The two remained in the 1990s suburbs long enough to raise cash for the blind woman’s security system.  As someone had taken that sense of security from her, Gally and Vicki would stay to give it back by raising money. It took just two and one-half weeks for the so-called "Guardians" musical duo to reap in two thousand dollars. Indeed, the two were truly skilled musicians. The girl in the blouse and jeans pressed out sweet notes on her advanced musical synthesizer, swathing the crowd in deep and sophisticated chords that opened people’s souls.  Vicki was unbelievably skilled in operating the complex instrument; she manipulated the keys with immense ease and sophistication..  Then, the other one would sing. The petite and slender "girl" in the leather bodysuit and leather jacket took the microphone to her perfectly soothing singing--letting the pains of her spirit pour out through her voice. People simply could not leave; Gally's voice had a feeling that probably came from somewhere close to Heaven itself.

And people just kept coming.  It was the word of mouth that did it. Mr. Victoir, the owner of club Dorothy’s, decided to come to every single performance.  The place was normally just a teen hangout.  But soon, the high schoolers brought their older relatives along. Those older siblings were of all sorts: part-time and weary workers, tired soldiers on leave, vacationing college students feeling burned from academic year stresses, and other odd people came to hear the music.  Victoir even seriously considered bringing by some talent scouts.

Though the cash came in, the real costs to Gally were steep.  Every performance meant the small cyborg pressing her personal limits. Every time Gally coordinated her mind and spirit to making that personal music, she felt inner pain many times more painful than crying--physical pain that went from her electro-mechanical body to her brain.  She recovered several hours after every performance. But still, it were as if her essence--her own life force--were stretched whenever she sang.  But, the crowd absolutely adored it all. They swayed and bathed in the depth of the voice that came from her metal body.  It was pleasure, but it came at Gally's pain.

They could not see the pain that Gally went through, though. All in the crowd, all that they felt was how they themselves went into a collective sense of healing and enjoyment from the combination of Vicki’s synthesized melodies and Gally’s singing.  The crammed crowds at Dorothy’s could not see the suffering Gally felt by singing with that artificial body, the pain of the small female in a form-fitting and opaque leather and leather jacket. They would probably never know that her body was artificial at all, just as the crowd did not know that the "girl" at the synthesizer was more artificial than Gally:  At least, Gally had a real brain.

But one man knew about the two on the stage.  Sitting at the back, he always had a seat to the excellent performances of the now well-known duo that made luscious music at Dorothy’s.  The others at the place thought him strange: a twenty-something young man who took to dressing in pressed slacks, thick-soled sneakers and a tee-shirt with a cape sewn to the back.

The others loved his money, though. With plenty of fifty and one-hundred dollar bills, he managed to barely bribe seat away from other patrons. This night, it took two hundred units of 20th century American currency to get a seat. Before long, he was going to have to snatch more hundred dollar bills with the help of the microelectronics-woven "cape" he wore. Was it the power of Gally's angelic voice and Vicki’s music-weaving by keyboard that overpowered even desires for cash?  That one man among many in the crowd was frustated at the idea, of his enemies' singing ability interfering with his own ability to win people over with cash.

The Cloaked Man knew all about the robot girl Vicki at the synthesizer and cyborg female Gally with the microphone. Vicki was having a decent time playing her tunes, which irritated The Cloaked Man. But looking at Gally suffer (hee, hee, suffering, he thought), he had some kicks. Watching Gally make beautiful music with a body designed for battle was amusing. It was strange, but The Cloaked Man liked strangeness--especially when that strangeness involved plenty of sadism.

This was the last night that Guardians planned on singing, and this was the last performance. It was the last song of the last performance for Guardians. After Gally carried out one more long alto note, she slowly lowered the microphone from her lips. Her dark hair shimmered, and it covered her pain-wrenched face. Vicki released the keys she held.

A full twenty seconds of silence reigned in the main lounge of Dorothy’s. Normally, it took seven or so seconds for the crowd to recover. But this performance was one where Gally gave more than just the normal amount of herself. This time, she exhausted herself, put herself into pain so deep that even her electro-mechanical self would fall unconscious. Even The Cloaked Man, felt some slight reactions to the two singers on the stage. These freaks really dig the music, he thought. Ah, what the heck: I bet I could sing better than those two. Just for appearance’s sake, The Cloaked Man clapped his rough and calloused hands along with everyone else. He did not want to seem too out-of-character here.

The Cloaked Man contemplated the two on the stage: Gally hurting for the sake of her quest, and the artificial girl Vicki seeming to enjoy herself.  Look at those two freaks, the freaks that Administration sent after me!  Look at that, a short cyborg-waif and a fake female! It was probably that jacked-ass Ben Thunderhorse that sent those two to stop him.

The performance was over, and Vicki bowed with her hands clasped before her. Gally’s bow was more formal, very controlled. Arms tightly at her sides, Gally bowed slowly at the waist, straightened her body--then nearly fell over when her brain lost some consciousness. Vicki held Gally’s shoulders. The crowd tittered, slightly frightened.  Then, they clapped more as Gally walked off-stage with Vicki.  Then, The Cloaked Man thought of how he could talk to the two....
 

The wide-bellied and sober-faced owner of Dorothy’s made his way to the stage, the curtain already down. In his right hand, he held several paper items. One of them was a brief letter written in English. The other paper item was that same letter, but done with raised Braille dots. There was a blue envelope, dotted with that same dot-writing for the blind.

With the microphone in his left hand and the spotlight glaring on him, Mr. Victoir spoke.  "Well, that was another performance by 'Guardians,' that wonderful female duo of musicians.  So, let’s have some sendoff applause for some wonderful days of great music!  Let's hear it for vocalist Gally and keyboardist Vicki Lawson!" The crowd murmured, was clearly upset: sendoff applause? Mr. Victoir confirmed what he said for the public. "Yes, unfortunately, the two highly skilled musicians you heard and enjoyed all of these days were actually singing to raise money for a cause. And now, after they raised that money, they plan on moving on. That was their last performance, folks."

People nearly yowled. The murmuring grew more agitated. Several people actually cried.  The Cloaked Man smiled an evil one: Maybe he could use this crowd to start a riot right here in downtown?  It would be a Hellishly good prank!  Now, Mr. Victoir made downward motions of "calm down" to the crowd, and he spoke some more. The crowd calmed. Damn, too bad, too damned bad, thought The Cloaked Man as the crowd quieted.  It would have been fun, raising a riot!  Mr. Victoir raised the letter he had. "People, this is from Guardians--a short letter explaining why they sang for you. Listen." Mr. Victoir harumphed, then read the letter aloud:

Thank you so much for listening to our music. By coming to Dorothy’s to listen, we both gained some things. You came to enjoy the work we did for your entertainment, came for the music. Also, you gave us what was needed.  You did this when you paid to listen to us. That payment was what was needed, really and truly. Again, we give thanks.

But it was not for the money.  We were not the ones that needed it.   Neither of us just does something for just money. Instead, we had a different purpose. The funds we we raised here, up to this point, were for someone who needed it. We could not be sure if it would be the right thing in itself, but the money could go to help a certain cause. The money was for something else.

The money is for Miss Favisham, the woman whose home was broken into days ago. We hoped that she would honor our invitation to come tonight as so she could hear this. This is as we hope that Miss Favisham takes the gift certificate for an upgraded and

"gold-standard" home security system. Please, Miss Favisham, do not feel bitter about what that jerk did to your home. Take the gift-certificate with our hopes for you.

         --Guardians

Mr. Victoir finished reading the letter, and he looked out into the crowd.  Another spotlight went to one particular brown table in the dining area of the club, one with a pale "reserved" placard on it. A too pale-skinned and thin woman, simply dressed, sat there with tears coming to her unseeing and very pale-blue.  Her platinum-blonde hair along with her ash-pale skin identified her as being an albino, ghostly skin and all--the albinism being the cause of her blindness.  The spotlight dimmed a bit, for Miss Favisham.

Mr. Victoir ducked, lowered his bulk to sit on the edge of the stage, then dropped to the floor.  He carried the envelope and Braille letter to Miss Favisham, her sitting at that "reserved" table--the one just for her that night. She even heard Mr. Victoir's steps approach in the now-quiet club.

"Here is the certificate, Miss Favisham, and the letter! Please accept it, courtesy of the people of Dorothy’s," said Mr. Victoir, sliding the blue envelope and Braille letter before Miss Favisham. She heard the letter and envelope being placed before her, tears still forming tiny wet streams on her delicate face.  Indeed, Miss Favisham would never forget the beautiful music of Guardians and what the singing duo had done for her.  Nor would anyone else forget.
 

The ad-hoc singing duo Guardians made their way out of the doors, out of the back. They did their good deed by undoing the evil done by The Cloaked Man.  Vicki easily held the five-by-two foot case of her musical synthesizer in her right, held the weakened Gally close with her left arm. Gally really was worn from that last performance. She staggered so on the starting route back to the Lawson’s, back to the friendly family of Vicki's.

"I thank you, Vicki," whispered Gally, gently removing Vicki’s arm from her back. "I have...recovered." Vicki slowed her walking pace, her computers calculating a safe walking pace for a slightly disoriented human being though metal-bodied Gally was more physically machine than flesh. Vicki’s programming brought up curiousity.

"Gally, why did you become so weak after singing? Are you sick? Is there something wrong with...your body  Do you need repairs?" Gally lightly and slightly shook her head at those questions. It was not quite anything fully physical, the reaon for the pain. Some sickness filled Gally’s head, along with a sort of sickness felt in her unfeeling artificial body--a feeling pervading her from skull to feet. She drew a breath, then began to answer Vicki’s questioning through a dizzy head. They continued their walk; the cyborg began to talk:  "Why does it hurt for me to sing? Let me first give some starting information. Vicki, you have seen what I have done in the past.  You must remember what I did to those corporate mercenaries hired by The Cloaked Man.  I love to fight.  I seek conflict and use fighting for personal growth.  Doing that, fighting as a bounty hunter, is my profession.  Vicki, I love to fight.

"This body of machinery, Vicki, is one of fighting. It is one of duels and battle, a body designed to smash and destroy opponents. This body, it feeds off of other’s pain, the vigor of conflict. My body is for fighting, Vicki, not...singing. Forcing my body to make music takes concentration of spirit and mind.  Making my body do what it is not designed to do, make music, hurts.

"And there is pain. You will never know the pain of childbirth, Vicki but I imagine that your mother knows it. My singing was as painful as giving birth, I think. It hurt, all over, Vicki.  It hurt to produce singing.  It hurt to produce life for the world from my body. " Gally pulled in air, then went silent. Vicki let the silence carry all the way home.
 

Gally contemplated the situation.  Why hadn’t they trans-warped out of the 20th centur when the certificate went to Miss Favisham? Hadn’t Gally and Vicki undone what The Cloaked Man did, for now?  Having undone the damage done by The Cloaked Man in the 20th century, they should have been trans-warped to another location in history.  Maybe The Cloaked Man had done something else, something that also needed the attention of the duo?  Or, maybe, Thunderhorse had plans for them.

The thoughts swirled in Gally’s mind and went through Vicki’s computers when they arrived at the Lawson’s.   Gally nearly collapsed to the floor; Vicki caught her before she hit the living room carpet.  Ted and Joan then accompanied Vicki as Vicki carried the small cyborg up the stairs and to the guest room.  Vicki was the only one able to do so as she used the inhuman strength in her false arms, the strength to carry the cyborg.

Once Gally was in the guest bed, Joan shooed a curious Ted Lawson out of the room.  He wanted to see what the cyborg looked like sans clothes! Vicki helped Joan by propping Gally up as so the leather jacket, removed metal arms from leather sleeves.  Joan became squeamish at the sight of the bared gray arms and the hard electromechanical body in the form-fitting clothing.  What if she hurt Gally by moving her arms as she slept?  Not wanting to tamper with a 30^th century cyborg, Joan just let Gally sleep as she was. Vicki, not really needing sleep, was in a mode that allowed her to watch over Gally as she slept. Joan went to bed, knowing that Vicki was enough to watch the cyborg through the night.
 
 

The next morning’s course of actions were decided on. Gally awakened, then had a talk with Vicki. Gally worried why they had not left this suburb. Was she trapped here, in this unfamiliar time and such...knowing fully well that she was separated from her own time by an ocean of centuries?  Vicki worried for a different reason, worried about being taken to a different time again.  Mr. Thunderhorse could just tap some keys on some bizarre machine, and that would be bye-bye for Vicki Lawson.  Was it over?  Did they finally undo the last act of The Cloaked Man?

Gally had an idea: They would return to Dorothy’s to ask around about The Cloaked Man. As teenagers gossiped more often than anyone, also spent more time perusing people, they would be better able to spot The Cloaked Man--if he still remained. At least, if they knew what The Cloaked Man looked like.

It was Saturday, 8:30 am (or 0830, as Gally read time) and the other Lawsons slept. But Dorothy’s opened at that time as their parents slept in. For hanging out early, the young crowd went to the club. And with some spare cash left over from the purchase of the gift certificate, Gally and Vicki could party a bit. Vicki wanted to party, but remained mindful of the business to do.

Aproaching the downtown area, the two stayed alert. Did The Cloaked Man have some last-minute things planned? Maybe, he hired more industrial thugs? Or he could have planned to do something more direct.... No, that was not his style. Gally saw The Cloaked Man as someone who preferred indirect action. He loved to set trouble in motion through other people.  Yet he himself preferred not to directly cause it save for select incidents. If so, then why was he performing at Dorothy’s?  Did he seek to cause more chaos?

Vicki heard The Cloaked Man’s particular voice a block from Dorothy's, heard his voice coming from the direction of the club. As the gynoid and cyborg walked, Vicki herself stopped. Gally stopped, looked around. The small cyborg’s eyes went to Vicki, inquringly. "Speak, Vicki! I cannot see into your thinking!" she loudly whispered. Vicki pointed to the neon-fronted brick building that held the teen club and said, "I can hear him from here, and he’s...singing."  Vicki's computer measured the harmonics, the soundwaves, of The Cloaked Man's jazzy singing--and he was decent.

Gally was not sure of this. What, did The Cloaked Man sing? Singing is for the benefit of people: pleasure, relaxation and even healing. That could not be their antagonist singing. Gally slashed two fingers in the direction of the teen dance club, a hand signal meaning "go ward." Her hands stiff but not yet forming armored fists, Gally leaned into a stride and went in the direction of the club. Vicki followed, ready for something. What could that strangely dressed joker have planned now?

Vicki tried to pay their way into the club, but Jay the bouncer recognized them and just waved them through.  Maybe, Guardians would play once more, hoped Jay.   If not, that guy on stage was doing a decent job of making tunes; he banged out something decent on that piano along with that jazzy wailing of his. On stage, The Cloaked Man finished up a well-paced ragtime tune that had even this crowd of cynical teenagers gently bopping their heads.

The people clapped at the performance the cape-wearing guy on the stage put on music.  He was at a grand piano, the left side of the large musical furniture-instrument facing the crowd.  He took a sip of ragingly hot coffee on a small table close by (sipped hot coffee on this California summer day!), and he did not even wince.  Yet, Vicki’s infrared scanned the coffee to be just above scalding temperature.  How could The Cloaked Man sip that?

Then, after Gally and Vicki took seats at the soft drinks bar (with just a bartender in attendance, no Mr. Victoir this time), The Cloaked Man’s face took on a grin. With that grin, he swiveled around to face the crowd with a microphone in his left hand, his cape swirling as he did. "Okay folks, why not one more tune?"  They gave a decent dose of clapping. Some of the teens gave thumbs-up. "It sounds good? Then, it sounds good. Dang-nabbit, why not?"  After a smattering of random clapping to egg him on, The Cloaked Man put the microphone on the adjusted stand close to the piano--on the side facing the audience.

Gally watched quite carefully as The Cloaked Man hunched ’s face grimaced in some form of sadness. He clicked his fingers, and two dark-suited musicians emerged: one wide man with a bass as tall as himself, and a skinny man with a polished saxophone. They nodded to The Cloaked Man. He nodded back, then hunched over the piano keyboard. Several low notes came out of the piano, matched by low and deep tones from the bass. Accompanied by the bass and his own piano tapping, The Cloaked Man then began to sing in a sad, jazzy yowl, really wailing the words to "The Sycamore Trees"*:
 
 

I got idea, m-a-a-n…!
You take me for…a w-a-a-lk…!
Under the…syc-a-more tre-e-e-s

The da-a-ark trees that…blow, baby
In the…dark trees that blo-o-o-w…!

And I'll se-e-e you
And you'll s-e-e-e me!
And I'll…see you in the branches…that blow!
In the breeze….

I'll see you…in the trees
I’ll see you

Under the...sycamore trees.

(The saxophonist then played a slow and sad reprise, playing for a sweet minute. The piano playing on under The Cloaked Man's rough and tan hands.  That bass nearby thrummed more dark chords.  Then, The Cloaked Man began to miserably moan another set of lyrics.)

And I'll s-e-e-e you
And you'll s-e-e-e me!
And I'll…see you in the branches…that blow!

(Then, The Cloaked man spoke lowly and slowly, nearly crying over these last lyrics; only the bass accompanied his singing in the end.)

In…the bre-e-eze….

I'll see you…in the…trees.
I’ll see you…

Under the…sycamore trees.
 

(Some deep strumming notes from the bass wrapped up the song.)
 
 

There were several seconds of silence, then the crowd cheered. Those old-time tunes sounded pretty cool! They were like lyrics out of a horror movie, or something!  In fact, that last song was. The Cloaked Man knew they were, chose the lyrics for that very reason. One of the few things The Cloaked Man enjoyed from others were horror movies, all of that gore and pain.

Gally’s face revealed a great deal of discombobulated curiosity. That man who was sworn to destroy history, he sang?  Vicki was unmoved, her somewhat narrow programming blocking any enjoyment from that evil person’s music. Vicki’s Personality Emulation Programming went through a series of adolescent assumptions of what was to follow: Her mind calculated the probability of The Cloaked Man pulling out firearms and killing many in the crowd.  Or, she expected, he was going to cause something to explode.  But The Cloaked Man’s agenda was blank on what to do here and now, blank save for a parley with the two beings that Mr. Thunderhorse sent after him.

Another round of clapping, and The Cloaked Man stood up. He placed both hands behind his back, then bowed. He bowed; that was it. Vicki’s simulated personality expected more. Gally, on the side, just awaited action; her dark eyes locked on every minute movement of The Cloaked Man’s actions. She saw nothing that would betray any hostile action. Gally the cyborg was certainly less tense than the gynoid by her side.

The Cloaked Man gave a wave, then walked behind the curtain. Vicki moved to go to the stage, was ready to push aside plenty of patrons. Gally restrained her, metal fingers on Vicki’s softer synthetic right wrist. "Wait, then act. We act to counter whatever he does first," said Gally. They waited just moments, and something else happened.

A bare arm suddenly waved up from the crowd, an arm ending in a gnarly and tanned hand.  How did he get over there so.... Shwe-e-et! That person then gave a peircing whistle. "Yo, cyber-chicks!" shouted The Cloaked Man.  Both looked. They saw him. They saw their questionably sane antagonist waving at them. "Yo!" he shouted, obnoxiously. Eyes locked on him still, Gally carefully strode and weaved between tables. Vicki followed behind, keeping up with the more physically adept cyborg. The Cloaked Man also stared. And he smiled.

Two seats sat in waiting for two new occupants at The Cloaked Man’s table. Gally stood, as did Vicki, in front of the two seats. "Don’t worry: I won’t bite! This is just a meeting, a tete-a-tet, as your French say," said The Cloaked Man. "Besides," he mumbled, "I doubt you two would taste good."  Carefully still, Gally and Vicki both took the spare seats. He smiled, a large smile on his tanned face.

"I want your hands where they can be seen," said Vicki in an even voice. Still with that clown’s smile, The Cloaked Man placed both dark and rough hands on the table. "There, are you feeling a simulated sense of being ‘happy,’ robot-girl? Like I said, this is just a meeting. My plans here are done for, for now."  The Cloaked Man then spoke to Gally. "Look, I swear! From one real person to another, Gally!  I’m not going to cause any more problems here. I just want to talk. Indeed, it really is nice...."

"You are gibbering!" Gally’s voice was sharp, but not angrily so. People at nearby tables suddenly stopped talking. With a more level voice, Gally said to the person opposite her, "You promised a talk. Be more truthful and succinct in your business, please." The Cloaked Man shrugged (with both hands still firmly on the table). A moment passed, and the club floor went back to its level of murmering.

From seemingly nowhere, two waitresses delivered items to the table. "Here you go! A pitcher of extra hot coffee, a glass of tea with plenty of cane sugar, and mineral water.  Enjoy, Mr. Cloak!" said one of the waitresses as the orders were placed on the table. Gally’s small mouth put on a slight frown at the distraction. The Cloaked Man diverted his eyes, instead looked on the young waitresses that delivered the orders he made much earlier.  With his eyes on the young waitress, his left hand went into a pant pocket....

He reached with one hand into a pocket, Vicki tensing.  Ourcame a thick wad of money, new bills.  "Okey dokey, this cash ought to cover the bill--with stuff to spare!"  he said, peeling off two twenty-dollar bills for both waitresses. "Keep the change," he said, giving exaggerated winks to them both.  The waitresses went away, wriggling with glee. "Okay, let’s get down to business," he said, sliding the saucer-mounted cup of pekoe-cut black tea in Gally’s direction and the bottle of imported mineral water in Vicki’s direction. He poured himself a cup of the fumingly hot coffee. "So, you two, tell me about what you think of this whole business. Since Vicki has plenty of hot air to let out of her artificial self, let’s here her speak first."

The Cloaked Man then brought the hot coffee to his mouth, eyes on Vicki as he began to sip. Vicki’s programming emulated "extreme juvenile anger." But some etiquette sub-routines let her anger come out in just a too-calm tone in her voice.

Vicki  had plenty to say.  "I think that you are a very bad man.  You are very bad and evil. The cops should put handcuffs on you, throw you in a state penitentiary, then never let you out forat least a hundred years." Vicki’s voice went up a good twenty decibels on the last six words--the simulated anger in the gynoid's personality growing.  She added, "You’re crazy. You’re a raging psycho who doesn’t belong here."

The Cloaked Man brought his cup of coffee down after Vicki finished. "Ahh, damned fine coffee!" he said through exhaled breath. All of the hot coffee in the cup was gone, faint wisps of condensing steam vanishing from the empty white cup.  The cup of coffee even calmed him more, his face looking more relaxed.  "Anyway, you’re right, Vicki," he said. "About me being ‘evil,’ you’re damned right! I’ve got a job to do, that of having fun with history!  Everyone loves good jokes, everyone!  Even if you, Miss Gynoid, can't appreciate my pranks, that doesn't mean that everyone should miss the fun.  If that makes me evil, then..." He shrugged with hands up and shoulders moving, both hands red-palmed. "Okay, shoot me. I’m evil. That also makes me insane, doesn’t it? There you go: I am insane. I’ll even sign anything you’ve got that says that I’m insane!" He slipped a wink to Gally. "You see, I’m trying to be a comedian...but that’s not going anywhere. It’s hard for me to make people laugh."

Gally raised her right pointer finger, the glove of the disguise over her body delineating the joint-work of the mechanical digit. The Cloaked Man looked. "You joke as you act. Yet, actions made by you are quite serious. There is a lack of seriousness in what you do. Does this seem like sober business at all? Do you take reality at all seriously?" she voiced. Gally put down the finger.

"That’s it!" he said, nodding. "I don’t take reality seriously!" His calloused and tanned right hand swept overhead slowly, right to left, gesturing to everything around. "Think about it, Gally! And process it, Vicki!  Everything you see, everything, is just temporary. Living is a temporary thing.  Nobody lives forever!  Hell, even everything here is just a damned cheap joke. All things you see for now do not last. Put together, the ‘here-and-now’ in reality will not last forever. Would you take reality seriously? Huh?  Nobody survives reality.  Nobody survives death," he said, the smile slightly wilted.

Apparently, The Cloaked Man had some more things to say before Gally could speak back. "In my own pompous opinion, reality is a joke. I don’t even think that reality was supposed to exist at all. You, Vicki, all of you probably weren’t meant to exist."   The Cloaked Man slapped both hands on the table.
"So, what could be more appropriate than a joker to stop reality...at least take humanity out of reality? Don’t you get it? Hah, I kill me!"  Vicki winced at The Cloaked Man’s ranting, her proccesors beginning to have difficulty digesting The Cloaked Man's speech.

"You begin to gibber again," said Gally. "Oh, I’m sorry!" he said.  "But you have to admit that what I said makes some logical sense, eh?  Right, Vicki?" Vicki grimly nodded, one nod, not really taking in the commentary.  Gally added, "Essentially, the words you said are just a return to goals in mind. Words spoken now just go back to your main purpose. You want to stop humanity. And you do so by twisting parts of time."

"An ‘A’ for the metal-bodied girly!" said The Cloaked Man.  "So we must stop you," said Gally.  The Cloaked Man frowned. "Aw, man!" he exclaimed!  "You two are spoil sports, and so is the man from Administrations that sent you."  Vicki slowly shook her head: Her processors were still trying to filter through and interpret The Cloaked Man’s behavior and words...much of it gibbering still.

"Once, just once, someone told me that he did not like life being a joke," said Gally. "Where I come from, being serious is a necessary mindset. We live, Cloaked Man. Life and purpose are things to strive for. Life is what we fight for. To continue and struggle for beauty and excellence, that is what we do through struggle and even fighting." Gally placed her own hands on the table, opposite The Cloaked Man.

Seated so close to the self-proclaimed cosmic joker in history, Vicki’s processors began clarifying the initial comments of The Cloaked Man. The Cloaked Man was clearly cracked: so much twisted behavior, so much madness.  Her artificial mind was in the equivalent of befuddlement, the befuddlement partially caused by the strange man.   "How are you holding up, robo-girl?" asked The Cloaked Man. Vicki let out a hiss, anger on her face.  Her mind was still trying to process through slight malfunctions that began to occur.

"I still think you’re psycho...." was all that she could say before her computers went again to interpreting The Cloaked Man’s previous ranting that was still in her memory. He gave a thumbs up, then returned to Gally.  "That is a fine little speech!" said The Cloaked Man. He said in a lower voice, almost conspirationally, "Have you ever considered speech writing? Not that it will do much good with the losers of this time period, but you could still make some dough." He spoke up. "Then again, what I’m saying has some serious pertinence...high-quality jokes aside." Vicki’s processors finished up, managed to translate The Cloaked Man’s commentary and gibbering.

Now, more so, she saw The Cloaked Man as unstable. It was one thing for a typical criminal to do terrible acts. And it was another thing for a criminal to do acts--and actually joke away the results of his or her acts. There was no regret in The Cloaked Man’s behavior: no pity for those injured by those that he hired, no remorse for the aftermath. He had fun causing so much pain. The Cloaked Man, as Vicki’s logic put it, is sadistic.

"Okay, you’ve said your peace," said The Cloaked Man. His face then darkened, a slight smile on his face. "Now, let me tell you about how I see it. How you see things is clearly opposite how I see it, which explains why you and robo-girl are seated opposite myself. I think life is worthless.  D'ya hear me?  I think that it is crap. All that you fight for is for crap, Gally-girl! Everything, all of life is a big...." The Cloaked Man’s hands went up, fingers gesturing as if holding something immense. "A gigantic, heaping pile of crap! Do y’hear that, honey?   Life is a joke, with death as the punchline!" The Cloaked Man’s eyes darkened.  "And, before my own punchline comes, I intend to deliver it to the rest of humanity.

"Just look at human history, first of all. I’m talking about just simple history from the Twentieth century and onward. Vicki knows that. What I mean is this: Compared to me making for pranks with just some people, what I’m doing is a tiny grain of nothing. There was something called the First World War, World War I. Do you hear, Gally? The First World War. They called it the Great War, the fools. Entire parts of this damned planet went to war, Gally. People died by truckloads, every day. That was just one war. "Did you ever hear of the Second World War, Gally? From the year 1939 and midway into the decade to follow, people had a fine old time killing each other! Humanity put on a war that killed tens of millions. Innocents, Gally. Those tens of millions included plenty of civilians being maimed and butchered. But I know that more died, more than just the tens of millions in the official counts.

"And, don’t get me started in the constant ‘ethnic’ conflicts that took the world throughout the 20^th cenutry, Vicki. Tell your buddy Gally about the Serbs and Croats, how they sought to outdo those Nazis to shame. Talk about Arabs and Jews, how they both have troubles. Then, talk about the Hutu and Tutsi tribes in Africa."

Just for a moment, The Cloaked Man’s face lost its smile. It flickered, but returned. "So, where does anyone get off, calling me the bad guy?" He turned to Vicki. "Ask your papa to set you straight: You were programmed an education, Vicki. Humanity is evil, revealed that potential for evil during the twentieth century alone."

The Cloaked Man turned to Gally. "And Gally, you should be well-convinced by now that humanity is evil. What about your time period? You had a freakin’ Interstellar War! Hah, and what a war that was! Those were entire planets going to war. If humanity ever showed how nasty it could be, that was the time. Full colonies came under fire: Arachno bombs, plasma cannons, and hot death for billions.

"In fact, even centuries later, this particular planet never recovered after Gally’s Interstellar War. That, and plenty of geological disasters ruined the Earth. Yes, geological disasters coupled with warfare ruined the planet." The Cloaked Man turned to Vicki, who had by now recovered. "Guess what, Vicki?" Vicki asked, "What?" There was steel in her voice. "Do you know why I said that it was Gally’s war?" Vicki shook her head. "She does not remember, but she also killed plenty of people! Because Gally herself fought in that war!  "

Vicki, with her ceramic eyes, looked at Gally. Gally, narrowed her own artificial eyes, just stared at The Cloaked Man. The Cloaked Man just poured himself another cup of still-hot coffee from the pitcher. He took a gulp. "Mmm-hmm! I must say this.  I must say that this is, excuse me, damned fine cofee!  And hot!"

By now, people at other tables noticed the strangely-dressed man with the cape sewn to his tee-shirt, how he drank burning-hot coffee on this summer Southern Californian day. "This is great coffee. It’s too bad you can’t have any, Gally. You’ll have to stick to glucose-heavy tea. Yeah, the sweetener is heavy with the chemical compound you so love. And Vicki, won’t you drink that water? I know you can; your systems can always use a bit more cooling."

Gally looked down and pressed her hands together, palms together. It was almost a gesture of prayer. Eyes down, Gally spoke up. "You gibber some more. Insane ranting aside, though you are free to believe what you will, Cloaked Man...if that is a name at all. You still remain with your ultimate purpose, that of trying to end human history. This conversation is most probably pointless, at least from my perspective."

Gally leaned slightly forward, and Vicki did as well. "Each confrontation generally has two sides, opposing sides." Gally raised one hard finger, flawlessly straight. "And, with conflict, one side is seen as evil.  That is why that side goes against..." Gally paused, then raised the pointerg finger of her other hand, finishing, "One side goes against  the other side, as with debates. We talk now, yet...." Gally hung on the last word. "Note how we disagree. The point of this talk, I believed, was to form a sort of view and compromise between our two sides. You, yourself, stand without compromise. To make 'pranks' of evil to mutilate of humanity is an ugly thing.  Summarized, the only point of this little parley that you started seems to be to fulfill your agenda."

Gally put her hands down. " I think I’m figuring you out, Cloaked Man.  Let me explain."  The Cloaked Man’s smile mutated into a smirk. "Go for it, metal girl," he said, then crossing his arms. "The reason for this talk is because of surrenduring’s sake." The Cloaked Man’s mouth expanded into a "O" of surprise--mock surprise.

"Really now!  Of all the gall...!  Well, I never...!" he said aloud. "I’m not surrendering! Hell, girly, I just wanted to talk!" Vicki processed the voice of The Cloaked Man, listening quite carefully.  She detected falsehood.  "You lie, Cloaked Man," she said. The Cloaked Man looked at Vicki. "Oh-ho!  I’m lying? What if I said that I’m going to raise some more Hell in this time period?" The conversation paused. Vicki’s processors went over The Cloaked Man’s vocal nuances, detected more stress. "Still, YOU LIE."

Gally looked at Vicki.  For two words, Vicki's voice went into a monotone.  Was Vicki malfunctioning?  The Cloaked Man spoke.  "Okay, okay, so I am a liar....and I am evil to boot.  Are you going to call me a geek, next?  But now, this is really a one-on-one confrontational conversation!  And it's your fault, why we can't just talk.  I came to talk, tried to reason with you two. Instead, you’re trying to bully with me! This is like some sort of post-war negotiation between two generals after a war, when both sides know which side has won."

Gally said to The Cloaked Man, "Actually, I believe that the final outcome has yet to be decided.  The outcome is close, but not quite having arrived.  Also, this particular conversation is just to serve your purpose. If anything, I believe that you’re just trying to shake our determination, still trying to fight us. Now, guess what, Cloaked Man?"

The Cloaked Man stared, waiting. "I will win out against you so long as I can fight here," said Gally.  Vicki added, "And, I WILL NOT SURRENDER, EITHER."  Vicki's voice continued to slip into a basic monotone.  Something was wrong with her personality emulation programming.  But, staring at the two protagonists, The Cloaked Man saw determination. At least from Vicki, there was a simulated sense of determination. Every card player knew the feeling:  His bluff was called, called out by a speech.

"Okay, okay and triple-okay! So this wasn’t just a conversation!  I lie when I say that there’s more planned for Vicki’s time period, this time period.  I’m not causing chaos here and now. No, not here. My plans for here are done. But what about Gally’s particular piece of time? And what about Scrap Iron City centuries beyond now. There’s still some trouble to cause there! I pay money, and some people do what they’re told...with a minimum of moral rambling.  Meanwhile, I'll just have myself some more of this damned fine coffeee." The Cloaked Man lifted the pitcher of coffee, then began to drink directly from it.

Vicki did not think it logical, how The Cloaked Man could consume such hot coffee.  Soon, teenagers at other tables tapped shoulders and nudged elbows and did all sorts of obnoxious things to get each other’s attention; people began looking at The Cloaked Man. Then, someone began a chant:  "Chug, chug, chug!"   And the chang was soon with everyone in Dorothy's:  "Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug..."

The Cloaked Man continued to "chug" the "damned fine" coffee straight from the pitcher.  Gally practiced patience, merely placed her hands together on the table as she waited for The Cloaked Man finished this immature act.  Vicki stared.  He continued to guzzle, the dark liquid going down into his gut. The Cloaked Man, what was up with that guy?  How could anyone drink all of that coffee, unless there was something wrong with him or her?

A full fifteen seconds later, and The Cloaked Man put down the foot-high pitcher of coffee. Rather, he put down the empty pitcher. People cheered. "Yeah, The Cloaked Man is too cool!" said one teen boy. "How did he pull that off?" asked a girl.  "He did it because he's so damned cool!"  The Cloaked Man raised his hands, and people clapped some more.  Gally’s eyes rolled up, then back onto The Cloaked Man. He was truly a cosmic joker.

"Ah, anything to please the crowd! Anything to raise a little Hell!" he shouted. "Come on, Vicki, humans love a little Hell-raising every so often!" He suddenly stood atop his chair. "Come on, people!" he shouted. "Who likes a little Hell, huh?"  The youths smiled and laughed. They all laughed with The Cloaked Man. That cape sewn to his tee shirt was freaky, as were his too-dorky slacks, but he was cool.

He leapt down from his seat, then sat down in it. "There you go: Humanity loves Hell!  My pranks just feed the need! I’ll see you two later." With that, The Cloaked Man fingered the edge of his cape, then strode out of the "Emergency Only" exit.  It was an act which promptly set off the fire alarm, the loud alarm braying in the club. The kids really loved that.

"He’s gone; what now?" shouted Vicki, leaning close to Gally. The alarm was that loud, damaging to ordinary hearing for lon So logic-based, the artificial girl had questions. "He’s a real liar, and he caused so much trouble! Is that it? Is The Cloaked Man just going to walk away? HE BROKE THE LAW AND CAUSED PEOPLE TO DIE...."  Vicki blinked hard.  She spoke again.  "Now, he’s just walking away."

"Be glad that your particular time period will persist safely, at least persist as it is. To note is how he said that your time period is no longer in his plans. And he held part of his cape, meaning that he is probably gone. Spilled glucose is nothing to cry over." Gally looked at her cup of tea, then drank calmly despite the up and moving teenagers that jostled about and laughed at the false alarm the "cool" guy triggered. Vicki regarded Gally, Vicki’s computers trying to analyze the original and strange personality of Gally the cyborg. But she could not analyze for too long.
 

"I hope..." began Vicki. But she never completed that sentence.  Gally's small mouth formed a small "o," her very large brown eyes open in concern.  At least, The Cloaked Man was not around to see Vicki malfunctioning.  Indeed, the only physical reminder of the meeting with The Cloaked Man was a "damned good" cup of coffee next to an empty pitcher.  There was also the unopened bottle of mineral water, and a glass of tea. There was just a bit of tea left in the cup.