"Yahoo!"
    The cry echoed down the hall in the middle of the night, accompanied by a rather loud, rythmic thumping.  Max rolled over on to his stomach and buried his head in his pillow.
    It was approximately three in the morning at the Sterlings' highrise apartment in New Macross City.  The night was clear, the full moon's light flooding into the room with a vengeance, only making it that much hader for the Veritech Ace to fall asleep.
    Why had he agreed to this, anyway?  Certainly, the Grants were entitled to their business up on the Factory Sattilite and Rolf Emerson to his bussiness in Monument, but why in God's name had Max-
    "Dana!  It's going to run into the wall!"
    "It is not, Bowie!  Stop being such a spoil sport!"
    Max had made certain the two five-year-olds were safely tucked in bed almost six hours ago.  What did he have to do, lock them into the room?  While Max remained with his head buried in the bedding, desperatly trying to get some sleep, Miriya stirred and poked him with her elbow.
    "It's your turn," Max moaned, "it's gotta be the Zentreadi in her."
    "Three quarters of those little trouble makers are Human," Miriya carped back, "it's your turn."
    "She's your kid at night."
    "It's the morning."
    Begrudgingly, Max disentangled himself from the blankets and sat up.  He stepped into his slippers, which for the past few nights had been awaiting his feet, and got up.
    Following the thumping, Max sauntered down the hall and toward the laundry room, mumbling about the early hour.  He whinced slightly when he heard the unmistakeable sound of metal rubbing against the wall.
    Obviously, the early hour was wreaking havoc on Max's reasoning skills, or else he would already have deduced what was happening.  However, he wasn't prepared for the sight that met him as he entered the laundry room.
    I knew I should have gotten the washing machine fixed, was the RDFer's first thought upon entering.
    Little Bowie was cowering in the smallest corner her could find and watching with horror as Dana rode the washing machine.
    Yes, rode.
    "Um, Dana..." Bowie warned.
    "We could sell tickets!" the young blonde bellowed over the thumping.
    "Dana Komillia Sterling!" Max roared.
    The machine chose that moment to turn, as it bumped across the cement floor of the laundry room, bringing little Dana face to face with her rather irate father.
    "Oops," she said.

THE END