only 8?... It feels like it's midnight," she groaned 
and turned the handle to the entrance door. The whole west 
wing of Harder had been remodeled with the exception of this 
one, heavy old door. She shook off her jacket, a storm had 
just settled over Alfred, and she had gotten caught outside 
when the rain started to fall. Candice trekked up the four 
flights of stairs to the newly renovated Design studio, 
cursing herself for leaving all her work till the last 
possible minute on this particular weekend. She had hoped to 
be able to sleep--the week-nights were just to full of other 
studies for her to take a sufficient amount of time for 
normal sleeping habits.

"Hell,... They don't call me the Openhym Vampire for 
nothing." She mumbled to herself, smiling slightly at the 
affectionate nickname her friends in the Openhym dorm had 
bestowed upon her, as she unpacked her supplies from her now 
soggy green backpack.

The thunder rumbled outside and the rain pounded harder on 
the roof. Candice turned on her discman with the portable 
speakers and soon the empty silence was with the sounds of 
Santana--Moonflower. Her project, the last of the evening, 
consisted of cutting and pasting--very tedious and very time 
consuming. It also required all of her attention.

She bopped along unconsciously to Flora de Luna, cutting, 
pasting, sticking, getting into a routine as the hour went 
on. Around 9:30 the storm was kicking up into a torrential 
downpour, and then suddenly the lights went out. Candice shot 
up out of her seat when the flash of lightening cracked at 
the same time.

"What the he..." She was cut off by another flash of 
lightening. Candice went out into the hallway, and saw that 
the lights were on in all the other rooms. When she returned 
to the design studio, the lights were back on.

"Well, that was *odd*," she said, puzzled, returning to her 
work. At a quarter after 10, the lights went out again, but 
this time she felt something was wrong. Just wrong. <The 
circuit breaker was perfectly fine,> she told herself, 
<There's no one else in the building--no one's playing a 
silly prank on you, the lights will go back on any second, 
really.>

But the lights didn't go on. She started to get up and walk 
towards the door when she heard a slight rustle that sounded 
more like a whisper.

"It's the lack of sleep, that's all... You haven't been 
sleeping much at *all* lately and _that's_ why you thought 
you heard a whisper. It's nothing but your mind playing 
tricks on you -you're just overtired."

"Guess again, cherie," and Uncle stepped out of the shadows. 
Candice tried to shrink into her own silhouette on the wall, 
regretting her procrastination more than ever. She saw the 
shadows disfigure and out of them stepped a tall, blonde man. 
No doubt who it was. Her first encounter with LaCroix was 
making her trembling and shake, so much so that she couldn't 
make her vocal chords work correctly. "Come now, don't tell 
me you've forgotten what today's date is..." He looked at her 
with that questioning stare.

"April Fool's? Right?" she squirmed and then she remembered 
why it was important. It was the official start of the War.

"That's right. No I'm not angry at you, after all you lurked 
for the last war, isn't that so?"

Candice nodded silently and remembered watching from the 
sidelines as her Cousin Caile took part. She wouldn't be 
missing out this time. Not a chance. LaCroix noticed her 
slight change in resolve as she became less a shaking leaf 
and more a... Cousin. <Good,> he thought to himself, <she's 
got that tougher edge when she needs it.> LaCroix grinned and 
stepped closer to her. Candice couldn't move backwards any 
further, so she did the only thing she could and matched his 
stare, refusing to let herself become intimidated anymore 
than she already was. LaCroix chuckled throatily and smirked.

"Let's not make this... Difficult, hmm cherie? You have 
friends that write scripts."

Candice nodded once again then said "Yes, but they're on 
other lists and I hardly think they're concer..."

"So you are familiar with screen writing?" he interrupted, 
giving her a cold, hard look.

"Well,... Yes." Candice stated flatly.

"And what of this 'Significant Other' of yours, is *he* a 
Cousin?" LaCroix sneered and bit of his sentence, turning 
away from her, giving her a bit of breathing room in the 
pitch dark studio.

"No, he isn't," she replied, not wanting to reveal any 
information about Brian, the less Uncle knew about him, the 
less Uncle would have to threaten her with, and she didn't 
want to drag anyone that was unwilling into this war. "But 
what do you want with me?"

"Ahhh... Now we get down to it. Let's just say I don't have 
the utmost faith in Jennise and Karin when it comes to my 
'investments.' I'd like to have a little reassurance that's 
all. What I want, is for you to get to Toronto and do some 
'creative writing' to keep the Cousins on guard and on top of 
things."

"But what about my classes, and my work in the stu..." 
Candice protested, but LaCroix was before her in an instant. 
He pressed one long finger to her lips and said staring into 
her eyes,

"You would do this for me. You are a Cousin. You have never 
been anything _but_ a Cousin. You remember that little prank 
that DieHard pulled during the last war, don't you. And 
remember how angry you were at how someone would have the 
gall to do such a thing? Now is your chance to extract that 
revenge. You can do this, and you _will_."

LaCroix smiled and backed away from her "And another thing, 
you have no need to worry about my harming your precious 
Brian--I value your loyalty, but I know your limits as a 
mortal. I know all about it--I *am* on the Forever Erotica 
list you know."

Candice felt a blush running from the top of her head to the 
tip of her toes, and knew if she tried to speak, she would 
just stammer. LaCroix grinned and bowed to her, kissing the 
back of her hand, and then he was gone.

She started making mental notes of which professors she had 
to speak with before she left the next day, and what books 
she had to take with her so that she'd keep up with her 
studies, no matter *how* little sleep she got.

Candice knew this was her chance to prove herself worthy of 
Cousinhood. First impressions were always the lasting ones.

And she knew that paybacks were a bitch.

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

Pawn to Knight Four 
by Cousin Candice

Candice sat before her terminal the next day, trying to 
figure out who to write to first. It was hard for her to lose 
the feeling that she was being moved around on a chessboard. 
Like she had no control over the events in the days to come. 
She decided the best plan was to get her professors out of 
the way first, so she drafted a generic "Sorry, but I won't 
be around..." note and sent it out to her Prof. distribution 
list.

Her next move was to send out a message to all of her 
"Cousins," to get a general idea of where they would be at if 
she needed any 'assistance.'

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

To: FKFIC@PSUVM.PSU.EDU 
Cc: Joshua@cornell.edu 
Subject: Cousin Check Point

Well, technically this isn't a war post, but I'd like to know 
just where you all are and what course of action you're 
taking. If your plans aren't working out, please notify me at 
*once,* and I'll see what I can do to help.

I won't be arriving at the screening due to circumstance. 
I'll see you all there eventually.

Keep up the "good" work.

Yours, Candice 
-obsessed by memory, befriended by desire, 
Cousin by choice
      Toreador by default 
winter@jbx.com 

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

Satisfied with her note she hit ^X and off it went to the 
internet.

Her last move before she left was to write a cautionary note 
to her 'Significant Other.' She shuddered as her mind 
returned to the previous evening when LaCroix had sneered at 
the thought of her actually being in love. <Ah well, he's 
probably jealous--heh heh> she thought, trying to lighten up 
her spirits.

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

To: Macleod@vm.temple.edu 
Cc: 
Subject: I'm going to be incommunicado for a while

My dearest Brian,

I have recently been offered a position as a temporary writer 
on a television program that requires me to be in Toronto for 
the next few weeks. I just want to let you know that I won't 
be around very often, just an occasional e-mail check.

Oh, and another thing, the people I'm working with are very 
crafty. I just want you to be careful in who and what you 
reply to--you never know what they have planned.

Be well. I love you.

Yours, Candice

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

She looked the message over again, just to see if she sounded 
a bit *too* apprehensive in the note. <Well, it'll have to 
do> she thought with an audible sigh. She was _not_ happy 
about not being able to tell Brian exactly what was going on, 
but she had to do what Uncle said. Uncle had reminded her 
just how dearly some people had to pay. She grabbed her bags 
and walked out the door to the waiting cab that would take 
her to the airport in Rochester.

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

Frolicking Into the Fray
by Deborah Menikoff

Tap tap tap.

There it was again. I threw back the blanket and stomped in 
to the darkened living room. ( I know normally tapping sounds 
in the middle of the night induce you to *creep slowly* into 
darkened living rooms but I just hate being woken up and 
pulled out of a particularly fabulous dream. So I stomped. As 
I was saying...) ...the darkened living room.

Tap tap tap... That wasn't  radiator. It was much too subtle 
a noise for that. Tap tap tap... I whirled around at the 
sound and saw just about the last thing I *ever* expected to 
see. LaCroix. Standing on my fifth floor balcony.

*Oh, Deborah,* I thought to myself, *it is time to go no 
mail. And to lay of the Java before bed.* I was just about to 
pinch myself when my hallucination slid the door open and 
stepped into the room.

"Ms. Menikoff, I don't believe that we have been formally 
introduced, but you will forgive my unannounced visit and the 
hour. I have a matter of some import to discuss with you and 
I wanted to make sure you were at home." He paused and seemed 
to be waiting for some response from me. It was only then 
that I realized I had been standing there staring. I shook me 
my head to clear it.

"I... Uh, yes of course I... No problem, I was just... 
Ummmm... Would you care to sit down?" I indicated to couch to 
his left. "I'm sorry I generally don't fluster this easily 
but you *have* taken me bit... Unawares." I sat as well, not 
really sure how I had remained standing up till then.

"I understand. I *do* have that effect on some people. Please 
be assured, I haven't come to harm you but to advise you and 
perhaps, if necessary offer my assistance. You are aware of 
the... Hostilities among the faction on the list?" I nodded 
and he continued "These disagreements, I hesitate to call 
them *wars* really. There not like the old days... (the 
really old days, I thought but kept it to myself) but that is 
what you all call them isn't it?" I nodded again. Really I 
couldn't remember being this speechless since... Well never,  
frankly. He went on "It is about the newest war that I came 
to you about."

"Yes, but I *just* got on the list. I mean, I posted a note 
and lurked around but no one really knows who or where I am. 
I can't have *done* anything to anyone yet. I'm not really 
the person to..."

"But that is exactly  *why* you are the person to," he 
interrupted "No one knows anything. Nothing but you declaring 
yourself one of my followers. Good choice that, by the way. 
Excellently thought out. I commend you. You have... Potential 
and I see certain qualities that remind me of myself. Your 
taste for revenge, I might add, is well documented. They must 
have been quite relieved when you left Houston to go to 
college in New York."

"They were even more relieved in New York when I graduated 
from Sarah Lawrence," I said wryly "But I admit it. Why not. 
My daddy always said he couldn't respect anyone who didn't 
hold a grudge and my daddy was usually right about these 
things."

"A wise man. Now apart from these admirable qualities, you 
are as of yet fairly anonymous. Have you corresponded with 
others? Anyone who might know anything that can be used 
against you?"

Well I *did* ask Lisa McDavid lots of questions and stuff 
like that when I first subbed. Apart from short requests for 
info on stuff no one else... Oh, well I *did* hear from Perri  
and we have traded short notes but I don't think I said 
anything damaging. Besides, she's a Knightie. She won't 
attack except to defend. Right? So, I guess you're right no 
one really knows about me. Ooh! How stealth."

"Excellent. You will be of great use then. You will be 
hearing from either myself or other Cousins soon about how 
you can best serve our ends." He rose and went to the door. I 
followed to shut it only then realizing that it had been open 
this whole time and I was *freezing.* As he stepped out on 
the balcony, he turned back to me and took my hand. "Welcome 
to the family," he said, kissing my hand... And then he was 
gone, leaving me standing in the open door. But suddenly, I 
wasn't cold at all.

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

Down But Not Out 
by Deborah Menikoff

Looking back on my visit from LaCroix, I half convinced 
myself that  I had been dreaming and put it out of my mind... 
Until this afternoon.

This afternoon, I was the victim of what I can only describe 
as a pre-emptive strike. *Someone* got to my mail server. 
Luckily, *someone* didn't do enough damage to keep out of the 
picture completely. Everything got straighten out thanks to 
some *Cousinly help.* I am now completely on guard and 
prepared for anything.

Revenge is, of course a time consuming business and while I'd 
be pretty busy over the next few weeks, what with everyone 
being invitied to the third season pilot and Uncle's 
instructions to wait for (oh yeah, and my job, but that is of 
secondary importance), I promised myself that would find out 
who messed with my server and when I did...

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

I Really Want To Be A Part Of This War
Richard Hudson

Richard was frantic. He spent the day e-mailing as many 
FoD's, Knighties and Natpackers, hoping that at least one of 
them would let them tag along with to get to Toronto so that 
he could be a part of the filming of the episode. "Please", 
he wrote in desperation. "Please, will some one let me tag 
along with them. I would be willing to share costs or pay for 
all food and gas to Toronto."

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

Picking up a Passenger (1)
by Amparo Bertram

Amparo navigated her way through the airport. She had gotten 
Richard's flight information, but she had neglected to ask 
for his description. How was she supposed to find him? All 
she knew was that he was about her own age. Add that to the 
unexpected delay due to road construction, and she was rather 
late. She hoped he hadn't wandered off in the meantime.

She arrived at her destination and scanned the area slowly. 
She didn't spot him, but then she didn't really know what he 
looked like anyway. She was turning around a second time when 
she heard someone call out.

"Hey! Are you one of the NatPack? You're wearing an 
affiliation pin."

A young man approached her from the direction of the 
telephones. She smiled a greeting and held out her hand. 
"Richard? Hi, I'm Amparo. Pod for short, if you like. Sorry 
it took me so long to get here... Best laid plans, and all 
that."

"I was getting rather frantic. And hungry," he added with a 
chuckle as he shook her hand.

"Well, grab your gear and let's get going. Betsy's waiting 
for us out in her car. Now, if I can find the exit--"

"Over that way," he pointed helpfully.

"Right. Come on, the adventure's about to begin!"

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

Picking up a Passenger (2)
by Richard Hudson

Richard looked gratefully at Amparo, smiling as he entered 
his car. He was black, about 6' tall, slightly overweight 
with a kind face that looked slightly detracted as looked out 
the window of Amparo's car. He asked, "So where do we go from 
here?"

"Well, we're going back to Don Bassingate's house where the 
other Natpackers are staying. Hope you brought all that 
chocolate you promised us."

"I have," answered Richard as he opened up a large duffel bag 
and pulled out a box of Ferreor Rocher chocolates <the bricks 
with hazelnuts> and handed her one. 

She took one and popped one in her mouth. She smiled 
surprisingly and exclaimed "This is good! So you brought 100 
boxes of these? Good, we have a lot of chocoholics in our 
group."

"SO I've heard So what have the Natpackers planned to do 
first?" Richard asked. "Oh by the way, I just changed U.S. 
$3,400 to Canadian currency, so we can hire Mercs if need be, 
but I hope we don't have to. So what are the Natpackers 
planning to do first?"

*************************************************************
An Offer of Alliance 
by Tuppence 
transcribed by Diane Echelbarger

When her human pet was soundly asleep, Tuppence walked 
downstairs and took up her favorite perch, on top of the 
Victrola in the living room. She settled herself comfortably 
in a compact bundle, paws tucked under and tail curled 
around. She needed to think.

Her pet simply was *not* being sensible about this War 
business. She actually seemed to think she could stay 
*neutral.* Tuppence's whiskers twitched in annoyance. <Of 
course,> she thought charitably, <Diane isn't terribly 
bright; no human is. And she's been very sheltered all her 
life. *She's* never had to survive on the streets, as I did.> 
She shifted slightly. Diane was obviously incapable of 
protecting herself. And Tuppence knew that when you adopted a 
human pet, you had certain responsibilities toward it. So, 
since Miz was too timid to be of any help in this--just 
*suggesting* it had sent her into hiding under the stairs--it 
was up to Tuppence to see to it that her human was protected.

She half-closed her eyes and began the first Mantra. She came 
from a long line of Temple Cats, and had learned most of what 
was needed to be a human's Guardian before her eyes opened. 
There was, of course, no question which of the Fanged Ones 
she would contact...

*****

Toronto

LaCroix poured a second glass of blood--A+ today--and carried 
it over to his stereo. He dropped the Yo-Yo Ma CD into the 
player and settled onto the couch. As he relaxed, he sensed a 
gentle, exploratory probe at his mental shields. Not one of 
his kind, and *certainly* not a human. Cautiously, he 
responded to the probe, and identified the sender. A Temple 
Cat? Not many of *those* tried to contact him. Curious, now, 
he lowered his shields.

Ten minutes later, he ended the contact and sipped his 
breakfast with a smile. This Tuppence could be very useful. 
She was obviously a clever creature, and leaving her "pet 
human" alone was a small price to pay for her assistance. 
After all, he hadn't even known the woman existed until her 
cat contacted him. Now, how to get the cat to Toronto for the 
filming...?

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

The Word Goes Out
by Diane Echelbarger

Diane snuggled deeper into the blankets, trying to ignore the
kneading paws that pummeled her abdomen. After a moment, the
Tonkinese stomach torture was augmented by the application of
several pounds of thick, weight bearing fur over her nose and
mouth. Miz was hungry, too.

She heaved a silent sigh and gave up. The cats' dish was 
probably empty again, and on the rare occasions when Miz and 
Tuppence cooperated, it was wiser to give in before they got 
*really* creative... 

As soon as she showed signs of actually getting up, the 
younger cat, a slightly pudgy Tonkinese with gold-green eyes, 
ran for the stairs, determined, as always, to be the first 
one at the dish when it was refilled.

Miz, the older, longhaired tortoiseshell, lowered herself 
carefully to the floor and prepared to rub against her 
human's ankles when they appeared. In nine years, she had 
never made the connection between this behavior and her 
human's tendency to step on her in the early morning.

Diane pulled a cotton sweater and blue jeans out of the cedar 
boxes she used for a dresser. Turning off the electric wall 
heater had become a reflex, since it was expensive to leave 
it running all day in the cold Wisconsin winters.

When she was dressed and had stuffed her feet into a pair of 
battered Dearfoams, she ducked past the Indian cotton curtain 
in the bedroom doorway and crossed the landing to the stairs. 
Avoiding the low, sharply slanted ceiling didn't take any 
thought at all; she'd been doing it so long, she frequently 
forgot to warn her house guests about it.

Tuppence was yowling demands from the kitchen, but she 
detoured long enough to kick on the surge protector her 
computer was plugged into.

As she scooped Science Diet Feline Maintenance Light out of 
the Currier and Ives tin for the cats, the theme from Forever 
Knight wafted in from the dining room. Her computer had 
activated Windows. She sent a mental thank you to the person 
who had placed it on the ftp site as she pulled a pound of 
Colombian Supremo from the freezer.

By the time the music ended with a whoosh/growl, she was 
pouring water into the coffeemaker. The cats were eating as 
if they hadn't been fed for a week, as usual. <Wonder if 
there's a Feline Maintenance *Extra* Light,> she thought 
idly. She dropped a pair of cherry PopTarts in the toaster, 
but didn't turn it on. That could wait until the coffee was 
done.

While it brewed, she activated her Internet account and 
downloaded her mail. Since she'd gone straight from work to 
dinner at a friend's and arrived home well after midnight, 
she had a fairly large volume of stuff. Digests for both 
FORKNI-L and HIGHLA-L, some new fanfic from the associated 
fiction lists, and a half-dozen personal messages. One 
subject line caught her eye, and she clicked on it to bring 
the text up. As she read, a grin spread across her face. 
Without canceling the connection, she switched from AIR Mail 
to Notebook, and checked the list she'd been keeping there 
for the last month. Sure enough, this message was the one 
she'd been waiting for, the last detail she'd needed settled.

She re-entered her e-mail program and clicked on "Compose". 
Clicking "TO:" brought up her address book. She chose the 
group name "Hit Squad" and clicked "OK". The text of the 
message consisted of two words: Do it!

She hit "Send" and cut the connection to her account. She 
could read the rest of the mail off-line, and save her on-
line time for other things. But first, she needed to get a 
cup of coffee, and turn on the toaster. She smiled. No one 
would ever figure out who had done it... 

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

The Planes of War
by Dianne T. DeSha

Dianne leaned back, enjoying the leg-room that came with
a first-class seat, as the plane took off over the ocean. Los 
Angeles could look downright pretty from this high, she
mused, especially at night when the tiny pinpricks of light
stretched out for miles and miles, as far as the eye could
see... 

She took another dainty bite from her substantial supply of
the finest Lanark maple-sugar chocolate and let her mind
drift back to the last time she'd made this trip...


*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*

June 4th, 1995

This far into the summer semester it was simple to get time
off from work. Her ticket was pre-paid, the kittens were
safely stashed with her mother, everything else would take
care of itself for a week or two, and, since Sara had 
cleverly arranged free accommodations downtown, Dianne was
already well ahead of the game. Best of all, her personal
belongings would remain safely in South Pasadena--far
from harm's way.

She had brought only the bare necessities in order to make
room for the wide array of specialized "supplies" she had
collected for this particular trip--a brand-new CERK shirt, a
striking outfit suited to the patron of an exclusive 
nightclub, several bags of microwaveable popcorn, a quick 
reference guide to "Eateries of Toronto" with the prime donut 
shops already highlighted, a small bag of catnip, a 
supportive (yet non-committal) FK t-shirt, an extra pair of 
men's black silk PJs, and autographed photos of _both_ 
captains.

Add to that her idea notebooks, a good supply of editing
pens (in every conceivable color), her copy of "So You
Want to Be a Scriptwriter?", a few extra blank Mercenary
contracts (you never know!), and a small Canadian-English
dictionary, and it was a wonder she could carry those bags
at all! Then, of course, there were the few "defensive"
supplies she'd tucked in her shoulder bag--a Merc can't be
too careful, you know.

Ah, a chance to flex those creative muscles, she thought
wistfully. If only her co-workers had any idea what she
was planning to do on her "little escape up north"...

*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*

A few simple precautions while on the shoot had ensured
that she was nowhere credited for her work in this episode.
She believed in the advantages of anonymity. Her more
_creative_ efforts had, after all, been performed entirely on
the behalf of others. Her employers should properly
receive the credit--and the retaliation--that was their due,
she thought, smiling.

An unfortunate side-effect of such subtlety, however, was
that she had been left off of the guest list for the private
screening. Never mind, her "business" connections had
been properly notified and would be there. They'd even
arranged the ticket for her--"a gesture of gratitude for a 
job well-done"--and someone to help clean up the mess you've 
made, she thought, without rancor. Well, that will cost a bit 
extra... 

So here she was on her way to crash a little party. Her
smile took on a decidedly wicked air when she imagined
how certain parties would react upon seeing those few,
_choice_ revisions.

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

Special Delivery (1) 
by Dianne DeSha 
and Diane Echelbarger

As her plane touched down at O'Hare Dianne vividly recalled 
the phone call that had brought her to this point...

          (*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.)

"Dianne la Mercenaire?"

"Yes," Dianne responded in some surprise. She was used to 
getting phone calls under several different names (and even 
more numerous botched and garbled mispronunciations of same), 
but not that one. And the voice sounded strangely familiar...

"I'm calling from Paragon Entertainment Corporation and I 
have a small commission for you."

Dianne swallowed hard. <No way!> she thought, <Not *him*!> 
But she was very good at recognizing voices, and, frankly, 
his was rather hard to miss. She was all too sure who she had 
on the line. <A _commission_?>

"I see," she managed to choke out in what sounded like a 
reasonably normal voice.

"I understand that you will be attending the filming of the 
Forever Knight first season episode this June?"

"Yes..." <Oh _sh..._>, she thought. <Had he somehow found out 
about some of her more _elaborate_ commissions? What would he 
do?>

"I have been authorized to offer you a round trip, first-
class ticket to Toronto, and a modest amount of spending 
money, in exchange for your transportation of a certain 
package."

<*Drugs*?> Dianne thought crazily for a moment, <He wants me 
to run drugs?> After a moment, however, common sense 
intervened.

"You will pick up this package, this _live_ package, at a 
layover in Chicago and deliver it, upon your arrival, to a 
local address in Toronto. All paperwork and customs clearance 
will, of course, be arranged by us in advance. Is this 
acceptable?"

<*Live*? Did he say a *live* package?> Dianne's first 
instinct was to drop the phone and back away quickly, but she 
managed to get a grip on herself. <This is just a _job_>, she 
reminded herself. <This is what you do. You follow 
instructions and you get paid--no ties, no loyalties, no 
involvement.>

"Yes, I think that will be quite satisfactory," Dianne 
managed to whisper.

<Besides>, she thought as she rapidly jotted down the 
specifics, <Just *think* of the networking possibilities!>

*--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--*

Diane parked the car in the first lot she came to. "I *hate* 
O'Hare," she grumbled as she pulled her little, rust-speckled 
Chevy Sprint into an empty slot. Living by herself for the 
last fifteen years had left her with the habit of thinking 
out loud.

She made sure she had her keys *and* her canvas tote before 
closing the driver's door. Then she walked to the passenger 
side and removed the off-white cat carrier from the bucket 
seat. "Tuppence? You OK in there?" she asked. The Tonkinese 
had been unnaturally quiet the whole trip down; usually, she 
yowled in that Siamese-imperious voice every time the car 
turned a corner, slowed, or sped up. Diane peered into the 
carrier. Tuppence was tucked into a compact, calm bundle. She 
squeezed her eyes at her human contentedly, and licked a 
morsel of catnip off one paw. "Hmph. You're so zoned, you 
don't care, right Pushy Cat?" Diane asked affectionately.

Then she hefted the carrier and started her search for the 
correct gate. <Maybe I should rent one of those carts,> she 
thought. <Nah, Tuppence'd probably fall off, and she'd 
*never* forgive me...>

As she followed the signs, and asked directions, and followed 
signs again, she replayed the request that had led to this 
trip. Why did the people at FK need a gray cat for the shoot? 
There weren't any cats (except Sidney, of course) in the 
synopsis Mr P had sent *her*. And were they just trying to be 
nice by asking to use Tuppence? After all, they *could* 
probably have hired a trained stage-cat for the job... Then 
again, when the request had come, on Mr P's letterhead, no 
less, she hadn't felt she could really refuse...

Oh, well, it would probably all make sense when she saw the 
episode

She finally located the correct gate. The 'Arrivals' board 
said she had about 10 minutes to wait, so she found a seat 
near the door the passengers would come through, sat 
Tuppence's carrier next to it, and pulled "Falling Free" out 
of her jacket.

When the speakers announced the plane's arrival (late, but 
that was usual at O'Hare), she put the book away and stood up 
to have a better view of the gate. The stream of passengers 
had begun to thin when she spotted a tall, red-haired woman 
dressed in a dark-patterned palazzo jumpsuit and carrying a 
large shoulder bag. She stepped toward her and said, "You 
must be Dianne; you look just like Maeve!"

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

Special Delivery (2) 
by Dianne DeSha 
and Diane Echelbarger

They had talked for a good half hour about everything and 
nothing, as people in airports tend to do. The primary topic 
had been the filming of the third season premiere, of course, 
and when that started wearing thin, Dianne asked the 
ordinary-looking brunette for suggestions on what to do in 
Toronto. The woman had told her about all-day transport 
passes ("But they don't sell them on Sundays. Buy a bunch; 
they don't expire or anything."), exactly where in the ROM 
they had shot the "I can't" scene in the first season 
premiere, suggested a day trip to Toronto Island, and offered 
a few dining suggestions ("Best Cajun alligator I ever 
tasted!").

Dianne just let her talk. It was a way to pass the time, she 
thought as she idly jotted down mental notes for possible 
future use. Dianne was much too tired to want to talk herself 
and, frankly, given the nature of her work, there really 
wasn't all that much she could disclose anyway. <"I could 
tell you, but then I'd have to kill you,"> she thought. Great 
line, too bad she'd never found a way to use it.

Diane finally ran out of restaurant suggestions, and peered 
into the carrier on the seat between them. "I hope she's OK," 
she worried. "She's been awfully quiet. Tuppence usually 
hates being in that thing; yowls all the time until you let 
her out."

Dianne had been _greatly_ relieved to find that her "live 
package" was in actuality a perfectly-normal looking gray 
cat. Considering who she was working for, she'd braced for 
something far worse. <"Yowls?"> Dianne thought. <I'm not 
getting paid enough to sit next to a screaming cat all the 
way to Toronto! Oh, well... Mine is not to reason why...>

The shorter woman glanced around nervously and lowered her 
voice. "Are they going to use my flashback idea?" she asked 
softly.

<Oh, my Goddess,> Dianne thought, <She's *that* Diane?> "Uh, 
yeah, they are."

Diane reached oh-so-casually into her canvas tote and placed 
a burgundy-colored box on the cat carrier.

Just as casually, Dianne slipped it into her shoulder bag. 
<If *he* knew about this...> She cut _that_ thought off and 
stood up abruptly. "I'd better be getting ready to board," 
she said reaching for the carrier.

"Oh, right," Diane responded. "Here's her ticket and the 
papers to see you through customs... And her I.D."

Dianne raised one eyebrow in surprise, "_I.D._?"

Diane smiled and looked slightly embarrassed, "It's an NRA 
membership card, actually." As Dianne's second eyebrow joined 
the first Diane hurried on, "Well, you see they want I.D. for 
all passengers on international flights and, well, it's the 
only one she's got."

"Your cat is a member of the NRA?" Dianne asked, her 
professional Merc equanimity slipping slightly.

"Well, she isn't actually a _member_," Diane confessed. "You 
see I signed her up to win a 25 pound bag of Science Diet at 
the state fair one year and ever since she's been getting all 
sorts of mail. They sent her the card with a letter asking 
her to join..."

"*Your attention please*," the speaker above their heads said 
with less than stunning clarity. "*Flight 202 to Toronto is 
now boarding at gate 7...*"

<It's a sign!> Dianne thought with great relief, <A sign I 
should be getting *out* of here!>

"That's really great," she assured Diane, "But we need to 
board now. It's been grand and all..."

As Dianne moved quickly away Diane suddenly started to worry. 
"Be careful with her, it's not normal for her to be this 
quiet. And tell them not to overfeed her..."

"She'll be _fine_," Dianne called back over her shoulder, 
maneuvering [o.k., o.k.: "shoving"] her way to the front of 
the boarding line. <She's got her _own_ first-class seat>, 
Dianne retorted under her breath as they headed down the 
walkway and onto the plane. <This cat travels better than _I_ 
ever have!>

*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*

"We're here."

Dianne looked up from a quick study of her small Canadian- 
English dictionary to see that they had, indeed arrived at 
the Toronto address she had been given. Handing the man a 
brightly colored bill (pink, she noted absently--what 
denomination was "pink" again?) she told him to wait and 
entered the building.

Arriving at the appropriate apartment, Dianne took a deep 
breath and knocked smartly. As the door opened she announced 
in her best professional manner, "I have a delivery for a Mr. 
Cruz?"

Prepared or not, LaCroix was quite an experience in person. 
Looking directly into those penetrating eyes, she just 
managed to keep from taking a step backwards. "Your package." 
She handed the carrier to him. "A pleasure doing business 
with you, 'Mr. Cruz'," she said with an inflection that made 
it clear she knew just who she was dealing with. "Should you 
need any further assistance, please feel free to contact me 
again." Dianne turned to go quickly, not wanting to reveal 
just how much the vampire's steady gaze was unsettling her.

"But you've forgotten your tip." The smooth voice tugged at 
Dianne's senses. She _knew_ better than to turn around; the 
promises suggested by those sounds were far too dangerous to 
try to collect on. <Keep walking,> she told herself, <And be 
grateful you can. The Merc who schemes and walks away...>

Her mind kept a hold of the reality of the situation just 
long enough to realize that her body had already betrayed 
her. She was turned towards him, gazing into those eyes, as 
her own heartbeat echoed in her ears... And the words he 
spoke seemed to come from within her own mind...

*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*

As she opened the cab door, Dianne paused for a moment and 
shook her head to clear out the faint sense of vertigo. She'd 
been spacing, she realized. Walking on auto pilot with her 
mind miles away. <Great>, she berated herself silently, <With 
an attention span like that you won't last the night!>

Getting into the cab she gave the driver directions to the 
house Sara had arranged for the Mercs. <It's just jet-lag>, 
she reassured herself as she settled back against the seat. 
She'd made the drop: one gray cat, left with the manager... 
Ms.... Oh _whatever_ her name was! It didn't really matter. 
Here it was only a few minutes later and she could hardly 
even _remember_ the woman anyway. <I definitely need some 
sleep,> Dianne sighed. 

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

Getting There is Half the Fun
by Diane Sudduth, 
Amy, 
Valerie, 
and Jennie 

"I can't believe we're doing this," Amy said as she rifled 
through their tape bag for a new driving tape.

"I can," Diane said, grinning as she glanced at Amy. "It 
seems very normal to do things like this since I met you. Not 
that I didn't do crazy things before that... And just 
imagine! Being *in* an episode of FK! What fun!"

"No, I mean, one, we're *driving*... Of course, that gives us 
transportation in Toronto... Like we need it with the Toronto 
public transport system... And, mainly, I mean, I *expected* 
to go with Valerie and Jennie, but now we're not only 
bringing a Die-Hard along, we're letting you *drive*." She 
cast an ever-so-slightly malicious glance at the Die-Hard at 
the wheel and added, "Of course, this way, only *your* 
lovely, relatively new (at least it still *smells* new), 
charcoal gray Mazda will be at risk in traffic there rather 
than our cars." She grinned evilly as Diane turned a glare on 
her. "Oh! Here's the first Indianapolis turnoff." Amy 
pointed, hoping to change the subject.

Diane's look indicated that the comment was not going to be 
forgotten, but she turned her attention to navigating the 
roads leading to the airport.

This time Jennie had arrived first and was waiting for them. 
It was only about half an hour before Diane's car was 
repacked, Jennie's safely parked in the Indy airport long-
term lot, and the three were on the road.

"Now remember," Jennie said with a giggle, "we need to stop 
for food *before* we hit that vast wasteland after 
Indianapolis."

"True," Amy agreed.

They stopped at what turned out to be the last fast food 
island before the stretch of nothing that lay between 
Indianapolis and Columbus, and arrived at Valerie's house at 
2:00 am or so.

The next morning they were on the road by 9:30, with Diane's 
car repacked yet again and more full than anyone dreamed 
possible with luggage, costumes, and other useful 
paraphernalia.

"I can't believe we only got five hours of sleep," Valerie 
said brightly.

"You are just too chipper under the circumstances," Diane 
protested.

"Oh, it won't last long," Valerie assured her. "Oh, and 
thanks for letting me in the front seat guys. I'm much less 
likely to get carsick this way. I might even be able to stay 
awake and not carsick."

"I'm not carsick because I'm *driving*," Diane commented. 
"Holographic images and back seats. Both really get to me!"

"Hey, and I can't see the 3D magic pictures," Valerie 
rejoined. "No one's perfect."

"It's morning," Amy mumbled by way of clumsy explanation to 
Valerie's claim, her voice muffled by the pillow which she 
always traveled with--even on airplanes--and with which she 
was currently snuggling in the back seat. "I never even woke 
up yet."

"Like that's unusual," Jennie teased, poking her gently in 
the side to try and tickle her.

"Watch it or I'll come and tickle you when you're too tired 
to still have defenses against it," the fuzzy voice-like 
sound retorted.

Several hours later, Diane said, "We need to make a stop 
soon. Keep an eye out for a good place, okay?"

"Yeah, we need to find food. I'm getting hungry," Jennie 
concurred.

"I think I'm a little hungry too," Amy added, lifting her 
head slightly from her pillow.

"Of course you are," Valerie chastised from the front seat. 
"You didn't eat breakfast!"

"Well, no. Sleep was *much* more important than *food*. Like 
that's a surprise."

"At least you'll eat well for once while we're in Toronto. 
Staying with a FoD means we'll *all* eat well," Jennie 
grinned, then frowned slightly. "Hey, our host doesn't have 
cats, does he? I brought Benadryl just in case of various 
allergens and pollens and such, but if there are cats, I 
won't have enough drugs."

"I don't' think there are cats," Amy thought out loud. "Hey, 
do FoDs and FoSsiLs get along? I mean, I guess they would, 
the FoSsiLs could feed on the crumbs and scraps. Don't you 
think?"

"Quote list!" Valerie crowed. "Jennie, hand over the laptop!"

Jennie gave it to her, giggling. "Don't you love how I'm 
using it to diligently write the tutorial for the Methods 
Database at work? I wonder I they'll question me borrowing it 
if I come back with very little done. I mean, it's not like 
I'm going to have much *real* time between filming stuff and 
Toronto stuff."

"Naawww," Diane reassured, grinning, "they'll *never* 
notice... Oh, here' s a good Feed Stop. Let's get off. How 
far out are we, by the way?"

"I think we're less than an hour from Detroit," Valerie said, 
scanning their surroundings.

"Hey, that means we're only an hour, hour and a half from 
Canada!" Jennie enthused.

"Canada?" Amy looked up dazedly again. "Oh. We're stopping. 
Are we in Canada already?"

"No, Amy," Diane said patiently as Valerie typed furiously. 
"We're getting food."

"Oh. Yeah. And let's make *sure* this place has no smoke. I 
*HATE* smoke. I don't want to be anywhere *near* smoke. I 
won't be able to breathe and it will make me *cranky*." Amy 
frowned expansively at the very thought of smoke-filled 
restaurants, hair, sweaters, papers, and the like.

"Me, too," Jennie said.

"I don't care for it either," Valerie agreed, looking up from 
the respectable beginning of a quote list on the computer 
display in her lap.

"You know," Jennie commented, "I think Sharon hates smoke 
too. That's a sizable chunk of the NatPack who despise 
cigarette smoke. Interesting."

"Yeah," Diane agreed, "Interesting. But this Die-Hard hates 
smoke too."

     *     *     *

"What time is it?" Diane asked.

"About 6:00," Jennie said.

"Hey, we're making really good time," Amy bounced.

"Does anyone remember what airline Sharon's coming in on?" 
Diane asked as the Toronto exit signs began to proliferate.

"Yeah, she's flying United," Valerie said. "And we're getting 
close. The airport turnoff is the other way from the Regal 
Constellation but at basically the same exit. Yeah, right up 
there."

"Has anyone thought about how we're going to get a fifth 
person and a fifth person's stuff into my car?" Diane asked.

"We could tie Sharon to the top of the car," Jennie offered.

"Or drag her along behind," Amy added.

"Come on, guys, you shouldn't pick on members of your own 
faction like that," Diane teased.

"Watch us," the other three chorused in perfect unison.

It only took an hour and a half to get Sharon from the 
airport and stuffed in the car between Amy and Jennie. No one 
had any remaining leg or lap room with Sharon's stuff and the 
other four's soft items stuffed around the floor and balanced 
on everyone's knees, but the mood in the car reflected the 
general hilarity of gathering mentality.

"Hey, Sharon, how are the cats and monkeys?" Jennie demanded 
first thing.

"They're fine. Causing trouble in turns, but mostly fine. The 
biggest problem right now is that I'm trying to write my 
dissertation and the program I'm trying to use won't work."
"Oh, you didn't get ahold of that virus I got on my computer, 
did you?" Amy asked.

"Dunno. It's just not working. Dunno why, dunno how to make 
it. It's making me nuts."

"Well, that's good about the critters but rotten about the 
program. It's a good thing you didn't ride up with us," 
Jennie giggled. "We stopped at Denny's and they had a special 
on the turkey and dressing that they were doing as an 
experiment for their Thanksgiving platter. Two of us got 
it... You would have had to go sit somewhere else."

"If I could have even stood to even be *in* the Denny's! I 
can't *stand* dressing--even the smell of it. Yuck!" Sharon 
made an elaborate face to go along with her proclamation.

"It's the cow blood face! I'm not the *only* one who makes 
the cow blood face!" Amy shouted. "How far to the FoD house?"

"Not far," Valerie said, "I think we turn here."

They wound through the very familiar-looking streets for a 
bit and arrived before it was too terribly late. The 
accumulated luggage of the five of them filled the entire 
floor of their host's living room. They settled in to relax 
after their trips and catch their breaths before heading out 
to the Toronto night life.

Suddenly, Amy opened the eyes she'd been resting and asked, 
"Does anyone know when we're supposed to show up on the 
set... Or even where the set *is*?"

They all looked at each other blankly, then burst into 
giggles.

Jennie gasped through her laughter, "But we're *NatPackers*; 
we only *think* we know what we're doing."

When they got control again, Valerie said practically, "We'll 
go see Nat tomorrow then. She'll have to know."

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

Message from Nick (1) 
by Sandra Gray

After writing to Mr. P. and Nick, Sandra started to scan her 
other messages. A "beep" of the computer signaled another 
incoming message and she saw it was from Nick. She called it 
up and read it.

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

Date:    April 1, 1995 19:40 
From:    NicKnight@aol.com 
To:      tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu 
Subject: RE: Message from JP

Dear Sandra,

Hi! I was just going to write you.

Yes, I saw the message from Mr. P on the list. That "unnamed 
sponsor" bit sounds suspicious to me too.

Please let me know as soon as you hear anything back from Mr. 
P. If his message is *not* a hoax, it's certainly possible 
that LaCroix is trying to control Forever Knight directly.

Of course it's also possible that the war rumors have been 
one big April Fool's joke. :)

Guess what I had today...

Chocolate!

Nick Knight

April Fool! ;)

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

Sandra smiled a little. Then she sobered. <I hope I hear 
something from Mr. P. soon,> she thought.

<But it would be just like those Cousins to pull an April 
Fool's prank like this.>

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

Message from Nick (2) 
by Sandra Gray

It didn't take long for Sandra to hear back from Nick about 
her second letter to him Only about ten minutes.
-------------------------------------------------------------

Date:    April 1, 1995 21:09 
From:    NicKnight@aol.com 
To:      tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu 
Subject: RE: Not a Hoax!

Dear Sandra,

Thanks for sending me the information that the message from 
JP on the list was legitimate. Guess it explains why things 
have been so quiet. And after I got all that time off from 
work too! Not that it's not nice to have a vacation, but... 
:)

Just to be on the safe side, I think I'll stay off work for 
the next week. If nothing happens, I guess we can assume that 
some mischief is planned for the filming. I'll also try to 
check into who the "unnamed sponsor" of the filming might be.

Speaking of the filming, please tell the rest of my followers 
that I will help with their expenses to come to Toronto for 
the filming this summer (if anyone needs that kind of help). 
Write and let me know who's coming and I'll make arrangements 
for everyone to stay in one place.

Who knows, by then I might actually be able to eat some

Chocolate!

Nick Knight

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

Well, it was nice to know that Nick was willing to help his 
contingent get to Toronto for the filming (if necessary). She 
dashed off a note of appreciation to him.

Then Sandra decided to send a message off to her fellow 
Knighties about the recent developments. 

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

Message to the Knight 
by Ron the Enforcer

Romulus dialed Nick's beeper and left the number at the loft 
so he'd get a callback. Yeah, it *was* getting close to dawn 
and Nick technically would be home soon. However, Perri's 
information was not exactly something that could wait for 
Nick to get home. He needed this information while he was 
still in the field and someplace where he could act on it.

The phone rang. "Romulus grabbed it before it could ring a 
second time.

"Nick?" He asked.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Perri called. She told me she thinks Stonetree's murder fits 
the MO of other killings of high-ranking police officials 
elsewhere in the country."

"Really? Anything you can follow up on?"

"Yeah. I'll get on-line to Metro's databases and see what 
they have on those other murders she mentioned. I'll have all 
the information waiting for you when you get home."

"Nice having a hacker for a roommate."

"Thanks," Romulus grinned then asked. "Hey, do me a favor. 
Pick up some bottles of Red Wolf ale on your way home. 
Hanging out by this machine is, uh, thirsty work..."

Nick groaned. "Okay," he acquiesced.

"What are you moaning about? I *could* have asked you for 
some Chinese take-out-"

"I don't *do* take out anymore.. At least not *that* kind!"

"Yeah, I know." A beat. "Nick, Lucien was right about one 
thing. You just aren't any *fun* anymore!"

Nick hung up the phone without another word.

Romulus grinned. He knew he promised to be good but there 
were just some times when he couldn't contain himself.

He got right to work getting the information Nick needed 
about the related homicides...

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

Knightie Roll Call
by Perri Smith

She really didn't want to go check her e-mail. It would 
involve leaving the apartment and schlepping four blocks to 
campus. But if she didn't, the mail would be unspeakable 
tomorrow.

Sometimes, she was tempted to chuck the whole e-mail thing 
but, since it would involve chucking the vast majority of her 
friends at the same time, not to mention her link to Nick, 
she shoved a few disks in her pocket and left the apartment.

She sighed as she locked the door behind her. It ocurred to 
her that she was doing a lot of that lately. Job hunting will 
do that to you.

She reached the computer lab safely, muttering under her 
breath about South Central streets, and opened telnet to 
check her mail. Usual stuff--DDEB2, loiscla, dsouth-l, 
forkni-l, fkfic (although not much of those, she wondered 
what was up with the server). She forwarded a couple of 
messages to the Mutant Forum, answered one of Abby's standard 
one-line posts, then spotted the message from Sandra.

"Toronto? Nick's sending us to Toronto to be in an episode?"

Several heads turned at the squeal, but most of the other 
night lab denizens ignored her. She tried to quiet down, and 
started reading between the lines of the message.

*Something suspicious, huh? Enough that Nick actually _wants_ 
us there. Must really be wierd... Well, they know I'm in. 
Hope the Times understands -- they did let me go to 
Boston...*

It took only a few seconds to type the response to Sandra.

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

TO: TMP_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu
From: ksmith@scf.usc.edu
Subject: Premiere ep

I'm in.

Perri

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

She sent it off and started mentally packing.

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

Idle Hands
by Dianne T. DeSha

Dianne sat glumly on the couch at Merc Central, debating 
whether to run out to one of the nearby coffee shops and get 
another fancy hot cocoa. _Then_ she could mope in public--oh 
terrific! she thought [hmmm... "mournfully?"... Nah... 
"Morosely"... No, no! lousy thesaurus!... Oh, _here_ we 
go...] dejectedly, stroking Ramona's head.

No, this was ridiculous! she announced [apparently to the 
cat, as no one else seems to be around. (Unless Maureen the 
Mad is lurking somewhere in the back)] She had accomplished 
her first commission (quite cleverly, she thought) and had 
another in the wings, but she was just getting antsy sitting 
here with nothing to do.

Moving the purring cat gently to the couch she paced to the 
desk [wondering idly if you _could_ technically "pace" while 
moving in only one direction]. She logged on and immediately 
spotted Sara's return to the fray. (That's funny, she 
thought, I wonder when she was here? I must have just missed 
her). Reading her fellow Merc's announcement only stiffened 
her own resolve.

"O.K. that's it! I'm done sitting on the sidelines and 
waiting to be invited in. Time to strike out on my own!" she 
exclaimed [after several, increasingly dramatic revisions, 
and without benefit of an editor's sensible restraint].

"If I can't get more people to hire me to work for them, I'll 
make them pay me to leave them alone," she said [to no one in 
particular--she's just done too much "thinking" aloud; might 
as well start talking to herself, too] with a devilish grin 
on her face.

She called up the saved email folder, the one she'd started 
months ago when the war was first announced, the one she kept 
adding to as she read through the posts to ForKni-L...the one 
she'd simply entitled [drumroll, please, Anton!] ..."ammo."

[esc] :w :r "melodramatic pause border"

*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.

"Oh, Drat!" she said [since the censors refused to approve 
what she was _thinking_], "Most of this dirt is on 
Darkangel... How can you blackmail or publicly embarrass 
*her*?" "Besides," she added hastily, "I would _never_ just 
attack another Merc!" Or, not for _free_ she thought to 
herself [so what does _she_ know?].

"Let's see," she continued [to herself--I mean, the _cats_ 
don't care!]. "Cousin James?... Nah, same problem. Cousin 
Caile? Cousin Candice?... Nah, I've already annoyed the 
Cousins; wouldn't want to be accused of being biased or 
anything. I mean, Mercs are just Die-Hards with an attitude, 
right? Hmm... Now _there's_ a thought..."

No one seemed to be giving the Die-Hards any grief yet. And 
if all else failed, well maybe she'd just use her twisted 
little imagination to _create_ a little random mayhem...

She continued to scan through her file until a smirk rose 
["rose"? "rose" from where ?] to her face and she started to 
sing softly "I _enjoy_ being a Merc..."

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

Discovery - The Benefits of the Graveyard Shift
by Heather Parks 
and Vicki Merriman

Heather finished typing her research paper, just in time to 
have some fun looking at next year's proposed scripts. The 
one good thing about working the Night Shift was lots of 
computer time. It had been mentioned on-line which network JP 
was hooked up to and that was all she needed. She wasn't as 
good as half the people she knew at hacking but her friend 
Cramer had offered to walk her through it.

Heather started reading the developed scripts and went 
through several of them before it hit her how strange these 
scripts were. She started skimming faster. There was no doubt 
about it. Over the course of the episodes LaCroix was slowly 
winning Nick over to vampirism again. She cringed as she read 
a part where Nick was drinking human blood from a glass,

"It really tastes better fresh from the source, doesn't it 
LaCroix? A microwave just isn't the same."

Heather immediately forwarded the scripts (breaking numerous 
federal laws but after all, this was war).

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

To:  All Die-Hards, FoDs, Natpackers and Knighties 
From: Heather Parks

My friend helped me get the third season scripts and there is 
a real problem with them. Who is this mysterious backer and 
is it possible that he is responsible? This is a total change 
from Mr. P.'s previous direction that he wanted the show to 
take. I also notice that Nick and Natalie are still close, 
but Natalie seems to be coming closer to taking "a blood 
oath." If the backer is responsible, we need to regain 
control of the scripts. Balance must be maintained.

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

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

Sandra Arrives in Toronto 
by Sandra Gray

Sandra picked up her luggage and walked through the terminal. 
She scanned the people for Nick, but didn't see him.

"Hi," came a male voice from behind her right ear. She nearly 
jumped out of her skin.

Sandra turned to see Romulus--Ron the Enforcer--standing 
there. She let out a sigh. "Gosh, you scared me," she said.

Romulus smiled, his eyes twinkling slightly behind the tinted 
aviator glasses. At least she *thought* they twinkled. She 
wasn't exactly sure. "Sorry," he said. But Sandra had the 
distinct impression that he wasn't sorry at all.

Sandra had met Romulus in New York in the last war. He hadn't 
changed, but then he was a vampire so he *wouldn't* change. 
His trim form was clad in tight leather and he had a Stetson 
pulled down over his dark hair. He didn't tower over people 
like Nick or LaCroix, being only about an inch taller than 
her... Maybe 5'8". But there was a leashed animal quality 
about him that she imagined made people think twice about 
messing with him. Sandra swallowed and asked, "Where's Nick?"

"He had to work. Don't worry, though. He'll have time off for 
the filming. He asked me to come pick you up."

Sandra was slightly disappointed that Nick couldn't make it. 
She'd been looking forward to riding with him in his Caddy.

"You got all your stuff?" asked Romulus.

Sandra focused on the vampire again and nodded. Then she 
wondered how she was going to get to the safe house Nick had 
secured for her and her fellow Knighties. She had a sudden 
vision of herself being flown through the air by Romulus.

Romulus smiled again and said, "Let me take that." He took 
her suitcase. Then he walked for the exit. Sandra followed.

He smiled once more at her and hailed a taxi. Minutes later 
they were on their way.

"Is anyone else here yet?" asked Sandra.

"No. You're the first," replied Romulus. The cab wound its 
way through the city and into a university district.

"I don't know if I should be staying with the others."

"Why?"

"Well, Bruce is a Die-Hard."

"So? Why isn't he with you?"

"Amanda, our daughter, doesn't get out of school for the year 
until June the ninth. Bruce couldn't get that much time off 
from work. And we didn't want her to have to miss school."

"So he's coming up after she gets out?"

"Yeah. He'll be leaving Amanda with my mother and flying up. 
Nick didn't tell you any of this?"

"Yeah." Romulus grinned.

Before long, the cab pulled up in front of a large house. 
Romulus paid the driver and we got out. He gestured with his 
free hand and said, "Well, what do you think?"

"It certainly looks big enough," said Sandra.

Romulus started up the walk, Sandra following. "We've put in 
defenses in case of trouble. And I had my friend Dragutin put 
some magic wards on the place."

"Dragutin is going to be around?"

"No, he's got other things to do. He might be available in 
case of emergency. But I think Nick and I will be able to 
handle things."

Romulus set down her suitcase and unlocked the door of the 
house. Then he picked it up again and walked inside.

Sandra followed him into a living room, where he set down her 
suitcase again. "You can have your choice of rooms. As far as 
your... Husband's concerned, there's no sensitive information 
here and since he's a Die-Hard, he shouldn't be wanting to 
damage our defenses."

Sandra, who had been examining a painting on the wall, looked 
at him. "No, he wouldn't," she said, a bit irritated that he 
would suggest such a thing.

Romulus smiled. "Hey, don't get all bent over it!" he said. 
"Seriously, you don't have to be worried about it. He can 
find something to do if we have to discuss strategy." He 
gestured toward the hall. "Come on and show me what room you 
want." He picked up her suitcase again and waited 
expectantly.

Sandra walked into the hall and started up the stairs, 
Romulus following. She was not exactly comfortable being 
alone in a house with an ancient vampire. They had conversed 
by e-mail and she'd learned a bit about him--such as the fact 
he was LaCroix's "brother" in darkness (his sire was the same 
as LaCroix's sire)--his *older* brother. And that there was 
no love lost between the two. She also knew Nick had 
extracted a promise from Romulus that he wouldn't try to 
"charm" any of the Knighties. Not that he would ever be 
interested in her. She was no great beauty with her light red 
hair, freckles, and large-lensed glasses. Besides, she was 
married.

At that moment, she wished Bruce was there. But she had 
needed to be on hand for the start of filming.

Sandra selected a room near the front of the house and 
Romulus put her suitcase on the king-sized bed. "I'll let you 
unpack. After that, we can go out and get something to eat or 
send out for food," he said. Then he left her.

Sandra unpacked, hoping that some of the other Knighties 
would get to Toronto soon.

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

Open For Business 
by Maureen Wynn

Maureen was suffering from serious eye-strain. After being 
incommunicado (isn't that just a wonderful word?) for so 
long, catching up on her email had taken her much longer than 
she had anticipated. Rubbing her eyes, she took another sip 
from her Diet Coke, and looked out the window, thinking. 
Turning back to her keyboard, she composed a note to go out:

------------------------------------------------------------- 
Date: June 5, 1995 2:57 
From: Maureen the Mad 
<maureen.wynn@mailgw.uprod.music.umich.edu> 
To: FORKNI-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU 
Subject: Open For Business

Greetings, all! Having ended my previous entanglements, I am 
now ready and willing to take any commissions from anyone who 
has need of certain... Talents.

No job too big, no job too small! Juries suborned, tickets 
fixed, virtue defiled, taxes cheated, reputations defamed, 
innocence lost, death defied, politicians bought, elections 
rigged, money laundered, wills broken, lost things found, 
found things lost, will fix what's broke, and break what's 
fixed! Interested? Call now!

(p.s. We also walk dogs)

Fees negotiable, references upon request.

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

Maureen looked over the message, wondering if she should make 
any changes. <Does that sound *too* desperate?> she thought. 
<Nah! If I want to make up for the loss of that last 
commission, I have to get to work.> Disregarding her doubts, 
she sent off the message into the net.

Considering her other messages, she decide to send off a 
couple more notes, one, an offer of help to a comrade who 
seemed to be in trouble, and the second to her favorite 
Knightie, offering to pay back the favor she owed.

<Well, the lines are out there, now I just have to wait and 
see if I get any nibbles.> She gazed thoughtfully at the 
glowing screen, wondering if she had any bait that would make 
those lines more tempting... (To bring this analogy to it's 
completely ludicrous conclusion!).

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

Random Acts (1)
by Diane Echelbarger

Nat answered the door just as the bell rang for the second 
time.

"Natalie Lambert?" the delivery man asked. "Sign here, 
please."

"There must be some mistake", she told him. "I'm not 
expecting a delivery."

The man shrugged. "Hey, I just deliver 'em, lady. The name 
and address are right."

Puzzled, she signed the receipt and took the box he handed 
her. It was unexpectedly heavy, shaped like an old fashioned 
hat box, and covered in paisley patterned fabric. She closed 
the door and sat the box on her dining room table. There was 
no delivery label, no indication of who had sent it. She 
lifted the lid.

A mass of iridescent mylar strips expanded outward, and she 
pulled them aside, then began removing the things they 
cushioned. Three different scented soaps, a natural sponge, 
two bubble baths, a jar of bath crystals, a hardwood nail 
brush, a jar of bath oil beads, a loofa--- The box was 
crammed with the most incredible assortment of luxury bath 
products she'd seen outside of a specialty store. She
burrowed deeper into the box. Herbal body moisturizer, a 
pumice stone, chamomile shampoo, lilac scented talc, four 
mineral bath packets---

Sidney jumped up on the table and pounced on the packing 
strips, rolling onto his back and raking at the shiny mass 
with both hind feet.

As she tried to take the slippery tangle away from him, a 
small envelope dropped to the floor. She abandoned the mylar 
to its fate and picked up the envelope. Nothing written on 
the outside. The card was an ordinary gift enclosure, "For 
You" in gold script across a paisley ground.

The inside was blank.

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

Investigations and Recriminations 
by Amy Hull, 
Jennie Hayes, 
Di Sudduth, 
and Valerie Meachum

Natalie sat at her computer, tapping abstractedly on the 
keyboard, as the group of NatPackers, accompanied by Di, 
entered the lab. "Hi. Come on in, make yourselves at home," 
she said without looking up, "I'll be done in a few minutes."

"Cool!" Amy enthused, looking around.

Most of the group looked equally curious, and they began 
examining various instruments about the lab, poking into 
whatever cabinets captured their interest. Sharon and Selma 
even dared to open the drawers while Jennie looked through a 
cabinet. After poking about a bit and latching onto some rib 
spreaders, Amy hitched herself up onto one of the exam 
tables. With her feet swinging off the edge, she fidgeted 
with the spreaders while watching the others as they examined 
everything.

Diane picked up a scalpel that was laying on a prepared tray 
and turned, holding it in the air with a broad grin on her 
face. "My friend Beth says these are the *best* for craft 
projects!" she proclaimed delightedly.

"Di, I'm staying away from you." Valerie said, also smiling. 
She then looked dubiously at the pillaging the others were 
engaging in and began, "Uh, guys... Do you really think we 
should be messing with--" She interrupted herself as she 
spied the black corner of a notebook peeking out from under a 
stack of papers on a filing cabinet. Discretely slipping over 
to the cabinet, she slid the book out and began leafing 
through Natalie's notes.

"*Ahem*."

Jennie slammed closed the door of the cabinet, and, like the 
others, looked toward the sound. Grace had just entered the 
lab and was looking at them with one eyebrow raised. "What 
*are* you doing?" she queried.

"It's okay, Grace. They're waiting for me to finish this." 
Nat called, eyes still glued to the computer and fingers 
tapping furiously now.

"Waiting? Looks more like ransacking to me."

Now Nat looked up. "Oh. Well, I did tell them to make 
themselves at home. They seem to be good at taking orders."

Jennie immediately turned to Sharon. "I'll have a 
cheeseburger, extra onion..."

"Only if you get it yourself," Sharon retorted.

Grace was still looking quite dubious about this obvious 
intrusion into what she clearly considered as much *her* lab 
as Natalie did.

"They're friends, Grace," Nat consoled. Grace seemed to be 
more pleased at this statement and began to relax. "Look, I'm 
basically done, and I need to have a talk." The set of her 
jaw for that moment did not bode well. "Grace, why don't you 
take these three of our guests," Natalie indicated Di, 
Sharon, and Selma, "on a tour of the building. I'm sure 
they'd be interested."

"Oh, yeah!!!" Di grinned enthusiastically, "That would be 
great! Please!?!"

"Oh, yes," Selma chimed in. "We *have* to see the labs!"

Grace smiled at their excitement, "I suppose that could be 
arranged. Come on, I'll show you around." She smiled and 
gestured for them to follow her.

Sharon leaned over and whispered to Jennie, "I didn't realize 
you'd already had the tour."

"I haven't," Jennie said, a bit nervously.

"Hmmm." Sharon looked rather amused and sympathetic. "Good 
luck, you guys," she said a bit louder as she followed Grace 
out.

As soon as they were through the door, Natalie turned a look 
of pure annoyance on the three remaining NatPackers. She 
snatched the black notebook from Valerie and frowned 
disapprovingly.

"Are you sure you should have that so accessible?" Valerie 
asked, returning the look of disapproval.

Natalie quickly stashed the book safely away and turned back 
to the three fidgeting NatPackers. "Ladies, I think we need 
to have a talk about glitter," she said, her voice taking on 
that particular quality that it only had when she was well 
and truly angry.

"Oh, you know about that, huh?" Valerie asked, chagrined.

"Well, I suspected there was something a little odd, then I 
got a call from Janette."

"But she wasn't even there!" Jennie blurted, turning bright 
red as Nat turned a glare full on her.

"*Goooood*, Jennie," Amy said quietly, then saw Nat's glare 
turn on her and looked down, "Sorry," she said, even more 
quietly.

"What were you *thinking*? We are not here to antagonize 
anyone, least of all Janette!" Nat was looking more 
disappointed than annoyed by this point. Jennie was still 
quite pink and Amy looked as though she was trying to vanish 
while carefully studying her hands.

"Oh. Did you catch it for this?" Valerie asked.

"That's not the point," she replied briefly.

"If you took the heat for us it's the point. What did she 
*say* to you, anyway?" Valerie asked.

"Enough. I want to hear *your* explanation."

"Well," Valerie volunteered softly. "It seemed like a good 
idea at the time. We weren't really thinking much; I had just 
been doused with water and locked in a bathroom."

"And they stole her suitcase," Amy added, looking up for the 
first time in a couple of minutes. "It was really all my 
fault. I came up with the idea to get them back."

"It was *not* all your fault; *I* came up with the vegetable 
oil and the glitter. I even suggested putting the oil in the 
ketchup bottles," Jennie protested.

"Well, you guys never would have done anything if it wasn't 
for me.

"You were having second thoughts and I insisted that we had 
to make things even," Valerie insisted. "So it's really *my* 
fault."

Nat had been looking between them like they were hitting a 
ping pong ball around, and her amusement had been warring 
with the stern expression she was trying to maintain. A 
slight sound escaped her as she attempted to contain her 
laughter, and Jennie turned to her with a concerned 
expression. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"You guys are as bad as Nick!" she burst out, laughing out 
loud.

"As bad as *Nick*, huh?" Amy commented, looking pointedly at 
Nat.

"Well, almost. But *anyway*, I don't want any more trouble, 
or I'll send you guys to Nick and make him put you in 
protective custody," Nat grinned. They all laughed and then 
turned as the tour group came back in, chattering excitedly 
about what they had seen.

"I see you three survived," Sharon commented.

Jennie, Amy, and Valerie smiled a bit sheepishly and Amy 
quickly put in, "So how was the tour?"

The three who had been shown around started chatting 
animatedly about their experiences and the other three 
NatPackers breathed a sigh of relief that they were basically 
off the hook.

Jennie resumed looking around and leaned over Nat's desk 
curiously. Soon she picked up a report that was laying on top 
of the In box. "Hey, this looks like soap. What'd you have 
analyzed?"

Amy leaned over her shoulder, "That gibberish is soap? Oh 
yeah, I kind of remember some of that from Org. Chem. It's 
been just too long though; I'd have never recognized it on my 
own."

"Oh, that. It was nothing," Nat said dismissively. "A couple 
of months ago, I got a strange package. It wasn't signed and 
I wasn't sure if it was safe to use. So I've been checking 
the stuff out a little at a time. I think that was the last 
one."

"So what was it?" Sharon asked.

"Bath supplies," Nat said, shrugging. "Someone sent me really 
nice bath soaps and oils, and they were all real. Kinda 
strange. I don't know who would do that."

"Well, you know, Nat, men *do* sometimes take a second look 
at you," Di teased.

Natalie actually blushed.

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

Knightie Conference 
by Sandra Gray

Sandra looked around at the Knighties assembled in the living 
room. Some of them she recognized from previous Wars: Perri 
Smith, Sharon Scott, Ava Chan-Crowder, Linda Roth, Pat Kong, 
and Amy Denton. She had an episode idea involving Amy, but 
they could discuss that in more detail later.

There were also some new Knighties in attendance at the 
meeting: Vicky Bratton, Nancy Duemling, Crystal Guffey, Abby 
Albrecht (or was Abby involved in the last War?), and a 
couple of others whose names she couldn't recall at the 
moment.

Nick was also in the room, seated in a chair slightly apart 
from the main gathering. And keeping a watchful eye from his 
position standing near the front window was Ron the Enforcer.

"First, I'd like to thank Nick for providing this house and 
other assistance to us so that we can be here for this 
filming." There were scattered murmurs and clapping. "As you 
all know, this headquarters has been fitted with ordinary 
defenses in case of any trouble and with... Magical defenses 
courtesy of our... Ally Ron the Enforcer's mage friend, 
Dragutin."

There was a more subdued grateful reaction to that piece of 
news, as Ron inclined his head to the group.

"Everyone knows how to avoid tripping the magic wards?" asked 
Sandra, although she was sure everyone understood how to 
enter by the front door. Silence greeted her question. "Okay. 
Nick, what have you been able to find out about the 'unnamed 
sponsor' of the third season?" asked Sandra.

"The production secretary didn't have any information on that 
as the deal was apparently made in California. But, as you 
all know, I was able to get an advance copy of the third 
season premiere script."

Sandra and the other Knighties looked at the copy of the 
script that they each held.

"Well, this script confirms the rumors we've heard and our 
suspicions, I think," said Sandra.

"Karin and Jennise," said Perri. There were other murmurings 
as the other Knighties leafed through the script.

"It's awful," said Abby.

"Why would LaCroix want to do something like this?" asked 
Crystal.

"Well, he attempted to replace Forever Knight with his own 
version one time. Another time he cast a spell on the actor 
who plays LaCroix to make those with Cousin tendencies decide 
to follow him. My guess is he doesn't like how LaCroix is 
portrayed and wants to gain more followers," said Sandra. 
"But Mr. P. must not be fond of the idea or he wouldn't have 
opened the filming to listmembers' input. We have our work 
cut out for us."

Some discussion of the script and comments on its contents 
followed. Finally Sandra said, "So we're agreed. We have to 
try to come up with scenes that put the series Nick in a good 
light and make LaCroix look bad or at least ridiculous."

"And the Cousins?" asked Vicky.

"Well, we can make efforts to rewrite or alter some of their 
scenes. Some of you have video skills that we can make use of 
if necessary."

"What about the other factions?" asked Perri.

"Well, I'm hoping they won't do anything that puts Nick in a 
bad light, but if they do... Our goal should be to see that 
Nick stays the hero of the episode."

Nick cleared his throat and said, "Well, maybe we should just 
try to keep to the show's previous standards."

"Okay," said Sandra, although she didn't see any difference. 
"The scenes by *any* faction that keep him in a favorable 
light or make sense to the episode are usable by us." Sandra 
paused. "Come up with good scenes. A lot can happen in three 
weeks of filming. I guess that's it for now."

The group began to split up, people pairing off in smaller 
groups to discuss the script and their ideas for scenes in 
it. Sandra walked over to Nick, who rose from his chair.

"We'll do what we can to see that the series isn't 
substantially altered in its focus. But if things start 
looking bad, I may have an idea to run by you."

Nick frowned. "What?"

"I want to see how things go first. My idea might not be 
necessary."

"Well, I've got vacation for the next three weeks so I or Ron 
will always be available to consult with."

Sandra glanced over at Ron, then smiled at Nick. "Great," she 
said.

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

They Have Me Doing What? 
by Perri Smith

Sandra and Nick's chat was interrupted by a loud howl of 
rage, worthy of a vampire, Nick thought absently. Everyone in 
the room turned to look at Perri, who was holding a script in 
her hand and yelling furiously, if unintelligibly. She was 
certainly angry about something.

Amy and Nancy tried to calm her down, but backed away when it 
only seemed to make her angrier. Abby didn't bother to try, 
just stayed out of firing range.

Ron finally resorted to yelling. "Quiet!"

Perri shut up, clenching her jaw and looking as if she would 
start again any minute, with Ron as an easily available 
target. Nick jumped in before blood could be shed. "Perri, 
what's wrong?"

"Act. Three." She said it tightly, rage in every taut muscle 
in her face. Her changeable eyes were hard, steely gray.

Nick picked up his copy of the script and leafed through it. 
"Let's see, karaoke night, you're just in from Houston, 
talking to Scottie... Oh."

"Oh," she mimicked nastily. "They have me singing. Let me 
rephrase, *he* has me singing. Hank Williams. "There's a Tear 
in my Beer." Twang and all."

"I thought you liked country?" Abby ventured hesitantly.

"Modern country," Perri gritted out through clenched teeth. 
"Not this crap! I hate Hank Williams with every breath of air 
in my body! And they've got me singing that stupid song! No 
way! This is WAR!!!!!"

"Calm down, Perri," Nick advised, trying not to laugh. "It's 
just one scene in the show. How bad can it be?"

She smiled nastily in his direction. "Oh really. Check out 
Act Four, in the prison. You and LaCroix... Excuse me, 
Inspector Cross."

He flipped the pages warily, warned by the look on her face. 
Sandra looked over his shoulder. Together, they started to 
read.

Nick's face got progressively darker as he went through the 
scene, and Sandra looked close to the state Perri was in by 
the time they were finished.

"They're making him look like an idiot!" Sandra said.

Perri considered a smart aleck comment, opened her mouth to 
deliver it, and rethought at Nick's glare. She settled for, 
"Well, it's only one scene. How bad could it be?"

Nick glared again, but had to acknowledge the point. By now, 
most of the Knighties had read the scene. No one looked happy 
except Ron, who was trying not to laugh. One chortle slipped 
out and about ten pairs of eyes looked daggers at him. He 
choked back the next one, but couldn't keep the grin from 
spreading over his face. He knew it was serious... But it was 
also funny!

"We have to do something," Amy said.

"We will," Perri answered.

"I've already got one thing planned," Sandra said.

"So do I," Perri responded. "Everyone, we've got five hours 
to do rewrites."

"I'll do the prison scene if you do the karaoke."

"Oh, I will..." Perri's voice was grim as she answered 
Sandra. "I will." A sneaky smile spread over her face. 
Fortunately, no one saw it. 

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

Stage Fright (1)
by Sandra Gray 
with input from Amy Denton

"I don't know if I can do this," said Amy.

"You'll be fine," said Sandra in what she hoped was an 
encouraging tone. She smiled and added, "Just think--you get 
to smooch a really cute guy."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Please! I haven't been able to think of 
anything else!"

"Sorry. Well, you won't have glasses on. Just imagine he's 
your boyfriend."

"It's going to be awful, I know it."

"You'll be fine."

Amy put her hand to the long-haired red wig she wore. "This 
wig is going to fall off."

"No, it's not. But if it does, they'll just reshoot the 
scene."

Amy groaned. "Why did I let you talk me into this?"

Sandra frowned. "Are you sorry you agreed to do the scene?"

Amy sighed, then smiled. "No, I guess not." She looked over 
to where Geraint Wyn Davies was talking with the director. 
"At least I'll have something to remember."

"No doubt of that," said Sandra. "Getting to kiss Nick... 
Well, at least someone who's a pretty passable copy." She 
sighed.

"Okay, we're ready for the scene," said Mr. L. "Amy Denton? 
Where's Amy?"

"Looks like your cue."

Amy took a deep breath and rose. Then she walked out into the 
set of Sandra Gray's "apartment".

"Okay, we'll do a run through to check the lights and 
blocking," said the director.

Sandra watched as Amy and Ger ran through the scene. Amy 
still seemed a bit nervous. When it came time for them to 
kiss, Ger did an exaggerated pucker and Amy giggled. As he 
grinned, the director said, "C'mon, Ger!" But Amy seemed a 
little more relaxed after that. They went through the kissing 
scene (sans the fangs), then the director said, "Okay, let's 
shoot it."

A woman checked Amy's appearance. She tucked in a strand of 
brown hair that had escaped the wig and took Amy's glasses. 
Amy looked a tad overwhelmed, but when the director told her 
and Ger to take their positions, she obeyed.

Everyone was quiet as the scene was filmed. It was filmed in 
two separate shots--the "human" Nick parts followed by the 
"vamped" Nick parts. It looked kind of odd out of order like 
that. The director took several takes of each, then 
pronounced that the scene was in the can.

Ger smiled, then moved off to divest himself of the 
"vampire." Amy remained on the couch. Sandra walked over to 
her. "Wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No," sighed Amy. 

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

I Need A Few Good Mercs...
by Cousin Candice

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

Job Requirements:

Must have good aim
Strong like bull *grin* [Russian peasant woman filter OFF]
Sneaky
Underhanded
Sure-footed
Fearless--like your employer *even bigger grin*

Job Description:

Must move semi-fragile, but highly dangerous materials from 
the back of a truck...


RESPOND ASAP!!!! TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE!!!!


Yours,
Candice--obsessed by memory, befriended by desire, 
Cousin by choice
          Toreador by default
winter@jbx.com

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

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

Stage Fright (2) 
by Sandra Gray

Sandra looked at the set of "Nick's" apartment. It was 
amazing how much it resembled the *real* thing.

She smoothed suddenly wet palms over her skirt. "Don't worry, 
Sandra, you'll do fine," said Amy, smiling. Sandra wondered 
if her similar encouragement to Amy when she filmed her scene 
had sounded just as hollow in Amy's ears.

<Why did I do this?> Sandra thought. <I'm not an actress.> 
"I'm going to blow it," she said to Amy. "I talk too fast 
when I'm nervous and slur my words together. They'll need 
fifty takes."

"No, they won't," Amy assured me.

<Okay, get a grip,> Sandra told herself. <You wrote this. 
It'll be like... Role playing in a role playing game. Yeah. 
That's it.>

"Okay, we're ready for a run through. Miss Gray?" said Mr. L.

"Mrs. Gray," said Sandra.

She went through the scene with Ger, who did his best to put 
her at ease. Then the makeup lady came over and took her 
glasses and fussed with her hair a bit.

"Okay, we're ready for the take. Action!"

Sandra's glasses gone made a world of difference. She 
couldn't see the camera or much else except large shapes 
hazily. She had a brief moment of panic about whether she 
could see well enough to get around, but soon paid more 
attention to trying to remember her lines and trying to 
remember to speak slowly enough so she didn't slur her words. 

Kissing Ger was definitely an... Interesting... Experience.

"Okay, cut. Let's do another take," said the director.

Sandra quailed. "Don't worry," she heard Ger say. "You did 
fine. We usually do more than one take."

Sandra calmed some. <Oh, well,> she thought. <At least I'll 
get to kiss him again.>

She was glad Bruce was off being an extra in another scene.

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

Lurkers (1)
by Maddog

Lacroix approached yet another of his minions, the Cousins. 
Then a small noise interrupted his quest. It was the pop, 
fizz, fizz of a Diet Coke being opened. He had heard the 
noise frequently since the war started. Determined to find 
out the cause, he approached the source of the noise. It was 
a female dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt proclaiming 
"Sandman" on it.

"Are you following me?"  LaCroix asked, his voice soft but 
filled with menace.

"Me?"  Came the startled reply. "No, uh, I'm just lurking 
about. That's what I do."

"You lurk in the dark and follow me around?"

"Yeah, well, not just you, everybody,"  the woman took 
another deep draught of Diet Coke. "Gives me something to do 
when I'm supposed to be working."

"You will cease following me," LaCroix ordered. The 
Knighties, the Ravenettes, Die Hards and lapsed Cousins were 
giving him enough problems without strange people staring at 
him.

"Nah, 'fraid I can't do that. It's in the Lurker's code, I 
have to watch," finishing the Diet Coke with a humongous gulp 
the woman added, fading back into the darkness, then her 
voice echoed out, "I like to watch."

Deciding that he had better things to do, LaCroix flew off to 
his next rendezvous.

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

Double Vision 
by Sandra Gray

"Okay, that will be a wrap for tonight," said the director 
Mr. L. to the assembled cast and crew. People started to move 
off in different directions and went through the motions of 
shutting down production.

Several minutes passed.

"Hey, Tom, where did you park the caddie?" asked Dick.

"I didn't move it," replied Tom.

"Well, someone must have. It's not there."

Tom went to look, saw that the car was indeed gone. He and 
Dick went frantically around the crew and remaining cast to 
see if someone was pulling a joke. But no one seemed to know 
anything about the car.

"My God, you don't think somebody *stole* it, do you?" asked 
Dick.

"Who'd want it?" asked Tom.

"Hey, it's a classic," pointed out Dick.

"Should we call the police?" asked Tom, as Mr. L. neared 
them.

"No, not yet," said the director. "Someone could have taken 
it as a prank. If it's not back by tomorrow night, *then* we 
worry."

Tom and Dick nodded. After the director moved away, Dick 
said, "I hope it's back tomorrow. Lord knows where we'd find 
*another* car like that to use as a replacement."

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

Deus ex Machina: Grease Monkeys 
by Tuppence 
transcribed by Diane Echelbarger

"Hey, Joe, what've I got on the schedule for tonight?" Ernie 
asked when he checked in for the evening shift.

"Let's see--" Joe, the Head of Maintenance, flipped through 
the work orders. "Got some repairs on the AC in Studio 4--The 
sinks in the dressing rooms on Stage 8 are stopped-up--
Nothing unusual--Oh, and that classic Caddy FK uses is due 
for an oil change. Check the shooting schedule they sent, and 
see when we can grab it."

Ernie picked up the folder marked FK SHOOTING SCHED and 
flipped through it. "Says they'll be finishing up with it 
late afternoon today, and they won't need it until after 
lunch tomorrow. I could do it tonight, easy."

"Good, I'll write up the notification and you go over and get 
it after you fix those sinks," his boss said. "They're top of 
the list; the actors are threatening Guild action."

"Gotcha," Ernie agreed. He grabbed his toolbox, and the 
shop's 'everything on the lot with wheels' key ring, and 
left.

Joe grabbed a memo form.

-------------------------------------------------------------
 
TO: FK Production Company 
FROM: Maintenance

We'll be picking up your Caddy early this evening for routine 
maintenance. It should be back by 9 am tomorrow. If this is a 
problem, let us know.

J. Stanopolous 

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

He tossed the memo in the department's STUDIO MAIL basket, 
poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, and went into his 
office to start on end-of-shift paperwork.

No one was in sight when the gray cat slipped through the 
door and jumped up on the workbench. She read the top memo in 
the basket, then grabbed it firmly in her teeth and dropped 
it over the side of the counter. The next memo interested her 
much more. A Karaoke scene had *so* many possibilities.

She jumped down from the bench and ran from the shop.

Behind her, the memo about the Caddy slowly sank out of sight 
in a barrel of waste oil...

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

Life Imitates Art 
by Cousin Deborah

Deborah relaxed in the back seat of the taxi that was taking 
her to her office. Work seemed like another world at the 
moment. It would be her first day back after Toronto and all 
that happened there.

Well, she'd be at work soon and it would all seem familiar 
again. She let her mind drift back to the last day she was on 
the set, filming her last scene...

**Fade In**

Episode Time: The case has been wrapped up and everyone has 
gotten home 

Interior shot: Deborah's office. Deborah seated desk and 
Catherine, her boss seated on the other side

"So how was it?" Catherine asked

"What?" Deborah spoke absently, searching her desk for the 
keyboard she knew was somewhere under the accumulated mail.

"Toronto. How was it?"

"Oh, fine, fine. It was fine." Deborah said, still burrowing.

"Did you come up with anything?"

Deborah looked up sharply "What do you mean? Like what?"

Catherine rolled her eyes " Like anything worth publishing. I 
mean that is why you went, isn't it? You went to Toronto for 
a writer's conference."

"Oh, oh yeah." Deborah appeared to think a moment and then 
slowly shook her head. "I don't think any of it was really 
Cambridge material, Catherine. It was all... Pretty 
outrageous stuff."

As she stood to leave, Catherine stooped and picked a package 
up off the floor "Here. This must have fallen off one of the 
piles." She handed it to Deborah, who inspected it curiously

"What is this? It's not marked or labeled?" Deborah said, 
turning it over and over in her hands.

"Well, open it." Catherine urged

Deborah shrugged and did so. It was a book. A very old book. 
Deborah gasped. "Oh. A Dorothy L. Sayers mystery. A first 
edition Sayers."

Catherine, also a great Sayers fan, was impressed. "Can I 
see? Who's it from?"

Deborah shook her head "I don't know? Here have a look." 
Deborah handed the book over to Catherine.

As she did, a card fell out. She opened it.

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

    To a dear niece,

    Until next time.

    Adieu,

    Uncle

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

**Fade Out**

Deborah suddenly realized that the cabbie was waiting for his 
fare. "Sorry" she said as she gave him the money and dashed 
to her office building and rushed into the elevator. When she 
got to her office, it did feel sort of strange. *I've just 
been gone a while, that's all.* She looked at her desk. It 
was covered in mail. *Just like on TV* she thought, starting 
to laugh.

"Well you're in a good mood." It was her boss, Catherine. "So 
how was it?"

"What?" Deborah said, not really listening *I know the 
keyboard is here somewhere,* she said to herself.

"Toronto. How was it?"

"Oh, fine, fine. It was fine." Deborah said, still burrowing.

"Did you come up with anything?"

Deborah looked up. "Like what?"

Catherine rolled her eyes " Like anything worth publishing. 
It _was_ a writer's conference. "

*De ja Vu!* Deborah thought. She glanced at her desk, but 
didn't see an unmarked package.

Deborah shook her head and heard herself saying "I don't 
think so. It... Pretty outrageous stuff. "

"Well, it was worth a shot." she shrugged and started to 
leave. "Oh, I almost forgot why I came in. This came for you 
this morning special delivery. You weren't in, so I signed 
for it."

Deborah didn't do anything for a long moment. And the she 
smiled and put the package in her briefcase.

"Aren't you going to open it? Don't you even want to know who 
it's from?"

"Oh, I know what it is. It's a gift. From my Uncle."

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

Special Duty 
by Diane Echelbarger 
and Cousin Candice

Candice parked the car in the alley and grabbed the script 
from the seat. She had no idea why Uncle wanted her to 
deliver it to him at this time of night--morning, really--but 
one didn't argue with Uncle if one wanted to keep on 
breathing. And eating...

She unlocked the alley door with the key Karin had given her, 
and climbed the stairs as quickly as she could. A thin line 
of light could be seen around the door at the top. She pushed 
it open and walked into LaCroix's apartment.

The first thing she noticed was the cat. She hadn't known 
Uncle had a cat. It was built like a Siamese, but its coat 
was steel gray, with a band of coppery flecks around the 
middle, and a small cream patch under the chin.

It gave her one of those stares cats are good at, and stalked 
to the black leather couch. Where it started sharpening its 
claws on the arm.

"Hey!" she shouted at it. "Stop tha--"

"Don't," Uncle snapped, and she almost bit her tongue, 
swallowing the rest of the sentence.

She turned around to face him. He was standing in a doorway, 
<the bedroom?> his black leather trench coat draped over one 
arm.

"It is natural for a cat to sharpen its claws," he said, much 
too gently for Candice's peace of mind. "I assume you would 
not wish her to deny what she is?"

<Uh-oh>, she thought, but all she said was "No, Uncle." Very 
quietly.

"Very good," he purred. "You brought the script?"

"Yup, s'right here in my back pocket." She grinned, feeling 
her confidence returning, along with her breath, and held it 
out to him.

He took it from her, and put it on the mahogany table. Then 
he turned and looked at the cat.

The cat finished sharpening her claws and jumped up onto the 
arm of the couch. She raised her head and looked back at 
Uncle. Her eyes were green-gold. They didn't blink.

Neither did Uncle's.

After a moment, the cat said "Mrrrrrnnn," and scrunched her 
eyes shut, the way cats do when they're pleased.

LaCroix smiled. It was *not* a nice smile.

<Oh skata... What have I gotten myself into> Candice thought 
as she watched her Uncle nod to the cat, directing that smile 
at *her*.

The cat strolled regally down the couch, and jumped from 
there to the table.

"Candice," he said, watching the cat.

"Hmm?" she said trying not to stare to long at the various 
and sundry artifacts that were placed all around the "living" 
room.

"This," he gestured toward the cat, "is Tuppence. She is--an 
ally. I want you to make certain that *all* my Cousins know 
this."

The cat nosed the stack of loose script.

She said, "What would you have me do? Phone every Cousin in 
Toronto for the shooting to tell them we have a _cat_ working 
with us?" Knowing she was pushing her uncanny luck just by 
saying anything other than 'Yes, Uncle.'

Tuppence pushed the script harder. It shifted sideways.

LaCroix turned his back on the cat, and looked at Candice, 
doing his best not to snarl at the mortal woman. <Why were 
some of them so insolent?> he thought to himself. "She will 
be--working with us during the filming of the premiere," he 
continued. "I want all the Cousins to be ready to assist and 
protect her, if necessary. You will do whatever it takes to 
get the word out."

<Assist a *cat*?> "Yes, Uncle." Deciding, from the look on 
his face, it was better to back down--she didn't particularly 
like the knowledge that he *would* snack on her at the drop 
of a hat. Nor did she like being quite so close to him, for 
reasons of her own.

Tuppence pushed the script again, and it slid off the table. 
Pages scattered everywhere.

Candice ignored it.

Uncle said, very softly, "I need someone to be responsible 
for her. To see to it that she is fed, and has a warm place 
to sleep, and is happy.

"I have chosen you for that task, Candice. Will you do this, 
-ma chere-?"

"Yes, Uncle." <That makes four>, she thought, giddily. <I'm 
gonna melt if he comes any closer.>

The cat had jumped to the floor, and was examining the 
scattered papers with great intensity.

"Very good," he said, and caressed her cheek. "When she is 
finished with the shooting script, take her to the studio 
lot. Find her a safe place to stay. See that she is fed. 
Protect her." He stepped away from her and pulled on the 
trench coat.

He was suddenly by the tall window, lifting the sash. "Lock 
the door as you leave."

He stepped out onto the sill. "And, Candice..."

"Yes, cher Oncle?"

"I will know if she is not happy. And if *she* is not happy, 
*I* will not be happy." Very softly. "Understood?"

Her mouth was suddenly dry. Candice merely nodded in 
response.

"Good girl," he whispered.

And was gone.

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

Making Arrangements 
by darkangel 

I grinned as I pulled my just-purchased motorcycle up to the 
curb in front of the Raven. The filming of the third season 
opener would begin in a few days, and I had a few things to 
do before the fkfic-l listmembers arrived en masse to 
Toronto...

I arrived in the city the night before. My first stop had 
been the nearest Harley-Davidson dealership--I had cash to 
spare, as the business was doing well, and I planned on 
driving it home after the war. Sure, Florida was far from 
Canada, but what biker didn't love a good road trip? After 
that, I met the truck containing my war supplies--I'd had 
them shipped up here a few days before my flight, and the 
driver and I had moved the items into temporary storage at a 
local warehouse.

Tonight, though, I was well-rested and ready to bargain.

I cut the engine of the fatboy and walked up to the door of 
the Raven, ready to deal with the bouncer if I had to. To my 
surprise, he just waved me in after taking my cover charge. I 
didn't mind paying, this once, as this visit could net a 
rather large profit for me and my Mercs. I supposed that my 
ease in getting in had something to do with my outfit--all 
black leather seemed rather apropos to such a place, even if 
I wasn't into the whole flaky Goth scene. And I was taller 
than the guy at the door...

I shrugged and made my way past the writhing dancers, 
reaching the bar. I supposed that the guy at the counter was 
Miklos. "Where's Janette?"

He narrows his eyes. "Who's asking?"

I grinned. "I have a business proposal for her."

He thought about it for a moment before pointing towards a 
table across the room. I thanked him and slipped him a few 
bills. It never hurt to be remembered as someone who gives 
out cash freely.

Janette looked bored. "What do you want?" She obviously 
didn't like mortals hanging about. Who could blame her? If I 
was a thousand years old, I wouldn't want to be around people 
who must seem adolescent. For that matter, I didn't enjoy 
adolescents, either.

"Hello, madam. I am Darkangel. From the Forever Knight 
lists?"

"And?" She still looked annoyed. I could deal with that.

"I have a business proposal for you." I sat down, and began 
outlining my plan.

"A video game?" She looked skeptical.

"Yes, well, you know how some people enjoy shooting things 
down and such. It wouldn't take up much space, and I 
guarantee that the players will drink themselves into a 
stupor afterwards. And that's easy money for you. Especially 
because this is a new and highly publicized game, and your 
establishment will gain customers simply by virtue of it 
being here." I was starting to get into this sales pitch 
thing. It wasn't very difficult, as long as I avoided looking 
at her well-displayed cleavage. And she seemed about as 
likely to try the game as I was likely to worship Elvis 
Pressley. This was a good thing, as I'd hate to have her 
discover what the "video game" really was...

"We'll try it for a week. You can set it up in that corner 
over there," she said, indicating the spot, "and I expect you 
to make it as invisible as possible. I don't want any 
flashing lights or beeping noises disturbing my clientele."

"Don't worry, Janette. The game is in a small, soundproof 
booth to minimize disturbances."

"Fine." The look of boredom was back.

I knew when I'd overstayed my welcome. "I think, if you don't 
object, I'll have a drink at the bar before I leave. Good 
evening, madam." I stood and bowed, and made my way across 
the room, to where a cute redhead was ordering a drink...

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

The VR Booth 
by darkangel

"There. All done." I stepped away from the booth, looking at 
the panel I'd just finished screwing on. It was the day after 
Janette had told me it was okay to set up, and I had gotten 
the storage men to meet me here. Once it was put in its 
place, they were gone. As it was four in the afternoon, the 
club was deserted, and Janette was sleeping.

Jennifer Lackey, fellow Mercenary and handywoman 
extraordinaire, finished adjusting the seat inside the large, 
black box. "I still can't believe we're doing this. I mean, 
Steff, it's a PG-13 war!"

I sniffed. "Hey, it's not like I'm actually going to describe 
the programs to the list. And it's not as if the Raven lets 
minors in."

"I can just see the Knighties, lining up for a 'close 
encounter' with the Brick..." She giggled. "This was a 
brilliant idea."

"Why, thank you. And the Knighties won't be the only happy 
ones, you know."

"True, true. I mean, you've got the whole cast in there." She 
frowned. "Was it really worth the extra programming to put in 
Schanke, though? I mean, does anyone actually find him 
attractive?"

"The FoD's do. In fact, I let Cousin James script the whole 
Schanke section. You spend more time eating dinner with him 
than, well, you know."

Jen laughed. "I almost want to see this. Almost."

I shuddered. "Hey, I had to write the darned thing. Yuck." I 
checked a few components of the virtual suit. It seemed to be 
in working order. I had the machine hooked to a radio link. 
Every half hour it would page my beeper with an "I'm okay" 
message. If something went wrong, it would either page me 
with the problem or not page me at all. This way I didn't 
have to sit around and baby-sit it throughout the rest of the 
war.

"So, what was your favorite part to code?" Jen teased.

"Heh. Most of them, cher." As if I would tell. Besides, it 
could be so hard to choose...

"Have you tried it out yet?" She grinned mischievously.

"Of course!" I laughed. "You know, beta testing and all 
that."

"Yeah, sure. Steff, how long did it take for your significant 
others to pry you out of the machine?"

"Why, Jen, whatever do you mean?" She wasn't buying my 
innocent act. "Okay, okay, I liked it. The damn thing's 
totally realistic. After all, you can make LaCroix romantic, 
or give Natalie a whip, or..." I closed my eyes for a moment, 
remembering. Ah, what fun.

"Um, Steff?"

I opened my eyes, having forgotten Jen. "Yes?"

"Can I have a turn?" She looked slightly embarrassed.

I laughed. "Go for it. Just follow the directions on the 
panel, and I'll tell the machine that it doesn't need to take 
any money from you."

"Cool. Thanks." She closed the door almost all the way, and 
paused. "Back in a bit!"

"Yeah, well, be careful. After all, you wouldn't want to 
touch the wrong button, have have to watch Nick and Schanke--
"

"Ewwwww!" She turned green and shuddered. "Thanks for the 
warning..." As the door closed behind her, I chuckled. If the 
program was as good as I thought, she wouldn't be able to 
walk straight when it was over...

I sat back and sipped the beer I'd filched from behind the 
bar. This war was turning out to be a lot of fun. 

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

Advertisement 
by Darkangel

Darkangel sighed and leaned back in her chair, having just 
finished catching up on her e-mail. The Merc headquarters 
were strangely quiet, as everyone was either out on jobs or 
asleep. She lit a cigarette and set about typing a mail 
message.

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

To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU 
Subj: Mercenary for Hire

Mercenary seeks employment. Has knowledge of explosives, 
chemistry, and computers. Ask about rates.

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

Short and to the point. Perfect. She was envious of Dianne, 
who had more jobs than she could handle. Ah, well, Darkangel 
was glad for the time to work on the VR booth. It was 
producing quite a bit of cash, and would soon produce even 
more... 

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

Party Favor 
by Sharon Himmanen 
and Jennie Hayes

The view out of the window of Don Bassingthwaite's apartment 
was spectacular. But not nearly as spectacular as the view of 
the buffet table when one turned a scant 45 degrees to one's 
left. Filling nearly three tables pressed up against the far 
wall, it was a spread the likes of which none of the 
assembled NatPackers had ever seen.

And it was all theirs.

They'd arrived back at their host's after an aborted attempt 
to find a bar. Amy had rejected five in a row for excessive 
smokiness, and the rest of the group had only too readily 
agreed. They'd finally given up and called Don, who was 
delighted to have an opportunity to treat them to a birthday-
party FoD style. And so, not wanting to completely impose on 
their host, they stopped at the excessively well stocked 
super market close to Don's home to pick up alcohol, 
caffeine, and other supplies.

Don had greeted them at the door, proudly informing them that 
at least two of their ranks were worthy of FoDdom, and then 
proceeded to give them a tour of the buffet table which had 
lasted nearly half an hour and had involved numerous 
exchanges of recipes and pastry shop locations.

The celebration was in full swing and getting rather out of 
hand, so when the messenger arrived with a package, barely 
anyone paid any attention.

"This was really a great idea," Sharon said, turning to 
Jennie. "I didn't realize so many of us were June babies."

"So what could be better than an affiliation group birthday 
party! Nat, Selma, you, me... And that redhead, umm... Now 
where'd she go?" Jennie searched the room with her eyes.

"Oh, her--she fell asleep under that table over there." 
Sharon pointed out.

"What? Is she OK?"

"Oh, yeah, just tired from traveling. We just check her pulse 
every hour or so."

"Oh cool!" they heard Valerie exclaim. She looked up from 
where she'd been peering over Nat's shoulder. "It's the 
script for the third season premiere."

After that, the room was completely silent as the large group 
passed around sheet after sheet of paper.

"Wait a minute!" Selma exclaimed.

"That's it?" Amy yelled indignantly.

"Oh man, Nat! You've only got two lines in this whole thing!" 
Sharon added, passing the last sheet over to Jennie.

"And they're stupid lines, too. You might as well just stand 
there and say 'duh' each time," Elaine observed. "I mean," 
she added, pawing through the pile of sheets on the coffee 
table, "Look at this. They're going to have you fawning all 
over LaCroix, telling everyone how you're *such* a big fan of 
his," she scornfully.

Amid the noises of exasperation and disgust, Jennie said, 
"LaCroix is his own fan." and rolled her eyes expressively.

Sharon was busily leafing through the sheets. "LaCroix... 
LaCroix... LaCroix... Schanke gets a good line there, but 
he's *been* getting good lines... Nick... Nick... LaCroix... 
Nick... Janette... Janette... LaCroix... LaCroix... 
LaCroix... I think it's pretty safe to say that this episode 
was written by Cousins. No Cohen, barely any of you Nat. 
Everyone else got a sizable part, even Schanke," she said, 
tossing the papers back onto the table in disgust.

"This is just outrageous," Amy said indignantly. "It's 
unacceptable!" There was a chorus of agreement. "I'm *tired* 
of being ignored!"

"But what can we do?" Betsy asked. "There's gotta be 
*something* we can do!"

"You know," Valerie said, her eyes narrowing as she looked 
about the room, "we *were* invited up here to take part in 
the third season premiere."

"That's right," Nat said.

"And nobody's told us yet *exactly* how we're supposed to do 
that, have they?" Selma said, grinning.

Both Sharon and Jennie grinned as they reached under their 
chairs and pulled out their laptops.

"OK, two things," Jennie said as everyone gathered around. 
"First, we gotta work on that script and get the changes in. 
Anyone know the color page order on the rewrites that the 
show uses?"

"I do," Sharon said, turning on her laptop. "I'll start 
typing in the script so we can make revisions on it."

"Good. The second thing is, we've got to take out anyone else 
from the other groups who might be doing rewrites. If we're 
planning on rewriting, you *know* the other groups will think 
of it too." She hit a few keys and pulled up The Database. 
"Who from the other groups are prolific writers."

"Susan Garrett," several people echoed at once.

"Yeah, we've gotta do something to keep Susan busy," Jennie 
agreed.

"But Susan's a good writer," Nat said. "Maybe we *should* let 
her--" her voiced trailed off as Sharon looked up at her.

"She's a Ravenette," Sharon began.

"But she *is* a writer first."

"No," Sharon said, shaking her head. "If Janette tells her to 
rewrite that script in a certain way, Susan will do it." 
Everyone nodded in agreement.

"I still say it wouldn't be a bad idea to let Susan do it," 
Nat continued to protest. "I mean, what could she really do 
to me?"

"Lets see," Sharon said, holding up her hand and beginning to 
tick items off on her fingers, "Ever After, Nemesis, the fake 
Party Favor, and... Kind Soul kinda tops the list, don't you 
think?"

Nat dropped her eyes quickly. "Oh, yeah," she said softly, 
her face draining slightly of color.

"I've got her listed in the database," Jennie said. "And 
there's plenty of stuff here. Who else?"

As they worked on the list, inspiration struck.

"Wait," Jennie said, "why go to all this trouble when there's 
a much simpler way of getting final say on the changes? I've 
always wanted to try my hand at directing, and with my 
faithful *staff*," she paused and looked significantly at 
each of the Natpackers gathered around her, "this could work. 
I think I know who can help us get Mr. L. out of the way 
without hurting him..."

While that was going on, Sharon and several others gathered 
around the kitchen table and began to make their changes on 
the script.

"OK," Sharon said, leaning back in her chair and staring up 
at the ceiling as Nat reached over and turned the powerbook 
toward her so she could read what was on the screen. "So the 
episode opens up with them finding Stonetree's body in a 
hotel. You have a line or two there, Nat," Sharon said. I 
think that scene's OK, we'll leave that alone."

"Hey!" Jennie said, coming into the kitchen, "How about 
making Nat the murderer?" Before Nat could turn to glare at 
her, Sharon began laughing. "Yeah, she was having a torrid 
affair with Stonetree, but he broke it off because he decided 
he was gay, so you killed him and dressed him up like a 
woman!"

"That's not funny!" Nat protested, trying not to laugh.

"Wait, how about everyone *thinks* she killed Stonetree?" 
Valerie suggested. "They even arrest her for it!"

"Oh, I like that," Sharon said, pulling the powerbook over 
and typing a few notes. "That'll give us a really good scene 
or two in the holding cell between you and Nick."

"Wait a minute..."

"So how come they suspect Nat?" Selma asked.

"Because..."

Um, I have something to say..." Natalie tried again.

"Oh, I know! Janette frames her!"

"Janette partially frames her, then LaCroix frames her even 
more and it begins to look really bad."

"Can I say something?" Natalie protested.

"Oh, it'll be cool! Valerie, you get locked up with her for a 
while and do your filthy crazy person schtick!"

"And we can get that bitch lawyer to be your lawyer!"

"No--"

"Conflict of interest. Nat could point that out, then we can 
have... Who can we have?"

"I'll be Nat's lawyer," Elaine volunteered. "I can play it 
competent but extremely inexperienced."

"Great," Nat said, without much enthusiasm. "Great. And you 
guys think Susan would do terrible things to me!"

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

Lurker (2)
Maddog

Maddog and Rastro popped out of the Lurker's Patented 
Tesseract and into LaCroix's apartment. They were on a 
mission of vital importance.

"Rastro, you remembered to bring IT, didn't you?"

"Oi, what do I look like? Of course, I brought IT." The 
Australian woman pulled something large and furry out of the 
bag she was carrying. "Do you think we should do this? After 
all, we're Lurkers and not supposed to get involved."

"Well, we're not actually interacting with anybody are we? 
No, so we're still sort of lurking. Do you think IT would 
look good in the refrigerator?"

"No, how about on the couch?" Rastro placed IT on the couch 
and they both stared at it for a while. Both thinking more 
about what could be done on LaCroix's couch than was healthy 
for either of their blood pressures.

"Nah, how about the bedroom?"

The two Lurkers tiptoed into the bedroom. Maddog carefully 
laid IT on the black satin spread. Stepping back, both women 
admired the scene.

The pink, fluffy, stuffed bunny with floppy ears sat atop one 
of LaCroix's pillows.

"I'm fulfilled, what about you?" Rastro asked.

"Yeah, should freak him out. He'll probably think somebody 
involved in the war did it" Maddog sighed, "Where do you 
wanna go lurk now?"

"I don't know. Want to go grab some Godiva and think about 
it?"

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