Disclaimer

Macross is owned by or licensed to lots of people - Tatsunoko Studios, Harmony Gold, Studio Nue, Streamline Video...note that none of them are me.

The same can be said of Ranma 1/2 - Rumiko Takahashi, Kitty, Shonen Sunday Comics, Viz Video. Not me.

I didn't create any of them, and I certainly do not own them. Any use of them in this story is meant as nothing more than tribute. Please don't sue me.


Wednesday's Child

Twenty-Two: Downtime

July 28th, 2010

Goals and Intentions Report

Prepared by Major Nabiki Tendo, Intelligence Division

Zentraedi Culture (Addendum)

Since the defection of one hundred and fifteen Zentraedi troops, we have managed to gather more information on their culture. And the picture that has been painted is no more attractive that it was two weeks ago.

True to our earlier assessment, the Zentraedi are a warrior race, bred and trained for nothing but battle. The sexes are segregated right from birth, probably earlier. Fertilization takes place in vitro, and the embryo decanted after an uncertain gestation period. They are decanted at full-size, which appears to be normal size for their species. The genetic donors are chosen based on their combat record, and their lineage, or Clan, is traced according to the same-sex warrior who donated the genetic material. Like the Japanese, they place their Clan name first, followed by their personal name, but there are apparent exceptions to this. The most notable is Gar Bodolze, who places his Clan name second to his personal name, probably due to his position of power as Commander-in-Chief.

The drive to reproduce is still present in the Zentraedi. The selection to serve as a donor of genetic material is of high importance to them, and their culture, such as it is, drives them to excel in battle in order to attain the right to reproduce. Of the ninety-five defectors interviewed - some were unwilling to reveal themselves, though an exact count was made available - none had the same Clan name, which leads us to believe that there are a large number of Clan available. It is also possible for a Zentraedi to be adopted into an existing Clan, though this appears to be rare, and a right permitted only to their most talented officers.

Upon decanting, the Zentraedi is introduced into a creche, where all upbringing is geared towards teamwork, obedience and violence. This period of maturing lasts about twelve years, after which the prospective warrior is put through recloning to accelerate physical maturity and to enhance their capabilities. After recloning, the Zentraedi is tested rigorously, and his position in the war machine determined. Personal choice plays a small role in placing the soldier, but it is secondary to the talents of the individual. Approximately twenty percent of Zentraedi fail to complete this secondary training. Failure results in the destruction of the Zentraedi, usually through a training accident, but if the individual is found wanting at the end of the training, he is usually killed, and the Clan from which he is descended may not be given the opportunity to reproduce again.

The above does not hold quite the same for the officers. The Officer Clans are restricted: Only members of these Clans may become officers. No officers were among the defectors, and so details of their upbringing is scanty at best, but most of the Zentraedi interviewed agreed that the Officer Clans are considerably more powerful, more intelligent, and generally superior in most ways.

Similarly, there were no females among the defectors, and it is unknown in what ways their culture differs from the males. Again, however, the defectors were unified in the agreement that all females are superior to males. The mettle of a female officer is not to be taken lightly.

Interestingly, this facet of their culture has led most Zentraedi to idolize females, to the point that, even after being informed of the equal status of women in Macross, most of the defectors will still defer to a female. However, they also seem to have some sort of drive to out-perform females, which could be due to inter-service rivalry. And female officers, of Macross, have received additional respect from the defectors, bordering on hero worship.


"Please, Commander Hayase?" The man looked human, but the way that he was bowing and scraping to Misa clearly marked him as Zentraedi. "I'm told that to have you sign this for me would bring me luck."

Misa stared at the little man. The Zentraedi tended to be on the smaller side, once Micloned, and this one was smaller than most. "Who told you that?"

"The singing girl, Ling Minmay. She signed one for Karez, and told him it was for luck."

Misa sighed, and pulled out a pen. "All right, I'll sign it for you." She scrawled her name on the poster. "But why this?"

The man rolled the poster back up. "I keep it on the wall of my barracks, so it is the first thing that I see upon awakening. It gives me inspiration--"

"Oh, hell," grumbled Misa. "This I need to hear."

"Could be worse," said Ranma. "At least it's the uniform poster, not the bikini poster."

Misa turned a baleful eye on her boyfriend. "Or one of you."

Ranma shuddered. "Okay, you win. It's creepy."

"No kidding." She turned back to the Zentraedi. "How are you handling the change in culture?"

The man beamed. "To create, rather than to destroy...it's not something that we do well, but we're learning how."

"Well, this signature is not for luck," said Misa. "It's for peace."

"Hopefully, our brothers in arms will see this soon." He bowed and scraped his way out of the restaurant.

Ranma chuckled. "The Miss Macross Fan Club is really gearing up, now that the Zentraedi have officially signed on. Those guys are convinced you can walk on water."

"Tell me," muttered Misa. "Hopefully, this sort of thing won't happen too often."

"At least they aren't gangin' up on you to beat you up," said Ranma.

Misa looked puzzled. "Why would they do that?"

"It's what they used to do to Akane," said Ranma. "There was this bonehead named Kuno who tried to ask her out once. She told him no, but he was denser than Zortrium armour. Finally, she punctuated her refusal with her fists."

"I bet that got her point across," laughed Misa.

"Naw." Ranma shook his head. "Kuno ain't that bright. He decided that she would only date someone strong enough to beat her down, an' in a public speech, he made it clear that she would have to be defeated in combat before anyone asked her out."

"And people bought into that?" asked Misa, amazed.

"Well, he also said that he'd smack anyone who didn't follow his little rule, and until I showed up, he was the best fighter at the school." He frowned. "I put an end to that little debacle, right quick. But then Kuno became fixated on me."

They turned in at the White Dragon, which was rather busy. Ranma's eye picked out four Skull pilots. Half his Squadron had been given a week's furlough. Overall, it seemed that lately, the Skull had been getting more furlough than they had mission time.

But that made sense. The Jolly Rogers had been the centerpiece of the human Order of Battle since the start of the war. They'd flown more, harder, more dangerous missions than any other Squadron, and suffered worse losses. Many of the pilots were starting to show signs of shell-shock.

Including himself, he admitted.

"Wanted to beat you up?"

"Eh?" Ranma dragged his train of thought back to the conversation. "Oh, in the worst way," he chuckled. "Worse, he became convinced that I'd bent Akane to my will using black magic. Worse still, he also became infatuated with my female side."

Misa laughed.

"Quit laughin'!" Ranma scowled. "Ya got no idea how badly that creeped me out! And he also decided that I was enslavin' my female half with the same black magic, and that if he could beat me, they'd both be free!"

Misa could no longer remain standing, and collapsed into her chair, holding her sides. Ranma fumed, and waited for her to stop laughing.

Finally, she subsided, and said, "Well, at least with him chasing your girl side, I guess he decided to leave Akane alone, so that at least worked to your benefit."

"No such luck," groused Ranma. "He kept on chasin' her as well. Decided that he was man enough for both of us." He looked as though he wanted to spit, or possibly vomit, but apparently decided against doing so on Saochin's immaculate floors. "An' the fuckwit also decided that I was afraid to face him in a real fight, but instead used black magic to keep him from winnin', as well."

"Saotome Ranma, the evil sorcerer," chuckled Misa. "Throws fireballs, moves faster than sound, changes gender...I'm glad you're on our side."

"You forgot creatin' tornadoes," said Ranma.

"Oh, you got blamed for that too?"

"Naw." He shook his head. "I guess you haven't seen that technique yet."

Misa paused. "You mean you can create tornadoes?"

Ranma shrugged, and nodded. "Just small ones."

"Oh, my."

"Hey, Saotome."

Ranma turned, to see Max walking up to their table. "Yo, Max. What's up?"

"Well, you remember that you offered to help me out with that girl--"

"Yeah?"

"I need a bit more advice."

Ranma sighed. "Ya know, we got a staff shrink for that sorta thing, right?"

"I'd rather talk with a friend."

Ranma rolled his eyes. "Fine. What's up?"

"I guess I didn't make such a good impression, the first time around--"

"You mentioned that."

"And the second time I talked to her, it didn't go over so well, either. We were interrupted by an alert, I didn't even get her phone number."

"Maybe you should move on," said Ranma. "You're startin' to come off like a stalker."

Max recoiled at the suggestion. "That's not the sort of impression I want to give, Sir."

"Don't 'Sir' me, we're equal in rank."

"Sorry. But the point is, neither of us really got a chance to get to know the other, things weren't at their best...I..." He sighed. "Before I give up on her, I just want to learn a bit more about her. I mean, all I really know about her is that her mother lives in Yokohama, she's a martial artist, and that she's a really good kisser."

"Didn't know you'd gotten that far with her," said Ranma. But something was bothering him about the conversation. "I shoulda realized that she was a martial artist, though. She moves like one."

"She moves a lot like you."

"Naw...Well, to the untrained eye, maybe."

Max bristled. "I'm not exactly untrained."

"You're good, Max, I'll admit that, but you're nowhere near my level. No-one else on this boat is."

"She is."

"Aah." He waved it off. "Maybe I'll get a chance to spar with her sometime. So things didn't go so well, you've not really had a chance to chat...and ya want my advice how to get her to open up?" He shook his head. "Bad choice. I suck with women."

"Not what I heard from Major Tendo," said Max.

"Nabs' stories are always exaggerated," said Ranma. "Okay, just ta get you off my back, I'll give you one bit of advice: Don't push it. Just let her know you're interested in gettin' to know her."

"Buy her a flower," suggested Misa.

Ranma wrinkled his nose. "A flower? Damn, that's corny."

"Flowers are hard to come by on Macross," said Misa. "They're pure luxury items, and one that carry strong emotional import for females."

Ranma frowned, and said, "Ya know, she might have a point, Max. An' for damn sure, she knows more about chicks than me."

"That's 'women', dear," reproved Misa.


"Six of the Jolly Rogers' pilots are on the sick list," said Claudia, "including Lieutenant Saotome."

"Saotome?" Global frowned. "Since that young man is so healthy that horses are envious, I assume that he is suffering from operational exhaustion?"

"Yes," said Claudia. "The Ship's Doctor took him off the flight roster, gave him two weeks of enforced downtime. It's not really enough to do more than take the edge off, but it's probably all he needs."

"The last thing we need is for someone with Saotome's personal level of power with a case of the Thousand Yard Stare." Global sighed. "Plus, he's our most effective pilot, by more than a small margin. After those two weeks, I want the Rogers left off the rotation unless something really bad happens. I'm not happy with the idea, but we need to keep the Valkyrie pilots at top possible shape." He paused. "Which Squadron is in the best shape?"

"Probably VFA-121, the Gladiators." Claudia checked her lists. "They're the newest Squadron, mostly old hands, but since they've been busy with workups, they've sat out the last scramble, and the enemy hasn't tried anything in almost three weeks."

"Thank Heaven for small miracles," muttered Global.

"And the Renegades, call sign Blue, have had some reasonable downtime as well. VFA-115. Their ships were all Block Ones, and Maintenance finally got around to scheduling them for the Block Two upgrades. The last of their birds was finally put back together four days ago, and they're just finishing their own workup."

"So Blue and--What was the Gladiators' call sign?"

"They don't have one yet." Claudia frowned, and jotted a note on her PDA. "We'll call them Apollo for now, until Misa assigns them a proper call sign."

"Speaking of whom." Global sat up a bit more in his chair. "Has she been to see Doc Wood yet?"

"No, Sir."

"Schedule her in. Quietly." Global pulled his pipe from his pocket, stuck it between his teeth. "She's starting to look a bit ragged as well."

Claudia chuckled. "Could that be because she's doing three separate jobs on this ship?"

"Could be," allowed Global. "I've been liberal with allowing her downtime, because she's vital to this ship. I need her in top form. But I want that in writing from Doc Wood as well."

"So noted, Sir."

"And schedule yourself in, as well."

Claudia paused, and looked up. "Sir? I've requested no leave."

"Exactly," said Global. "You've been burning the candle at both ends, and in the middle as well. And you've had a deep personal loss recently. Plus, your job description is almost as hectic as Commander Hayase. And you're just as vital." He pointed a finger at her. "See the Doc as soon as is feasable. That's an order. If I don't have his report on your fitness within a week, I will drag you down there myself by your hair."

"Can't have that," chuckled Claudia. "All right, I'll schedule myself in for tomorrow. Will that be soon enough, or should I invest in some Tylenol?"


Ranma looked down at herself in disgust. It had taken Minmay a while, but she'd finally gotten her again.

Misa giggled. "Wet silk sticks to skin."

"Yeah," Ranma noted sourly. "I recall hearin' that from someone, a long time ago."

"Sorry, Ranma," said Minmay. "I didn't really think that through." She started collecting the dishes from their table, and said, "I'll bring you some hot water."

"Naw, don't bother." Ranma glanced over at Misa. "Well, it's been a while since we've had a girls' night out. Might as well stay like this for a while." Then she grinned wickedly. "I got a good idea. Misa, did you know that there's a video arcade now?"

"Yes, I'd heard. How did they shake enough computing hardware free to manage that?"

"No idea. But I do know that the owner hired a real computer whiz to set up the programs, so I'd not be surprised to learn that the hardware is all obsolete...but programmed really tight." She stood up. "Why not check it out?"

"Video games are not precisely my idea of fun," said Misa.

"Not really mine, either. But I wanna check it out for four reasons." She raised a finger. "First off, that computer whiz, if he's as good as they say, should be in uniform, workin' for us."

"Good point," conceded Misa.

Ranma added a second finger. "The video games are mostly flight simulators, an' Hikaru told me that many of them are really close to real Valkyrie flight models. Which makes me wonder about security leaks."

"Oh, a very good point." Misa's expression darkened. "In fact, that would really worry me if the Zentraedi start going there. Even if they're defectors, we can't be certain that some of them aren't spies."

"Third: The Zentraedi seem to like the place."

"Okay, you've convinced me," said Misa. She stood up, dropping a banknote on a dry spot of the table. Then paused. "What's the fourth reason?"

Ranma turned. "Yo, Minmay. Think your uncle can shake you loose for an hour or two?"

Minmay blinked. "I'll ask him."

"Wear somethin' halfway nice." Ranma turned back to Misa. "Fourth: Havin' Miss Macross, plus two other finalists, droppin' in on this place won't hurt his profit margin. An' I still wanna see recreation facilities improvin' on this boat."

Misa still hated the title, hated the fact that it had catapulted her straight into the public eye of the civilian population. But even she had to chuckle at the stir they were about to cause.

"In that case, we should stop by my quarters. I want to get changed into civvies."


The owner of the video game arcade must think Christmas has come early, mused Ranma. Between Ranma and Minmay calling out to people they knew by name, and Misa walking between them like a Queen being escorted by her ladies in waiting - only Ranma knew that she was more than a bit mortified by the attention - they'd gathered a bit of a crowd with them. All of whom walked into the arcade.

The place was still quite new, and as such, hadn't gathered as much attention as the owner would have liked. But between the small number of customers already present, and the crowd that followed the Miss Macross Squad, the place was now packed.

Mission Goal Four attained, thought Ranma. Now for the other three.

There were twenty machines in the place, and Ranma noted that all of them were casino-style machines. It was possible to win back your money, and then some, if you were good enough. She found a likely-looking console, and indicated it. "Minmay, let's give this one a try."

"Okay." Minmay reached for her change purse, but Ranma waved a hand.

"I got it. This little excursion is work for me, remember?" She snickered. "I'll just get Nabs to pay me back."

She dropped the required coins into the machine, noted that this increased the play time, and added a few more, until Minmay's time indicator read five minutes.

"Now, this is a stunt flyin' game, accordin' to this, but we're gonna use it for flight instruction."

"Really?" Minmay's eyes shone.

"Hey, I promised I'd get you some trainin' to fly, didn't I?" Ranma grinned. "Saotome Ranma keeps his promises."

"Her promises, you mean."

"I'm a guy," laughed Ranma.

"Don't say that too loud, or you'll break hearts all through here." Minmay looked down at the simplified controls. "Okay, what do these do?"

"The stick works the same as it did in your little fan jet. That lever's the throttle. Remember, when flyin', speed is life. The foot pedals control your rudder." She held out a hand, thumb and pinky extended. "The stick controls pitch and roll." She demonstrated with her hand. "The rudders control yaw. You wanna match your yaw with your roll when turnin' the plane. Ready to give it a go?"

"I guess."

"Remember, if ya screw the pooch in this game, we just gotta hit the restart button. Electrons are cheap, so don't worry too much about augerin' in." She tapped the start button, and Minmay grabbed the controls.

Ranma kept one eye on her hand movements, the other on the simulated airplane. "Flight model looks reasonable on this," she noted. "We might even be able to use this program in the Spacy for basic flight instruction."

"Really?"

Ranma turned at the unexpected voice, to see a tall, lanky brown-haired man standing nearby.

"Oh, yeah. Not for advanced pilot trainin', of course, but for the simple stuff."

The man grinned. "I guess I got the parameters correct, then. I based the flight model off the P-51 Mustang, of World War Two."

"Good choice for a stunt game," said Ranma. "Did ya write all these programs from scratch?"

"Mostly," said the man. "I had to, really, since our computer hardware was so limited. I only used a simple shader system for the models. All in software. The hardware we got our hands on didn't include any graphics acceleration."

"What's the hardware based on?"

The man chuckled. "When they did the Block Two refit on some of the military aircraft, they were just going to junk the old hardware. I managed to get my hands on it, through back channels. The Freescale Coldfire is no cold-steel exotic metal, but it's more than sufficient for video games."

"Good thing it's all surplus hardware," mused Ranma. "Or I'd have to get the MPs in here. Why'd ya make them casino type games?" She cringed as Minmay's simulated airplane smacked into the ground.

"Our backer insisted on it," said the man. "She gave us the likely win/lose variables, and sure enough, it's making us a small but consistent profit. And our regulars don't mind that they always leave somewhat behind in cash."

"Okay, that tells me precisely who your backer is," said Ranma. "Minmay, remember that if ya climb too sharp, your wings stop workin', and your plane falls outta the sky."

"Okay, Ranma."

"So tell me, kid." He wasn't exactly a kid, but he was definitely young. "You considered writin' software for the U. N. Spacy?"

"Yes, in fact," chuckled the man. "Commander Tendo wanted this software developed for modeling evasion paths and countermeasures. She set us up with the arcade so the boss and I would help with the modeling. And, of course, Tendo gets a cut of the profits."

"Of course," smirked Ranma. "But Nabs don't think like a martial artist. We can use this software for all sorts of trainin' purposes."

The man nodded. "I sort of expected that." He reached into a pocket, extracted a card. "Gimme a call, and we can discuss it in a more business-like setting."

Ranma took the card. "Thanks. We'll also need to call Nabs in for such a discussion." She winced again, as Minmay managed to bury the fighter a second time.


Misa was starting to get a better appreciation of what the fighter pilots went through.

The game was called Valkyrie!, and she wasn't certain how accurate the flight model was. But she was certain that the odds facing the lone pilot of the Valkyrie were actually understated. She yanked the control stem backwards, trying to avoid the gunfire of a simulated Battle Pod, and watched as her computerized fighter exploded. She cursed, and fed another coin into the machine.

"Hey, Commander."

She glanced up, to see Max standing over her shoulder. "Hello again, Lieutenant."

"Trying out our side of the show, are you?"

"Yes, and I think it's best I'm doing it in simulation," she laughed. "Cheaper that way."

There were only about ten Battle Pods in the first wave, and her Valkyrie was equipped only with the guns - missiles had to be earned, according to the instructions taped to the side of the machine. Typical missions for the Valkyrie pilots frequently had them outnumbered twenty to one, though missiles made for a big equalizer at the start of a mission.

"This simulator handles GERWALK and Jet mode accurately enough," said Max. "But it overstates some capabilities of Soldier Mode, while lacking some of its other advantages."

"Good to know," said Misa. She winced as yet another simulated Valkyrie was wiped from the sky. "How do you guys survive?"

"Practise, Ma'am." chuckled Max. "Also, we operate in groups of three, which makes the fight a lot safer. This game supports multiplayer; you want a wingman?"

"Sure."

Max sat down opposite her, and dropped a few coins in. "Normally, I leave this place with more money than I brought in. But I'm just gonna give you some backup."

Ranma walked over, and glanced down at the screen. "Oh, this is interestin'." She chuckled. "Pity it's only got two control sets. Can I play Gunsight One?"

Misa laughed. "Why not?"

"Okay, you got a group approachin' from three one five. Increase velocity to seven hundred knots."

Misa advanced her throttles, aiming the Valkyrie towards the oncoming Pods.

"Don't aim straight at 'em! They can throw a lot more fire at ya in a head-on pass!"

"Sorry!" She pulled up slightly, Max dropping in behind her. The targeting reticle popped down to cover her selected target, and she fired, blowing up a Pod.

"Nice way of simulatin' the monocle," judged Ranma. "Six bandits turnin' to engage from behind."

"I got 'em," said Max. He dropped to GERWALK, stomped left rudder, and whirled his bird on the spot to engage the Battle Pods.

"Very precise," judged Misa. Then scowled as half her shots went astray. "Better than me. Does he fight this well in battle?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Ranma watched Max's fighter jink around on the screen. "This simulation doesn't quite match the real Valk, but it looks like Max is compensatin' for the differences."

"How would you know?" muttered Max.

"I do this for a livin', remember?"

"Right."

There was something in his tone that Ranma didn't really like, but she chose to ignore it for the moment. "Misa, you're flyin' erratically."

"This isn't as easy as it looks," she said.

"I know, but if ya don't straighten up and fly right--" She winced as Misa's jet was blown apart. "Somethin' bad's gonna happen."

Misa cursed and dropped another coin into the machine.

"Ya respawned too far from the fight. Get in there, buster!"

"Yes, Ma'am." Misa grinned as Ranma bristled. She rammed the throttle all the way open.

"Why aren't ya usin' yer overthruster? Red button on the throttle."

"Oh." Misa thumbed the button, watched the jet accelerate.

"Jenius, ya got an incomin' friendly, at nine hundred knots. Four Pods are closin' off her entry route. Can ya plow the road?"

"Aye aye." Max knocked down three of the Pods, and Misa managed to peg the fourth. Then Max dropped back in on her wing.

"Okay, Zentraedi Destroyer at two seventy five." Ranma squinted to read the instructions on the screen. "Iron Hand mission. Remove the enemy gun turrets."

"I can read, Ranma," said Misa.

"Yeah, but if ya don't have time to read, 'cause, ya know, you're in a dogfight--"

"Okay," muttered Misa. "Max, I'm going after the first target."

"I got your back."

"Sixteen Pods ahead, but they're mostly occluded by targets." Ranma glanced at Misa's instruments. "And you're comin' in too hot."

"Damn it--" Misa's Valkyrie plowed into the surface of the Destroyer. She stood and turned to Ranma. "This would be a lot easier if you weren't backseat driving!"

Ranma said nothing, just smirked at her.

"Actually, Ma'am," said Max hesitantly, "What she's doing is largely what you do, and the operators in the Cat's Eyes."

Misa sat back down slowly. "Really?"

"Yeah, and once you get used to it, it really does help." Ranma indicated the radar scope on the screen. "See, ya got your instruments to keep track of, plus your radar, your stores an' reaction mass, your weapons, your current flight path, your mission orders, and ya also gotta spare time to try an' eyeball the bad guys. Havin' a couple of people workin' your backstop can help stave off helmet fire."

"But to a raw nugget," added Max, "It does come off as more than a bit overbearing."

"Every pilot thinks he's the one in absolute control of his airplane," said Ranma. "Every pilot thinks he's the only one who matters. An' they should know better, but it's how they have to think. Even in a battle, the performance of the Valkyrie is vastly improved by havin' someone else helpin' ya out. Even if they're sittin' safe an comfortable on the bridge of the Macross."

That was just how Ichigyo put it, mused Misa. "So, was this just some sort of object lesson for me, then?"

"Yep," said Ranma. "Ya need to know how we fighter jocks think. Not because you're doin' your job wrong, but because you're doin' it right." She paused. "No matter how ungrateful we fighter jocks seem."

"Okay, I see your point." Misa pulled another coin from her purse. "Let's try this again."

"Actually, I want to get back to Minmay, see how many more planes she's wrecked."

"Okay."

"Before you go..." Max stood up. "I wanted a quick chance to talk to you."

"Okay."

"I know we got off on the wrong foot, and I'm sorry about that."

Misa looked up, startled.

Ranma stared at Max incredulously. "Max--"

"Wait, hear me out. I just want to get the chance to know you a bit better."

Ranma sighed. "Look, Max..." She glanced down at Misa, then said, "I'm seein' someone else. 'Fraid I can't be spendin' a lot of time with you."

"Oh." Max looked downcast. "Well, he's a lucky guy."

"Actually," said Misa, "she's a lucky woman."

Max blinked. "Oh."

"If he buys me a flower," growled Ranma, "I'm gonna be very angry."


Tendo Nabiki looked down from the controller's balcony, and smiled.

Looks like this place has finally been discovered. She noted the presence of Ranma, Misa and Minmay, and glanced over to the manager.

"How are we doing today?"

"Well, that little blue-haired guy is cleaning up as usual," said Miyamoto. "And Saotome's played one game, and owned it pretty badly, but mostly has been watching the others play. I tell ya, havin' Miss Macross and two other finalists here has brought in a crowd."

"I bet." Nabiki chuckled.

"So far, we're up almost ten thousand, though." He pointed. "Looks like the girls are all done here."

"As long as the crowd they brought in stays," said Nabiki. "I think we might need to increase the difficulty on the Valkyrie! machine, though."

"If Saotome becomes a regular, we sure as hell will need to. Bad enough that Max is bleedin' it white. Not to mention that green-haired girl."

"Hm?"

"Good lookin' girl, and a mean pilot. She really racks up the kills on Valkyrie! Doesn't even touch the other machines. She must be a military pilot, but she's never come in in uniform."

Nabiki frowned. "When does she normally come in?"

"Never before sixteen thirty, never after eighteen hundred. She normally plays for about two hours, then leaves with a lot more money than she spent." Miyamoto paused. "I've gotten the sneaking suspicion that she's supporting herself by playing here."

"How much of a threat to the profit margin is she?"

Miyamoto tapped his computer controls. "She's not hurting us too badly. She always seems to leave just after racking up two hundred credits. That's after her initial stake, by the way."

"That certainly sounds like someone who's gambling to feed herself," mused Nabiki. "I think I'll hang around until she comes in."