"Trent, get up! Trent- oh, God!" Jane barked, snapping open the door to her brother's room and recoiling at the sweat-socks- and unnamed-funk atmosphere that leaped forward to claw at her eyes "That's HORRIBLE! What crawled up in here and died - this week?"

Her answer came as a slight movement caught her attention, and she turned slightly to see Max lying insensate in a chair - and his bare, dirt-crusted feet resting just inside the open window, through which a gentle wind was blowing! "Max! MAX! Damnit, Max, put your boots back on!"

Several minutes later, the bald drummer shrieked as a unending series of high-powered, compressed jets of soapy water shot across the room from Jane's 'Water Warhammer 50,000 Backpack-Fed Ultra-Splash-and-Knockdown Water Minigun', actually lifting him out and over the chair! Max tried without success to fight the stream - and cried out again as he tried to leap from the chair, tripped on his own belt (don't ask) and knocked himself cold!

Jane splattered the stinky drummer for a minute or two (not that it'll matter that much, she thought). She turned the water gun of the Valkyrior towards the bed - and her brother went flying as she soaked him and the bed with the first soapsuds they had seen in a long time!

"Well, serves you right," Jane smirked, lowering the spinning seven-barreled, electrically powered weapon of faux-mass destruction to its 'safe' position as Trent lifted himself up from the floor, looking like a drowned member of the musical 'Cats'.

"I hate it when you do stuff like that," he said, now fully awake as he looked up to see his sister finally enter the room. "You could have just -" His eyes went wide as he saw a slender white case, now sitting in a puddle where his pillow had once been & which all but screamed 'jewelry box!' His hand inched towards it surreptitiously, when he looked up to see the minigun's barrel assembly being gently inserted into the space directly in front of his face…

"Don't do that."

Trent relented, and Jane reached down for the box. "So, let's see what little trinket you've been hiding -"

Jane's mouth opened wide and soundlessly as she opened the box and saw -

"Oh, my God."

She looked at the contents of the box; a whisper-thin necklace of white gold, and dangling beneath, a single, perfect diamond -

"For… oh, God. Is it for - don't joke or I'll put this upside your head…"

Trent looked up at his younger sister, his mouth working itself into a slight, knowing grin as he propped himself up on his elbows, and the light of perfect happiness illuminated Jane's face as a single word escaped from her lips.

"DARIA?"

The single nod from Trent sent Jane into a state of euphoric delirium. She would never remember dancing around the room with her brother, or anything else from that morning or afternoon until around 1:45, when she and the other students working together on the assignment from Dr. Armalin's seminar would meet. Until that time, Jane Lane would truly believe that she was living the single happiest day of her life.

Her personal goal, her dream, her quest for the Grail was about to be fulfilled: Trent told her about his plan for Daria, the necklace, and the last day of school. Jane knew that she'd NEVER be able to keep this a secret, so Trent told her that tonight, when Jane and Daria came over so that they could all go to the cooking show together - he would take Daria aside. Jane would excuse herself to go to the bathroom (FAT CHANCE!) while Trent gave Daria the necklace and tell her what he felt… and from what she knew of her best friend, Trent might soon find himself in dire need of emergency cardiac procedures. Daria was a bit stronger that her tiny frame might suggest, and passion, she understood, drop-kicked one's endurance skyward…

The universe, however, has an unrelenting feel for irony, and a sense of humor darker than night.

*****

"This is going to be great!" Jake said, bounding around the kitchen and out into the backyard like a teenager - well, more like Quinn than Daria. "This is going to be incredible!"

"Do-wop, do-wop, ba-la-la-la-la-la -la-la - sha-boom, sha-boom," Daria echoed, gnawing on a piece of toast as she watched Jake bounce to and fro throughout the kitchen. "If he says that one more time, I'm going to take a karaoke mike and do horrible things with it."

"Daria, you promised - no being yourself for the day," Helen said, actually sitting at the breakfast table as she ate a serving of bacon and eggs - and tossing a 'stop staring, kid' look at her eldest daughter. "So, I understand that you've got some really interesting project assigned by that new teacher. Jane called for you on Saturday, and I ended up talking about it and your teacher with her for the better part of an hour!"

Daria grimaced as she polished off her slice of toast and bit down into another. Helen was apparently off on another one of her 'let's play Donna Reed!' tangents; thankfully, they didn't happen all that often, and lasted only as long as it took for the inevitable telephone call from her law firm to occur…

"It's a stupid class, Mom - I really don't need it. I'm sticking it out so far because I promised Jane, but I'm seriously thinking of dropping it -"

"But isn't it almost halfway over?"

"You can drop it up to the halfway point without it going on your record."

"I was under the impression that students who do very well could gain college credit by taking this course," Helen mused, wrapping bacon in a slice of bread. "Why would you let an opportunity like this get away? I mean, it sounds like something you could mention during a college entrance interview! I'm sure an intelligent young woman like you could also find some way to distinguish yourself so that a letter of recommendation wouldn't be out of the question - or perhaps, even a personal phone call from this professor to the Dean of Admissions of an Ivy League or Division I school -"

The older woman watched the way her daughter seemed to shrink inward on herself, and her maternal instincts cut in; Helen put her hand out and took Daria's in her own.

"Is there some sort of problem with this class, or the instructor teaching it?"

"No… I mean, not really…"

Helen leaned forward, a soft, comforting expression on her face.

"Want to tell me about it?"

Daria was about to speak when a thought exploded screaming through her skull - 'That's her 'Lawyer look!' Reverse all engines - get the hell out of here!'

"Sure, Mom. Could you wait here for a moment, though - I want to take a hop in the giant-size pizza oven 'Pizza King' got last week."

"Daria, you're not only becoming more sarcastic, but you're starting to tinge it with outright meanness," Helen observed. "I'm really starting to become concerned."

"You shouldn't go any further with this attempt at motherhood, Mom - your cell phone's going to go off at any moment."

"DARIA!" Helen snarled, and Daria instinctively flinched. "Young lady, don't think that you're too old for a trip out to the woodshed -"

Daria's head cocked back in a 'see, I-told-you-so' look as the cell phone in her mother's jacket pocket began to buzz. "We'll finish this some other time."

"THEY'RE HERE!" Quinn called out at the top of her voice as she sprinted down the stairs to the front door. "The TV people are here!"

"They're here?" Jake echoed, bouncing through the kitchen and out the front door into the front yard. "Great! Hello, guys! We'll shoot the majority of the program out in the backyard, so start moving your equipment out there! Watch where you park the generator truck, and make sure you double-check those floods before you light 'em up!" He spotted a Wendy, trademark T-shirt and well-worn jeans letting her blend in with the crew, and called out to her. "Hey, Wendy! Get the stuff unloaded and ready for a EQ check in thirty, and call Horizon - have her stop by the doughnut place and grab stuff for everybody!"

"It's handled, 'M', Wendy called back, pulling out a cigarette from a case on her belt as she began to dial on her cell phone.

"Wendy, lose the cancer stick - you know what it does to Lauriel."

"Come on - I'm outside, and she won't be here for HOURS - "

"Lose them, Wendy. Now. And while you're at it, tell Horizon to add another three dozen glazed to the order - God knows everyone sucks those down like crazy. "

"FINE," Wendy huffed, putting the cigarette back. "Can I at least have an extra double latte with double cream?"

"It's your complexion, red, ruin it at your own risk," Jake snapped. "You know what caffeine does to you…"

"I'll have grape juice - all right?" Wendy allowed. One cup a day was fine for Wendy, but lots of caffeine - even slamming several large glasses of Coke or Pepsi - made her break out in a rash, one that really stood out against her milky complexion. "Anything else? Want to check my teeth and my hair, too?"

"Love you too, red," he shot back. "Go break a sweat."

Wendy laughed as she bowed in a very theatrical manner. "Right ho, guv'nor," she smirked, and turned to the watching members of the production crew. "And I thought I was in charge of this production! You heard 'M' - earn your freaking keep for a change! Jules, Frankie - you don't know how to pick up a table, or what? Lift up, you idiots - lift up, step down and then pull! Oh, get out of the way…"

"M?" the three Morgendorffer women said in unison, turning from their spot on the lawn to face Jake.

"Just a nickname - it's nothing," he said, waving the question away. "That's Wendy - she's the director."

"Maybe you could direct her to the underwear section of the store," Helen pointed out sharply as she noticed Wendy - as she passed close by. "Jake, don't tell me that you APPROVE, or that YOU LIKE THE WAY SHE'S DRESSED -?"

"That's just the way Wendy is," Jake shrugged, a smile on his face as he saw a milk-white 1973 Buick Centurion, it's rooftop down and every piece of chrome shining in the morning light, heading down the street towards the house. "You get used to her. Here comes Lauriel. I heard you finally got to meet her - I know that you'll like her a lot."

Quinn looked positively awestruck as the car pulled into the driveway and Lauriel, waving at Jake, got out and began pulling bags out of the car. "Oh, my God - she's perfect," the carrot-haired teen said, watching as Lauriel fussed around in the car. "She doesn't need any makeup, and her hair is just to DIE for - Stacy's always wanted to have hair like that, and - oh, those are original Maria Taylor sandals… they're fourteen hundred dollars a pair. I'd KILL to have a pair of those, and -"

"Dad, you didn't mention that you were working with a Fashion Club alumni," Daria droned, giving the older woman the once-over as Quinn started in her direction. "Finally, Quinn'll have a role model not listed in Charlie Sheen's black book."

"At least our names are IN someone's black book," Quinn stopped and fired back, and Helen watched Daria blanch slightly at the broadside.

She rushed over to Lauriel, startling her a bit as she brought a bag of tomatoes out of the back seat. "That outfit - it's a V.L. Riley original, isn't it?"

"I had three made last year when I was in Northern Italy," Lauriel replied, pleased and a little surprised at Quinn's fashion savvy. "It was a trade-off: I played personal chef for her family for the month I was there studying wines, and she made me three original designs. You should see the alpaca-wool sweater dress I've got - it's seamless, and you should see the looks that I get when I wear it… Quinn, right?"

"Yes!"

"Your father's told me so much about you," Lauriel continued, releasing the bag into Quinn's hands and reaching for another. "So tell me - I'll be outside most of the time for the show, it'll be cool tonight, and we want a casual feel for the shoot - you know, having some friends and family over for a little dinner party. What would you say about what I should wear?"

"Are you seeing someone, looking around, interested in a specific someone or not playing the field right now?"

"Looking around - who isn't?"

"Do you want to come off as demure, feminine, confident, aggressive or 'in the mood'?"

"My mother said that you can't miss by being a lady…"

"Yes, but with YOUR looks, demure is not an option," Quinn stated outright. "You need to go for the warmer side of feminine, but understate it just a bit - you want the women in the audience to warm up to you as a friend without worrying that you'll steal their guys."

"So you're saying that I should dress for the women?"

"We always do. After all, men don't care if you're wearing a couple of yards of brown wrapping paper from 'Wal-Mart'- as long as they can get some general idea of your figure, they're happy!" Quinn told her, slightly surprised that this woman - who could easily be a model if she wanted to be - was actually listening to her fashion advice. "Look, you're incredibly beautiful, you've got your own money - by the way, this car of yours ROCKS! - and you know how to cook. Any woman with an ounce of self-worth is going to compare herself to you, which is why you've got to dress somewhat like them - 'fashion camouflage,' as it were! If you look like you shop at the mall rather than at Neiman-Marcus, they'll go a little easier on you and relax long enough to let them get to know you as a person!"

"You sound a lot like your father," Lauriel thought aloud, "and it sounds like you've got his PR talent, too. I'll have to remember that little bit about dressing like other women… how about a herringbone skirt and jacket?"

"Do you WANT to look like you're on the local news at five, six and ten? I mean, most of them have pretty faces and some were actually BORN with their figures, but my GAWD, who wants to dress like they're on a reporter's salary? Uggghhh…." Quinn shivered for emphasis as she spoke.

Helen looked up at a beaming Jake, who watched happily as Quinn and Lauriel bonded, and thought dark and medieval thoughts about hoisting certain parts of her husband's anatomy skyward on a sharp, flame-hardened pike, allowing them to dangle briskly in the wind as a warning to others…

"…Slacks and matching jacket, maybe a white silk blouse and no jewelry… well, maybe a very small necklace - I'd say that you might be able to get away with a small strand of pearls. Do you have a wedding band?"

"I'm not married."

"Get one. It'll scare off most of the jerks who'll try to hit on you and it'll put most of the women who see you at ease - even if they never see a husband, the fact that you're 'off the market' will calm them AND their wannabe roving husbands in their place. Oh, yes - the way you dress on TV and in your regular life… two different things. The women who watch your show and want you to look like their friend on the air? They'll crucify you if you wear the same clothes in public - and I guarantee that the wolves, not to mention Joan and Melissa Rivers, are going to sit back and drool over the chance to put you on a 'Worst-Dressed' list!"

"That 'Fashion Club' you're in seems to have given you skills," Lauriel said, unconsciously patting the spot in her purse where she kept her wedding band - her mother's, actually - and nodded appreciatively at Quinn's suggestions. "Maybe you and your friends wouldn't mind giving me a few pointers when I go out to pick up my outfit at 'Long Millennial Fashions' this afternoon…"

She almost laughed at the suddenly lost look on Quinn's face. "It's a recent addition in the mall, Quinn. You didn't miss a store."

The bouncy-haired teen perked up immediately. "What time?"

"I'll be there at three-thirty."

"So will we!" Quinn replied, sunlight in her voice as Sandi's sea-blue Mustang 5.0 sped up to the front curb of the Morgendorffer's' home. "I'll be there in a minute!"

"We'd better get out and stretch our legs, ladies," Sandi growled as she rolled out of her car. "KUH-winn's' going to be late… again."

"Sandi, it'll just be a few minutes!"

"That's time from someone else's life you're wasting because you're not prepared when you should be," Sandi pointed out, and Quinn just shook her head.

"Right - since, like when did you start caring? You do it all the time!"

As Quinn breezed back into the house, Sandi shook her head. Maybe so, Morgendorffer, but now - I think it's time for a change…

"Hey - aren't you the lady on 'North Of The Border?" Stacy said, all but falling out and getting a hand from Lauriel. "Wow - I just love your show! I actually made the seven-layer salad and the 'South End Boneless BBQ Strips' you had on your 'End of the Summer' show last Memorial Day, and your HAIR… oh, I would just do ANYTHING to have the kind of hair that you do…"

"You say that now, but when I have to wash this mop, Procter & Gamble stocks go up!" Lauriel laughed. "Washing it is a major headache, and going in for a styling - oh, God, there goes the rest of MY day!"

"I know," Tiffany Blum-Deckler echoed in her vacant manner of speech. "Shampoo. Hot curlers. Blow dryers. A drag."

"I see that someone in town has finally developed an acute and respectable sense of fashion, " Sandi said, looking over Lauriel's outfit before straightening herself up in a formal manner. "I am Sandi Griffin - President of the Lawndale High Fashion Club."

"Oh, you're Linda's little girl - I met your mother a few days ago!" Lauriel said. "You both have the same hair…"

"I guess I should go to work now, " Helen said, a bit more sharply than she had intended. "You know, Jake - I could take a personal day and help around the house, do whatever needs to be done…"

"That's all right, honey," Jake cooed, kissing her on the cheek - and cringing inwardly at the thought of Helen in the way as they set up for the shoot. The last three days of Helen cleaning, arranging and rearranging furniture, cleaning again and getting fresh EVERYTHING to put in the fridge… I thought sex was supposed to calm someone down! he thought, remembering the marathon lovemaking sessions over the last several days. Oh, well, at least I'M calm…

"You're sure?"

"If there's any problems whatsoever, I'll call you in the blink of an eye," Jake promised. "You have a nice day - and I promise that you're going to have an incredible evening when you get home, Mrs. Morgendorffer."

Daria grimaced as she caught the meaning of that. 0300 hours - intimate relations resume… and there's no one on Deck Nine, Section Twelve who DOESN'T know when they're having intimate relations…

"Well… all right," Helen finally conceded. "I'll see you later, then."

Helen returned inside to get her things as Jake turned his attention to Daria. "Well, Kiddo - there's the lady who's helping your dear old Dad actually become a success! Wanna meet her?"

"I think that she's busy with the Fashion Fiends," Daria replied, hoisting her bookbag over her shoulder. "I have to go to school."

"And remember, don't fill up on afternoon pizza - we'll start cooking at around six-thirty, and I want you to be one of the tasters!" Jake said, stepping in front of her. "Daria, this is a wonderful day for me - it's a wonderful day for all of us, don't you think?"

"Yeah, Dad, wonderful, great, fireworks all over the sky," she droned, not noticing the slight droop in her father's smile as she went around him. "See you later."

*****

"Okay, Brittany - the skills that you've generated," Jodie said, looking over the papers in a large three-hole-punch folder. "Jeez, you're a combat monster - a real 'Royce-God Walking'. Military History, Police Procedures, Guns, Marksman, Martial Arts A to E, Oriental Weapons, Para-Military Operations, Acrobatics, Tumbling, Reconnaissance, Surveillance, Security Operations, Night Fighting, Wilderness Survival - and Performer/Cheerleading. Good grief."

"Not to mention pneumatic as a mountain-bike tire and filled with as much air," Daria thought, crunching down on a fish stick. "She's definitely going into the shelter."

"You forgot that she'll be able to have a LOT of kids!" Kevin exclaimed - and immediately flinched as Brittany and Jodie both looked pointedly in his direction. "Uh, I mean - I, umm… are you going to-"

"Kevin, be quiet," Jodie snapped, and the young man threw his arms up to protect himself as he flinched again.

"Don't hurt - don't hurt!"

"Now, Kevvie, you just sit there and behave, and we won't have to go back out to the Jeep," Brittany cooed, stroking his hair. "You're going to be a good boy, right?"

Kevin nodded, and not for the first time, Daria (among others) wondered exactly what happened that night out on the football field…

"And now that you two have had your unshaven femi-Nazi fantasy moment, can we all go back to work now?" Sandi snapped, bringing the entire group back to attention. "Let's keep going… Jodie, your skills are…"

Sandi's de facto command of the group - instead of Jodie, as everyone would have predicted, was still a source of surprise to Daria - and to many other persons in the class. Sandi wasn't as smart as Jodie or herself (of course), but she has something that no one else in the entire group had: she was a natural leader. Mack had skill in that area, but it was because guys usually defer to the biggest and the strongest of their kind… like most other animals… but Sandi had the ability to pull them all together and delegate authority - and, to everyone's surprise, to breed confidence. Of course, Sandi went back to her default mode once or twice - and there was no way in hell, Daria promised herself, that she would let that bitch dress her in what Sandi called 'the team uniform'…

After the first couple of meetings, Sandi had emerged as the one who knew what would be needed to put the shelter-construct plans on the fast track - and people started coming to her, asking for advice, directions, and then instructions. Sooner or later, Daria thought to herself, she'll come in parading a t-shirt that says 'I'm The Leader!' - surprised that she doesn't have one already.

Look on the bright side, she told herself. Sandi's annoying you, but everyone running to her instead of Jodie - like the kid going to Christian Slater instead of Patrick Dempsey in 'Mobsters' - must really get under Jodie's skin. She's the one who pulled it together at first, so becoming Number Two to someone like Sandi - someone who's everything that Jodie is against and can't stand - must really blow goats. Man, Jodie's really gotta be pissed!

Daria shifted gears and thought once again about the comment she made earlier about Brittany; maybe her mother was right in what she had said earlier. Mean-spirited… is that what's happening to me? Look at all the others and how they're getting into this stupid assignment - even Jane's put her running and sculpture plans off for the moment to really concentrate on this! It's not that important, and why do we need to be around these people even outside class? They're not even interesting to be around even in class - well, most of them aren't. I'm not being mean-spirited; I'm letting people know that I think this is stupid…

"Jane's one person who we really have to consider for the shelter," Andrea said, in a 'don't-argue-with-common-sense' tone the others didn't usually associate with the quiet, introspective young woman. "She's more tolerant of others than everyone here, she's the only one of us that's really good with children, and she's the most culturally-oriented one in the group, so she'll make sure to try and save or restore cultural artifacts.'

"I like that," Jodie echoed. "Daria, your turn."

"Excuse me?"

"She wasn't paying attention to us - AGAIN," Sandi huffed, a wisp of brown hair on her forehead leaping up slightly on her breath. "If you had been listening instead of acting like you're too good to have to be around us, you would have heard me say that we're picking out the qualities in each member of the group that makes them eligible to be in the 'seed' group." She leaned back and smoothed the fabric of her blouse, then tossed a tired look in Daria's general direction. "We're waiting…"

"Oh." Daria thought for a moment. "She knows how to handle being alone."

"Is that it?" Sandi asked. "That's all? Isn't she your, like, friend? You can't come up with something better than that?"

"She doesn't bother me with stupid questions," Daria said pointedly, directing her reply squarely at Sandi. "She's also a hell of a lot more fun to be stuck with somewhere than someone else I can think of right now. Got any ideas on who that is?"

"Come on, everybody - we do have work to do," Jodie broke in, cutting off Sandi and her cannon-volley response - judging by the look in her eyes. "Okay, now for Michael. What are his qualities?"

"He's a guy. We need the 'Y' chromosome."

"Very funny, Andrea," Sandi sniffed. "Brittany?"

"We need at least two boys in the shelter, don't we? Besides, if we don't pick him, then Jodie'll be all lonely and stuff, y'know?"

"He's smart and he's a guy," Jodie joked, "even if he's not all that cute. Oh, well, he's a man - any port in a storm. Oh, yeah - he can cook."

"Well, he is smart, he's athletic, and he's got common sense," Jane said. "The big thing is that he's curious. We'll need that."

"Mack's real smart, and he should go in because that way, we can both go to the pros together after we get out of college!"

"We'll need Mack, because he'll provide a good male role model for the children," Daria said, her nose wrinkling as Kevin spoke. "Looks like he'll be the only one they'll get."

"Michael's stronger than any of us, and he's learned a lot of stuff from his father, the corporate-security guy," Sandi spoke up. "Between him and Brittany, they can protect the others."

"Okay, then - and now, Daria," Jodie said. "What qualities does she have that we need in the shelter?"

The table became as quiet as a forest in a snowstorm; the only sound that could be heard was the creaking of the table as Daria looked around at her classmates.

"She's probably the smartest one of us all," Jane said as she looked Sandi in the eye, the message clearly being 'and smarter than you, bitch!' "She's a quick thinker, and she knows how to deal with difficult situations."

"That's all well and good, Jane," Sandi said, "but I'm wondering if we really even need to do this part for Daria."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Jane snapped back.

"I mean, like, do we really need someone like her in the shelter?"

No one spoke for a full minute; Jodie turned to face Sandi, the look in her eyes able to freeze the very air about them both. "I'm not going to bother reminding you what the Doctor said about making this a popularity contest," she said, launching her words at Sandi like bolts from a railgun. "You had better be able to back up what you just said with hard facts and solid reasoning. I mean that, you twisted harpy. And Sandi - if you have any desire to walk away from this table under your own power, please, don't be stupid enough to ask 'Or else what?"

Sandi saw the looks around the table being directed at her, ranging from complete annoyance to divine levels of anger and contempt; and in that moment, with everyone against her, Sandra Elaine Griffin experienced an ephipany - an absolute, pristine, shining moment of truth. It came upon her with such force, with such obvious and perfect clarity, that the other students at the table - indeed, several others who had been casual observers, for any area that contained Jodie, Sandi and Daria was worthy of observation, (after all, a good day's entertainment is anywhere you find it!) noticed it and had their concentration broken, their anger momentarily quashed.

For her part, Sandi would remember this particular moment years later: when asked why, she replied with gravity apropos to the moment: "It was the first time I ever made what could be called a 'command decision' - and actually realized just what it meant to do that…"

"We're putting together a group that's supposed to not only survive the 'disaster' that the Doctor's throwing at us, but also help rebuild the world afterward, right?"

"That's right," Andrea allowed, suddenly very curious and very interested in where all of this was going. She had been paying close attention to Sandi since the beginning of the class, and had seen - for lack of a better word, a slight change in her… "To help restore civilization."

"And we've all known her -" she motioned towards Daria, "for the better part of two years in one way or another, right?"

A chorus of nodding heads. "Then ask yourselves one question - and like the Doctor said, 'don't put popularity or personality into it, but just go on the basis of current and perceived future abilities and worth', RIGHT?"

"Right…"

"Then here's the question - what makes any of you think that she WANTS to be part of a group like this, or is even CAPABLE of being part of such a group?"

The entire cafeteria went silent. "You're way out of line," Jane snapped, noticing the way Daria's breath seemed to catch in her throat - and yet, somehow, her protest didn't have the raw, scorching anger that she knew should have been there. This was Daria that bitch was talking about… "You can't say that about her -"

"Why - because she's your best friend? It wouldn't matter if she were your friend or the Second Coming or the next 'Pepsi-Cola' girl! She doesn't care about anything or anyone, and she's a born pessimist! While our team's in the shelter and later, after they come out, they'll have to keep each other's spirits up. No matter how bad things looked or actually got for the team, they'd have to do that in order to keep going - and if SHE were in the group, we'd lose them all! She doesn't even care about herself, so why the hell would she care about five people who are there to do something she can't stomach and probably even understand?"

*****

No one had noticed Dr. Armalin come into the cafeteria. He entered silently to stand behind Anthony and Janet Barch, who were pulling their rotation as faculty cafeteria monitors, and put a hand on Janet's shoulder when she took a step forward towards the table where Sandi and the others sat.

"What are you doing -?"

"Leave them alone, Miss Barch," he said softly, glancing in the kids' direction. "They're working on their project for my class. It'll pass."

"They're all turning on Miss Morgendorffer -"

"No - they're culling the herd. It's part of the program."

"You can't just meddle with these kid's heads like that!" Janet hissed, turning to face the Doctor and briefly wondering why Anthony hadn't jumped in. "And you certainly can't teach them to turn on each other like that!"

"To the former - yes, I can. I told them on Day One that I was going to do exactly that. Have you ever been that honest with your students?" the Doctor replied, a quiet strength in his words. "And as for the latter - I don't have to teach them that, Janet; it's part of the package you and your fellow teachers install over twelve years. I simply hone the process to make them more efficient and more aware of their potential. Unlike you and yours, however - I also teach them why it's better to work as a team - not simply that you need to be part of a pack of animals in order to survive."

He moved his hand, and Janet glanced over in the direction of the group. Her face shaded into a wave of violent flushes of purple and crimson as she turned back to face the Doctor - and the look in his dark brown eyes caused her tightly clenched fists to unfurl like flags from windows and fall forgotten to her sides.

Eventually, Janet spoke.

"We'll dance soon."

"You don't have any moves."

For the first time in many years, Janet Barch backed down from a man. She looked him over with eyes laced with vengeful fury… and fear also ran behind her hazelnut eyes as well, though she would never admit it to even herself - then turned and walked away.

Anthony shook his head. "If I were you, son - I'd start checking your car and desk for bombs, poisons and crazed women with judo skills. Personal experience."

"If I were you, sir, I'd start using hotel rooms, condoms, and phrases like, 'Thank you, Claire. I had a wonderful time," the Doctor replied, casually tossing a tiny cassette in the air which Anthony caught. "Common sense."

Anthony examined the tape as the Doctor walked away; it was a videotape, digital, but more advanced than anything he had ever seen or had even read about before. Angela probably had the equipment to view the tape… but then that meant she also has the equipment to record it as well. How did the kid - that was how Anthony thought of the Doctor - get it, then? How would he even know about it or the security system it came from? Why would he give it to me - and why didn't Angela? And, since we're in the area, why is he letting those kids pile onto Daria - after all, he's read her evaluations! What was going on?

*****

Helen was lost in thought as she paced back and forth before her desk, her hands clenching a legal pad tightly enough to leave indentations. She was in no mood whatsoever to work or to be civil, and Marianne, coming in with a request to leave early, found that out the hard way.

I should have stayed home, she thought, whipping the pad across the room. I should have stayed home! I need someone to talk to… but whom?

Forcing herself down into calmness, Helen returned to her seat and began to think. Now, whom can I call to talk? Just talk…

After several moments of thought, Helen finally came to a very unpleasant and very sad revelation…

I don't have many friends, do I…?

Helen reviewed her list. Amanda Lane? You couldn't talk to her about much of serious foundation… she couldn't handle it. Michelle Landon and Linda Griffin weren't friends; they simply came together - on occasion - because of mutual interests, such as their daughters. She didn't socialize with any of the female lawyers at work or the female teachers at LHS, and Ms. Li… well, her time with that woman in a soggy pup tent quelled any chance of friendship there. Mrs. Gupty? She didn't even know the woman's first name, and Quinn had been their children's babysitter for almost two years! Willow? They were friends, certainly, but she lived almost halfway across the country!

I don't have any friends, do I…? My sisters… Mom…

That idea left town quickly enough. Rita would use any suggestion of marital discord to power the 'I told you so' that she had been saving up for decades! She couldn't keep a man for longer than the change in seasons - it's a wonder Erin had been born legitimate - and she'd LOVE to make cracks about 'Helen and her 'perfect marriage'. Mom? She'd just say, 'Get rid of the wimp and come home. We'll change all of your names back to Barksdale, and then you can finally start working on a REAL adulthood, not wasting years out of your life with that no-count hippie boy you ran around the country with…"

And Amy? Helen had absolutely no idea of what her younger sister would say. That, Helen forced herself to admit, was the most frightening of all. Amy was capable of saying anything - and even worse, it would almost certainly be right on target. No, she decided. She wouldn't call Amy about this anytime soon.

As usual - I have no one to depend upon but myself. Oh, well - so be it…

The fast track to power had its disadvantages - and despite those, it was power that Helen craved: the power to influence, to control, to make a real change in the world… as she had promised herself she would, all those years ago. She thought she could have it all, but it was moments like this that illuminated a basic truth - one cannot be all things to all people.

And she had decided, long ago, to sacrifice parts of herself upon the Altar of Jurisprudence. Helen Morgendorffer was an Officer of the Court - a warrior-priestess 'of the people, by the people, for the people'; one of those learned souls who were the anointed sages of the New Religion that was THE LAW, as Al Pacino pontificated in 'The Devil's Advocate'. She had the license and the ability to go were few in Society could ever dream: into the true corridors of power. The Law was the Rosetta Stone of the modern age, and Helen not only knew how to decipher its many secrets, but how to manipulate them for the benefit or to the detriment of any person, any group, anything that she chose! Need a friend's parking ticket taken care of? That was so simple that it was a waste of time! Set up a tax shelter? If I can't handle it, I'll find you someone who can - and who we can trust! Get your wealthy grandmother declared incompetent? Find out how to delay a civil action just long enough for the opposition to run out of money or just drop dead of an illness or from an injury? Keep your beloved offspring out of prison and clear its name of a vicious date rape or of dealing in designer drugs from her sorority house? Have a world-famous sports star acquitted of a barbaric double murder? These were not insurmountable problems!

For those who stood before the bench and lusted for the crack of the gavel the way a trained greyhound lusts for the sound of the starting pistol, these were the tasks, simple and complex, that to the common man might as well be alchemy. This was the world Helen Morgendorffer had made the sacrifice of what could have been her life.

She believed that she understood exactly what she had given up in exchange. Gone forever was the life in which she and her husband were true soul mates, growing together in experience and love as they faced the challenges of an ever-changing world in which mores, customs and society shifted with the maddening fluctuations of the advertising trends on television and threatened to pull them apart. A life in which she was connected to her two daughters by more than name and biology, but by the bindings of being there to support them as they faced those blossoming obstacles, dangers and the wonder that was the journey into womanhood; that was what she gave up.

She was not there for Quinn's first date; Jake had told her about how Daria, just a toddler, had come home one day and glowed with pride as she read perfectly from a text for high-school students. Helen had to imagine what it was like to shop for her daughter's first bras, the pride on Daria's face when she finished her first short story, or how Daria must have felt when that Trent Lane saw her for the first time wearing her contacts. She had to imagine those and more; her daughters quailed at coming to her for advice or 'just to talk', and Daria simply had built a stone wall between herself and her mother.

Sometimes, Helen wondered if her daughters really did love her.

Even worse, Helen sometimes admitted to herself in the darkness of her bed in the forgotten hours of sleeplessness and night, that it might not even matter. The love of her children was, in the greater scheme of things, not even relevant - nor was Jake's, truth be examined and closely shown. Their love didn't matter. Their behavior did, for it would reflect back upon her - and her plans.

Helen had decided on a course of action long ago. It was one she had chosen - once the fog of ignorance that was her 'hippie period' had lifted from her eyes, and the realities of the world were lain bare for her. What mattered most was the Four Corners of True Success - Money, Ability, Respect (otherwise known as Fear), and Knowledge. These, Helen had come to realize, were 'the Mark' - the foundation of True Power - and with that, she could truly shape the world, unlike the blistering idiots in the counterculture movement had singularly failed to do. What had they accomplished, really, sitting around smoking the various drugs, wearing beads and tie-dyes and sandals, chanting in huge mobs before government buildings while burning bras and draft cards - as though it had really mattered? Lennon died on a cold sidewalk while McCarthy survived to be embraced by corporate America, Camelot lay in alcohol-soaked ruins sotted in scandal and the broken bodies of a needlessly wasted future, and Woodstock was as much a myth as the Garden of Eden, with Man's innate knowledge of Good and Evil - shaped by television, cable, the Internet and film - barring re-entry to that time of transcendence as surely as the casting of sin from the gates of Heaven. The King Family memorialized the legacy of their patriarch by living off the trademark rights to a great man's works and words and consulting the Walt Disney Company on how to do it right; 'By Any Means Necessary' had become as much a cliché as 'We'll head them off at the pass!' Hefner's dream of better living and understanding through hedonism begat not the Freedom of Mankind through Free Love, but the spiritual masturbatory fantasies of lost American generations seeking vicarious release through the loins of Ron Jeremy and Heather Lere on DVD, as enticing and as fraudulent as the orgasmic siren's call that issued forth with digital-quality reproduction.

The Great Society was no more, its final ashes burning on political altars built by Reagan and Bush and consecrated by Clinton, that drank the blood of true welfare reform and the liberal desire to help the less fortunate. 'Flower Power' was a fantasy; as numerous pedophiles and the creator of the homeless newspaper 'Street News' vividly demonstrated, no one truly sacrificed of himself or herself to help others better themselves unless there was something MORE in it for them. War - what is it good for? Business, you morons! The greatest technological advances and financial gains come through war! Jack up the body counts and get those latest avionics upgrades on those fighters, 'cause Uncle Sam's got some ass to kick and the cash to spend! After all, we've got the long term, the BIG PICTURE to consider!

Kill a few million screaming morons on the opposite side while sacrificing tens of thousands of your own, wait a few decades while letting them simmer in their own putrid, cash-strapped ideology, and make sure their young people see that the American kids are having fun with cash money to burn. Then, 'let them' open up their country and their markets to your industry… enriching you with millions upon billions of dollars while they made your products on the Kathie Lee Plan… And as for all of you other countries out there: if you screw with us and we clean your clocks, we'll be back in a few years to rebuild, reshape and refinance your nation. After all, you're friends of the U.S.A. now, and - hey, is that your daughter? She's really hot - do you think she'd like a modeling contract for Guess jeans? Fifteen? Oh, don't worry; she'll be getting beaucoup bucks, and if someone actually gets in her pants or breaks her heart before she's of age - we can do a book deal and get her on Oprah to tell her touching, inspirational story of 'heartbreak, lost innocence and rebuilding her life in the big city!' Oh, yes, all of you women out there, we've got a case of 'Bill Maher's 'Nodding Head Syndrome' coming on in epidemic form, and just so long as you say what the bitches in the suburbs want to hear, you'll see those heads bobbing in the audience and the sympathy flowing like water… the advertising dollars, too…

Hey, kids - remember that when you get the MBA, the BMW comes along with it, and we should all listen to the sage advice of Sean Connery: 'Your 'best'? Losers always whine about 'doing their best'! Winners go home and fuck the prom queen!'

Get the money. Get the MONEY. GET THE MONEY!

Or do you want to be left alone, out in the cold when you're a seventy-year-old widow, crying from hunger or anger or desperation in the cold darkness of a tiny apartment or a run-down home because you have to choose to pay the rent instead of the heating and electric bills or going down to 'Aldi's' for the cheapest prices on food? Do you want to wait and hope against hope that SOMEONE - please, God, ANYONE - will spare five seconds to remember that you exist and call or visit just to see how you're doing, let alone bring you a priceless gift of a basket of fruit, or a ham, or those sweet-beyond-sweet chocolate candies that you loved as a child, but you don't even dream about anymore, because you can't stand to know that a simple five-dollar difference - buying that candy just to relive the moments when you were actually considered to be 'A Real Person'- can mean the difference between having a home and being lost to the streets. Mitchell Ryan spoke the Truth of the New Age in the film 'Lethal Weapon', when he turned to a defeated man to say:

Spare me, son - it's over. There's no more heroes left in the world.

Helen would follow The Plan. She WOULD be made a partner. Soon (and far sooner than that flaccid fool Eric and those other pandering, chauvinistic idiots at the firm would realize), she WOULD become the Senior Partner. With the power and the money and the contacts from her (and it would be hers by then) law firm, she would light the fuse of her true ambition. Not even Jake knew how far she dreamed, or the darkness she would embrace to reach it…

Daria WOULD go to a top school. Once she was there, she WOULD succeed. Once she left school, she WOULD enter a field and distinguish herself - and WOULD NOT do anything to dishonor herself, her name, and (most importantly) her mother. Because of her peculiar nature, a bit of eccentricity could be allowed - in fact, it might actually be necessary! Daria's always had a slight crush on that Lane boy, but she's never pursued it, and she's never shown any interest in any other young men... Hmn. You know, Candace Gingrich never really did hurt Newt's career. One thing, though - if Daria does take a woman as her lover (excuse me - 'life companion'), then she has to be a beautiful woman, or at least attractive - if she's a stunner, well, hey! Daria gets points for having good taste! After all, there must be standards - no fur-covered, slogan-spouting, ball-cutting man-haters need apply, and besides… 'lipstick lesbian'. My, that's such a trendy term! I wonder if it's current… Daria and her girlfriend will show that I'm able to accept other points of view… as long as they don't carry on in public like Degeneres & Heche. When it comes right down to it, most people really don't care what you're doing in bed and with whom, just as long as they're of age, human (ugh), alive (ugh!) and not throwing it all up in the face of the Joneses. Let's be honest, everyone - we DON'T have to accept what you are and what you're doing… but we'll make exceptions if we find a reason to like you and yours. After all - we KNOW you!

Quinn WOULD graduate from high school. She WOULD attend college and join a renowned social sorority in which she would learn those skills, overt and covert, ladylike and whorish, that would prepare her for her adulthood. She WOULD make the acquaintance of a young man of means and of pedigree - and within eighteen months of their joint graduation (or of his alone, if he were of sufficient means); they WILL marry in a ceremony suitable for inviting present and future political and social contacts. Then - and ONLY then - Quinn WOULD have children that would seal the futures of the Barksdales and that as-yet-unknown House, ensuring the beginning of a potential dynasty… and the Clan Barksdale would survive and flourish. Perhaps, even, there would be a grandson - one who would understand what was to be his duty…

And Jake? There was no real need for him in the world that she someday planned to enter. In fact, he would be a liability, one that was further demonstrated by the fact that they had no sons. A son could have been a great benefit to Helen and her plans - even a gay son would have had some value, given the political climate. And if it had been necessary - well, a few grams of a certain pharmaceutical in a simple glass of water could ensure that even a gay son could produce a grandchild to be held aloft and kissed before the cameras at political rallies and fundraisers. If push comes to shove, Daria, too, could someday be served that refreshingly cool glass of water and helped to her room by a handsome, intelligent (and hand-picked) campaign aide one night while her 'friend' gets sent out of town on 'important business'… A son would have understood that Helen brought him into this world, and he owed her a duty, but… no. No. Jake was the last Morgendorffer. This was regrettable, but when the time came, she would once again return to her Barksdale name and heritage (and money) - and Helen would begin her rise up the political ladder. A tour or two as the Gentlewoman from Texas and membership on a number of influential Committees, then a term as the junior Senator - or maybe follow the route of George W., as the Honorable Helen Barksdale, Governor of the State of Texas… two terms, no more…

And by then… with the money of the Clan Barksdale on one side and the power and prestige of that as-yet-unknown family on the other side… She nearly stopped breathing as she saw it, an image born crystalline in the splinter of her mind's eye:

And as the regal, triumphant strains of 'Hail To The Chief' rang throughout the Capital, the doors to the House Chamber would open as she, Helen Miranda Barksdale, the President of the United States of America, would walk down that aisle to the thunderous applause of all of her countrymen and deliver, to her people and the world, her first State of the Union address… She would be mother to them all, and through her words and actions, bring them stability and comfort in the security that she herself would never know.

Still, in these moments, alone and lonely as well, Helen wished - wistfully, as a child might - that she had a friend. Just one. A real friend, someone who she could actually talk to, who would be there for her, no matter what the argument was, or the pain, who would accept her like Theseus accepted Hercules. Someone who would understand just how afraid she was of the future that could be - and would be there no matter what she did to control it…

As she turned back to her desk, Helen glanced at the photograph of Daria on her desk. She had replaced the old one with this; it was of Daria and Jane Lane, taken during a barbecue the summer before. Helen picked up the framed image, and ran her fingertips over it…

In the photo, the two girls were posed like mock soldiers; Jane wearing an artist's beret as though she were a guerilla and holding a paintbrush, while Daria held her notebook in a grip that suggested that it were a machine gun. Both were wearing smirks on their attractive faces, and there was a warmth that emanated from the images and the photo; a feeling of companionship, of camaraderie… of simple friendship.

At that moment, Helen realized two things about her child. Looking at the photo of Daria and her friend - her true, best friend - she realized that she had never been more proud of her daughter in her entire life.

She also realized that she had also never been as envious…

*****

"Excuse me," Lauriel said, poking her head into Jake and Helen's bedroom, "but could you point the way to the restroom? I always like to find out where it is whenever I go to a new place."

"Down the hall and to the right," he said, looking up as he unrolled a pair of socks. "I'll have to remember that helpful hint."

"You're welcome," she said, stepping into the room. "You have a beautiful home, Jacob."

"Thank you," he replied, looking up to see Lauriel looking at a framed photo of Helen and himself. "We took that at a resort we went to about five years ago."

"I haven't been away on holiday in years, " Lauriel said, leaning against the doorframe. "Wherever I go, I just get chased around by morons and end up just staying in my room, ordering room service."

"You know, that can be fun," Jake told her. Spending a weekend laying around in a giant bed, having people bring you food or anything else you want whenever you call, while you just relax and stay comfortable & pampered."

"Sounds like a plan," Lauriel mused, looking Jake over - and blushing gently as Jake looked up and into her eyes! "I don't mean with you - I mean, not that I wouldn't want to spend a weekend in a hotel room with you - I mean, what you said, it sounds like a fun way to spend some time off -"

"First relax, then breathe," Jake said, smiling up at her. "It is a lot of fun. Helen and I spent our first weekend away from the girls like that, holed up in a tiny resort up in the Ozarks. We didn't set foot out of our room for four days!"

"I really need to think about doing that - but this time on purpose - Ow!"

Jake hopped up from his spot on the bed as Lauriel pulled her hand from the door, a miniscule, dark line just under the skin of her index finger! "Stupid splinter -!"

"Hold still," Jake said, bringing a pair of tweezers from the nightstand and inserting one edge just beneath the small, protruding piece of the splinter. "I should be able to get that out -"

The splinter slid out like a blade from its sheath, and Jake rubbed the reddish spot a bit. "You should get some hydrogen peroxide on that; have somebody pull a first-aid kit from the truck."

"Thank you, Jacob."

"Just a splinter - I didn't remove a piece of Kryptonite or something…"

The feel of their hands together caused the color in Lauriel's cheeks to grow even more pronounced - and Jake actually felt a slight stirring within himself as he breathed in her scent, feeling the warmth of Lauriel's body even though they were barely inches apart -

Several spurts of ice-cold water brought the twosome, sputtering and annoyed, back into the real world! "I've always wanted to actually hose down two people who were getting overheated," Wendy said, a squirt bottle in hand as she stood at the top of the stairs. "Hey, spanish oak, the supplier's on the phone - suddenly there's a problem with getting the eggplants and the fresh fruits here before four today!"

"I tried to talk to them," Horizon said, appearing next to Wendy on the stairwell, "but they started running through the list of words you can't say on television - outside of FOX and 'NYPD Blue'. I thought that one of you should talk to the bastard - because if I'm dealing with him again - I'll call home first and ask my dad to send me my VHS copy of 'Billy Jack."

"I'll talk to him," Jake said, turning and heading for the staircase - and pointedly ignored the blatant pair of stares that followed him down… then, turned back slowly to focus on Lauriel.

"I have to use the restroom."

Lauriel hurriedly escaped the stares that followed her to the bathroom door.

"So - are they playing around?"

"She's playing 'hold hands' with the man in his wife's bedroom," Wendy shot back. "It's strange, but…"

"But what?" Horizon all but demanded.

"I don't think they're playing around… because I don't think that its playtime between them," she analyzed. "What just happened was a bonehead play, and when you're stepping out the back door - you don't make those. Those two… I think that those two poor idiots are a hop, skip and jump from falling in love."

"Well, if the lady thinks she's getting a hold on Mr. Morgendorffer - I wish the sister luck," Horizon stated flatly. "I met the missus a couple of weeks ago, and that stressed-out witch is a war-queen on heels! If she EVER gets the idea that someone else actually wanted her husband, she'll go through him, the girl, and all the rest of us here like George W. through 'Leadership For Dummies!"

"It's a shame, though," Wendy said, shaking her head. "I like the guy."

"How much?"

"I actually like him - that's not code for 'get his shorts off and 'drive home happy!" Wendy barked. "He's a nice guy. I've talked to a lot of the other guys around town -"

"Talked?"

"Meaningful dialogue can be had before or after the act," Wendy smiled. "Anyway, it sounds like Lauriel's the best thing to happen to the boss since they moved here. His wife's never been supportive of anything he does - and his kids…" She shook her head. "The younger one's a Marla Maples Trump soon-to-be - most puddles are deeper than she is - and his older kid, well… she's supposed to be really smart, but from what I've heard about HER, you'll see her either on the 'Queer Nation' editorial page or 'America's Most Wanted.' They don't think anything of him other than a teller's booth, and they NEVER want to be around him. Little bitches."

"Sounds like he needs a smiling face in his life," Horizon nodded. "Shame it won't be her. Mr. Morgendorffer's been with his wife for all these years, and even if he wanted to get away from her… I really don't think he's got it in him to try. He'd see it as his last, biggest failure - and Mrs. M would go 'Brynn Hartman' before she let him through the door."

"You know a lot about him."

"Him - and my parents," Horizon admitted as she followed Wendy down the steps. "Kind of a similar problem at home. I've still got three younger brothers and sisters there, so Mom and Dad are toughing it out. No 'other woman or man' but still…" She sighed, and brushed a tear away angrily. "They grew so far apart. Six years from now, plus or minus a college semester - their marriage is history."

"That's a shame. You know, Lauriel would be good for him."

"She would - and their kids would be SO cute!"

The two women reached the bottom of the steps. "Say, why do you call him 'boss?"

"Inside joke," Wendy snapped playfully. "None of your business."

Inside the bathroom, Lauriel sat on the edge of the bathtub - and digested every word of the conversation that had never been meant for her ears…

Is that what's happening here? she asked herself, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. Am I falling for Jacob?

*****

Daria sat back in her chair, not slumped back, but somehow feeling as if she were a marionette whose strings had been suddenly severed. Was this how they all felt about her? Is that what they think - that I'm incapable or unwilling to care about anyone? That I'd rather be miserable - that I'd rather be dead than alive, and that just by being around others, I'd cause them to die? To hell with you, Sandi!

Mack rose to Daria's defense. "That's not fair, Sandi. Daria's not like that."

"Oh, that's right - Daria's a Girl Scout, out to help all man and beast!"

"You don't need to be so mean, Sandi," Brittany said, looking sadly at the way Daria had curled up upon herself.

"You're right, Brittany," Sandi said. "I'll just use facts. Name ONE time that Daria's reached out to anyone at this school! Tell us ONE time that she's actually tried to become a part of the community - the one here at Lawndale High, or the Lawndale community itself! As far as she's concerned, we're all idiots and fools in need of a VERY late-term abortion, and we're all wasting air, water and space simply by being here!"

Sandi stood up. "I know we've only been working on this seminar for just a couple of weeks or so, but it's made me think. It's really made me think - about the project, and about a lot of other things. Things like who I am - who I REALLY am, and do I really have anything to contribute? I mean, it made me think - five or ten years from now, will I have done anything that's really worth something? Will I be someone worth having around for more than having babies and spending someone else's money?"

Jodie actually drew back a bit. This wasn't the Sandi from before, the one who didn't have any strong beliefs beyond 'Primary colors during daylight hours? Not done."

This was a person who was beginning to… think, to - no, not her - actually reason… to actually have something worthwhile to say, and for others to pay attention to, and perhaps even act on…

No one noticed as darkness seemed to loom inside Jodie's large, chestnut eyes, or at the borders of the frown on her attractive face…

"As for the Project," Sandi continued, "I think that I've got some really good reasons to go into the shelter, but do you know what I figured out is the biggest reason why I want to go?"

The young woman took a step forward, placing her right hand on her hip and her left down on the table, unconsciously mimicking Kate Mulgrew's portrayal of Capt. Katherine Janeway as she spoke. "Because I want to LIVE. I may not get to go in, but I WANT to. I also figured that I want to do the best job I can putting this together, so that whether I go in or not, the people who do WILL live and they'll have what they need afterwards."

Sandi turned her head to give Daria a look that was a world beyond contempt. "I don't even know why I'm even wasting my time or theirs talking about or to you. You don't care about anything or anyone here - you wouldn't lose a moment's sleep if anyone or everyone else were wiped out, would you? To you, it really wouldn't matter if this were a class project, a video game or real life - even if all these people that you know were to get wiped out, would it? You don't care about people getting hurt or dying - I'm certain you didn't lose sleep over Tommy Sherman…"

"You have no right to say that about me."

"I have every right to say it," Sandi said in a controlled, even tone of voice, unaware - and at that moment, perhaps uncaring that everyone in the cafeteria was focused on her, and several people were looking at her with expressions of something close to respect. "You make fun of all of us. You think we're idiots, running around doing nothing of any real worth, just acting stupid and wasting time until we're dead while YOU cage yourself up in the dark in libraries and such, doing your living by reading constantly about the people who had the guts to do what you won't - which is go out and LIVE! "

Sandi walked to the other end of the table, hovering over a seated Daria like the Sword of Damocles. "You make fun of people like Kevin, and Brittany, and Charles. You make fun of things like the 'Lowdown', the Fashion Club and the football team, and people like Andrea - hell people like Mack and ME are afraid that someday, you'll notice them and start chopping away at them, hurting their feelings because you don't want to feel good yourself and don't want to know why! You treat us like idiots! Yes, we're not all as smart as you - and by the way, even though we ARE the idiots, we still outnumber you - and if we wanted, we could stampede over you."

Daria didn't even try to look up as Sandi leaned in to face her. "But do you know why we don't? Because we don't NOTICE you. You see - we're having fun. We're out doing things. We fight among ourselves, we do stupid things, we make others notice us, but above everything else… we're living. We're alive - and whether we're in pain, or happy or getting screwed by the system, we're gonna keep going - but YOU! You're a black hole for happiness - you're world-class buzzkill! It's kind of like what Billy Thomas said on 'Ally McBeal' - 'Life is wasted on you, Daria! Life is wasted on you because you'll never enjoy it!' You're worse than a 'misery chick' - you're Sally Field in 'Soapdish!' No matter how many chances you get for happiness, you'll just screw them up because you are the Queen - of - MISERY!"

Sandi straightened up, went back to her spot at the table, and finished off her diet soda.

"And as long as I'm in this class, I will be damned if I let you do it to anyone else."

A sound began to rise through the cafeteria as Sandi sat and became quiet; a sound that Daria didn't recognize at first because of its seeming absence from her personal experience, a sound that seemed to shake Sandi for the briefest of moments before she recognized it.

It was the sounds of students rising from their chairs.

It was the sounds of rising, vigorous applause, ringing off the walls of the cafeteria and building as it mingled fiercely and freely with youthful cheers of victory, of admiration, of respect.

It was the sound of a standing ovation.

It was the sound of hope for a better tomorrow: choosing faith before cynicism, choosing to reach out rather than turn inward, choosing to try and fail rather than observe and mock, choosing even simple, inane, momentary pleasures rather than stoic suffering without purpose, or reason, or foreseeable end.

Both Daria and Sandi, as their eyes met, knew what the sounds of the applause meant deep within themselves, and as such, why Daria turned away first…

It was the sound of Man: choosing Life, rather than simple Existence.

Around the table, the reactions were varied. Mack held his head in his hands and looked down, unwilling to watch the scene he knew was coming for two years. Brittany sniffled as she watched the events unfold, while Jodie sat and watched, chewing faster and faster on her horrid potato chips like a rabid raccoon, her facial expressions shifting slowly from the horrific into the range of the satanic. Jane sat directly across from her best friend, unable to look her in the eyes, while even Kevin sat silently, like a dog who knows that something is wrong but doesn't know what to do… Brittany looked up as he handed her a small box of tissues from her bunny-bookbag, and sniffled a smile at him.

And Andrea? A small, almost undetectable smile was there, obscured by the dark sheen of her obsidian-black lip-gloss. Whatever was the cause of the smile, she wasn't saying…

Daria sat, unmoving, as Sandi picked up her papers and stuffed them into her bag before turning to Jodie. "I need to talk a walk."

Jodie finally found her voice. "We - we really need to have these recommendations turned in today -"

"Just - just put someone in the shelter who wants to be there," Sandi said, suddenly looking very tired. "Put someone in who has hope."

Sandi shouldered her bag and started away, passing through the opening that seemed to just appear within the crowd surrounding the table. "I need to take Brittany outside," Kevin said, taking the cheerleaders' hand in his own. "There's sunlight outside…it's happy outside."

"That's the first smart thing you've ever said," Mack responded, gently taking Jodie's pen from her hand. "We need to be somewhere else now. We can turn that in tomorrow morning."

"You're right about that," Jodie said, and 'divine retribution' could now be aptly described as the look of primal anger now bolted down on the young woman's face. "You'll have to excuse me, Daria. There's a little bitch out there who's about to get fixed."

The crowd slowly melted away: moments later, only Jane remained in the cafeteria with Daria.

"Do you feel that way, Jane?"

A raised eyebrow, a flash of anger. "What?"

"Do you think that life is wasted on me - that I can't be happy and others won't be happy with me around?"

Jane reined in her anger and smoothed out her voice before speaking. "I can't answer that," she said, padding her voice with a joking tone. "I'm your friend."

"Do you feel that way?"

Jane exhaled. "Look, Sandi had no right to go off on you like that -"

"Do you believe it?"

The young woman before Daria held up her hands, flexed and balled them into fists, then put them flat on the table. "Daria, you're hurting right now, we don't need to go into this -"

"DO YOU BELIEVE IT?"

"YES!" Jane exploded, rocketing to her feet. "Damnit, Daria, do you know how hard it is sometimes to be your friend? Sometimes, you just make things hard that don't need to be! You're not stupid, or ugly, or untalented, or dull - but you don't want to live! You could do so much, Daria! God, I look at you and see how full your life could be if you only just tried to reach out to someone! It's wrong what you do to yourself, Daria! You don't have to live in the darkness - you don't have to be alone!"

"I thought you were my friend!"

"Screw you, Daria! Don't you dare go there on me! Don't you EVER think of going there on me!" Jane screamed, picking up a chair and throwing it across the room! "I'm there for you! I'm always there for you! I love you like a sister - I love you more than I do my own sisters, and I want you to be in my family! To me, you ARE family! I know how good you and Trent could be together if you tried - if you just reached out - but you refuse to reach out to anybody! You won't even reach out to me!"

"Where were you a few minutes ago?"

"Sitting down and waiting for you to look up and say, 'Jane, help me' - that's where I was! Where was I a few minutes ago? I was sitting five feet away from you, watching you drown and waiting for you to say, 'I can't do it on my own!' Where the hell was I? I was waiting for MY FRIEND to reach out and say, 'I NEED YOU!' That's where the hell I was!"

Jane visibly forced herself into calmness. "You know, I would love to, just once, have normal friend problems with you. I don't know - something like your borrowing my jacket and not giving it back, or my NOT wanting you to meddle with my brother, or us both liking the same guy and finding out that he likes me but should be with you, but still being jealous because I can't believe you'd choose a guy over our friendship! I know it's hard for you to understand, but every now and then - I'D LIKE TO ACT LIKE A NORMAL GIRL! - whatever the hell that is! As pathetic and crazy and as stupid as you probably think it sounds, I'd like to go out on a date with an average guy - Upchuck's cousins COULDN'T have been so bad that we had to blow them off the way we did - and guess what? I'd like for Trent to bring you along so we could double!"

Jane began to pace in an aimless, hopeless fashion, the look of a lost soul rising from within her and bubbling into existence on her face as she moved.

"Daria… I'd like to have a guy do some over-the-top, mushier-than-mush romantic thing in public for me. I'd like to actually go to a prom, and actually have my parents actually here to fuss all over me, make my date feel nervous and take pictures when I come down the stairs in my prom gown - even if it is that taffeta thing Li's been trying to pawn off on someone. I want to dance to bad pop music, and eat a chintzy meal at a hotel afterwards, and have to slap the daylights out of my date when he tries to cop a feel. Or maybe - we make out in the back of the limo he rents, because I'm going to the Prom in a limo -"

Jane laughed. Partly to herself. "God, how Quinn does THAT sound?"

She continued to pace. "It that so wrong? Is that really so wrong?"

Daria watched as she began to pace anew. "Why is it so wrong to have a few memories - a few silly, happy memories from when I was a silly, happy kid? Why is it so wrong to just ride the wave every once in a great while and just be happy?

The jet-haired young woman stopped and turned to Daria. "The sad thing is - being YOUR friend makes it wrong, especially because, in YOUR eyes, wanting that means that I'm weak! It means I'm guilty of wanting to live occasionally in the real world! It means that I'm guilty of being just an average girl with the occasional average dream… and even worse, liking it!"

Jane and Daria faced one another across the table. "And that's the worst thing of all. We're normal, and you're somehow better than we are. The problem with you is that you also THINK that you're better than all of us - so if you can't take care of a problem, then, hell - we're all screwed because none of us could possibly get the job done!" the dark-haired beauty screeched. "Oh, sure, we can hang for pizza or TV or a trip down to Dega Street, but when the shit gets to flying, 'Daria M's' gotta hit the switch that pops off the drop tanks that's her friends, because sure as God made little green apples, they're going to slow you down!"

"I have never treated you that way - '

"Yeah, right - and THEN you woke up!" Jane retaliated. "Me, Jodie, Mack, Trent, the Boys of Spiral - you've never treated us any other way! No matter how you put it all together, in peace or at war, we have to go to you, because you have never come to us! And the reason why is simple: because you have no respect for us - or anything about us."

"You can't say that," Daria told her, watching as Jane picked up her bookbag. "What's going on now is about you not standing up for me - you know it has nothing to do with respect -"

"Oh, that's where you're wrong, Daria, " Jane seethed, coming around the table to face her friend. "That's what I've been saying all along, about you not getting it. You see, if you weren't always so damned full of yourself - you would know that it's all about respect."

She looked directly into Daria's eyes. "But you don't understand that - so you can go screw yourself."

Jane angrily pushed past, and a moment later, Daria Morgendorffer was alone in the cafeteria. She turned in a slow, anxious circle; there was no one there to meet her gaze.

Daria stood alone in the cafeteria; she stood because she didn't know what else to do. She continued to stand for a long time, then the bespectacled brunette sat down in her chair and stared straight ahead. Her eyes became darkened ice; expression and emotion faded from her and gave her the face of a mummified queen, serene and yet horrific in the manner the permafrost her visage had become, held fast upon her dignified, righteous, furious pain…

*****

In his now-deserted and locked classroom, Dr. Armalin sat back and watched the image of a soul-dead Daria on the screen of his laptop computer. He took no joy at all at the sight of the young woman's pain, but he knew that it would not last forever. It would, however, last long enough…

But now - to work.

The Doctor tapped a number of keys in a quick succession, and then ran his finger along the laptop's touchplate, double-tapping it and then reaching for the attached microphone. He reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone, and after pressing a fifteen-digit sequence of numbers, attached the laptop's tiny microphone into a port on the back of his phone. "Go to active measures; activate communication protocol three-zero-cubed," he said, speaking into the phone. "Authenticator code is 'Vindication."

A new screen popped up on the laptop's screen. "Input authorization code by voice-recognition in five…four…three… two… one…" spoke a very-well synthesized voice.

"This is Major Kyleton Isaiah Armalin, DELPHI Special Assignment Officer. Initiating hyper-burst encode transception and bounce mode for data transfer," Kyle said into the receiver. Authorization code is Starhound, Starhound, five-one-seven-slash-Trinity-break-Psi-Upsilon-break. Transmit data."

The screen disappeared, to be replaced fifteen seconds later by the laptop's word-processing program; a file had brought it up upon reception. "Files received," the Doctor read to himself. "Proceed as authorized by Order 12-15372. Deviate only upon direct and confirmed orders of Control.' Hoo-yah."

He tapped in several commands, then shut the laptop off. "In the words of General Thomas Riley Edwards," the Doctor said, allowing a slow smile to cross his face as he closed the laptop's screen, "No more demolished man."

He leaned back in his chair. "Let the games begin."

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