Author’s Forward:

Well, it’s autumn again, and high time for another big adventure 
fanfiction story from me. This one is a bit of an Elseworlds story 
that has been tossed around in my head for almost a year now. 
Between meeting my Heart’s Desire and leaving active military 
service for the pleasures and pitfalls of civilian life, I haven’t had 
a great deal of time or energy for writing. (Helping to raise a three-
year-old may also be a significant factor here, but let’s not confuse 
the issue further.) I think the last meaty work I put out was “2001: 
Odyssey 1/2” -sometime in April. So when my Muse finally got 
off her duff and inspired me, I was hell-bent for leather to get to 
work.

This is a fantasy story set in a past that may have been. There 
are parts that are based in historical fact (as we know it), and 
there are parts which have been shaped solely for the purpose 
of advancing the story I wanted to tell. It’s a Ranma story, 
featuring the cast we know and love, but have a care not to take 
any character relationships or other canonical tidbits for granted.
I used and abused where I saw fit.

Above all, enjoy the story! I’m not getting paid for it, and while 
the C&C I get is always appreciated, I write for the pleasure 
of storytelling and the entertainment it gives to others.



     The western shore of the Yellow Sea, late summer, 1669 AD.

     It was mid-afternoon and the waterfront stank. It smelled of 
rotten fish, garbage, raw sewage, and other human detritus ripened 
by a searing sun, and cursed with no appreciable wind to blow it all 
away. The locals didn’t notice a thing, having lived with it all their 
lives. The crowds continued to mill and throng about the wharves 
jabbering their singsong cants of ways, wares, and whores oblivious 
to the cesspool they lived in.
     Ranma Saotome was not a local. He wasn’t even Chinese. 
Given the chance, he would be on the first junk, sampan, or bark 
that would take him across the sea to Japan. He didn’t know 
much about the world, but he knew he hated Shanghai.
     It was all his father’s fault. With luck his old man was being 
served up with rice and bamboo shoots even as he thought of him. 
He knew better, however. Bastards like Genma Saotome led 
charmed lives.
     He didn’t have much money for passage on a ship. He knew 
he could swim the distance, but there was Ucchan to think about. 
His adopted sister and companion was strong and tough, but he 
honestly didn’t think she was up to the challenge.
     Ukyo appeared, carrying a large bowl of rice, a pot of something 
that smelled like curry, and two skewers of meat, probably dog if 
Ranma had his guess. He had eaten worse. She smiled for him 
and he smiled back. 
     “Since this will be our last meal in China, I thought we’d 
celebrate,” she said brightly.
     “How much did you spend?” Ranma asked warily.
     “Not that much,” she shrugged. She felt the sudden weight 
of Ranma’s gaze upon her and started. “How much can passage to 
Japan cost?”
     Ranma began to get a sinking feeling. “That depends on 
whether you want to be a passenger or one of the crew...”
     Ukyo reddened.
     “I’m sorry...” She said lamely.
     He lowered his head. He couldn’t be mad at her. Not in any 
real sense. She had been his only constant friend for the last ten 
years. They’d grown up together as brother and sister.
     “Don’t be,” he said. “You didn’t know any better.” Inside, 
he felt like screaming. The entire trip to China had been an 
endless string of disasters. Hopefully they had left most of 
them behind in Qinghai Province. Some however weren’t *ever* 
going away. That thought alone got his blood boiling.
     “Oh please, Ran-chan, don’t get mad!”
     Ranma took a deep breath. Then another. Then a third.
     “I ain’t mad,” he said gruffly. “I said you didn’t know any 
better and I meant it.”
     “You’re mad at me,” Ukyo accused.
     “I’m not mad at *you,*” Ranma replied. “Just this whole damn 
training trip... I hope those Amazons did him in, ‘cause if I ever get 
my hands on him I’ll...” He left his oath at that.
     “Whatever he gets, he deserves,” Ukyo agreed.
     They ate in silence for awhile.
     “I just hope that crazy Amazon girl lost us.” Ranma said, and 
shuddered at the thought of Shampoo’s dogged pursuit of them 
across hundreds of miles of Chinese countryside. It sure as hell 
wasn’t *his* fault that she got clumsy and fell into one of those 
damn springs. Of course she held him responsible for it anyway, 
and added it to the list of reasons why she wanted him dead.
     “If I ever get my hands on her...” Ukyo growled. Shampoo 
had ruined her best spatula during the pursuit.
     “I’d settle for never seeing her again,” Ranma declared. He 
went back to eating the last of their savings.
     “We can earn some money,” Ukyo suggested at length. “I 
mean, how did your father get the money for us to come over 
here in the first place?”
     “Stole it in the night probably,” Ranma replied offhand. “Either 
that or he swindled it out of someone... Or sold one of us...” He 
shivered at the thought.
     As they ate, a large ship heaved into the harbor. It was a 
western ship, being much larger, rounder hulled, and with squarer 
sails compared to some of the junks they had seen. Tall men in 
dingy clothes manned the rails. A few cannon, of which Ranma 
had heard of but had never seen in action, sat lashed to the deck.
     “Who are they?” Ukyo asked.
     “I don’t know,” Ranma replied. Westerners all looked the 
same to him, even though he had only ever met one up close. He  
was some kind of priest. A ‘Jesuit’ or something. He was arrested
and executed by the local daimyo’s men when Ranma was only 
eight. All he could remember was that the man had pale skin, 
brown hair, and never bathed.
     “Maybe we could get passage with them?” Ukyo asked. “I 
hear those kinds of ships visit Nagasaki all the time to trade.”
     “It’s an idea,” Ranma replied, “but there’s something about 
that ship I don’t like.”
     Any further discussion on the subject was halted by the loud 
cry of a young woman several yards behind them.
     “Ranma! You die now!!!”
     Ranma almost sighed with resignation as he heard his assailant’s 
voice. How she had caught up with them so soon he had no idea. 
The girl was relentless!
     “Shampoo...” He growled.
     A large spear landed between himself and Ukyo. Clearly Shampoo 
wanted them to die facing her, else she wouldn’t have missed. He 
turned to see her, sword in hand, glaring hatefully at him.
     “How many times do I gotta tell you--” He began.
     “No talk!” Shampoo screamed at him. She spoke her broken 
Japanese because she was well aware of the fact that Ranma and 
Ukyo didn’t speak much Chinese. “You fight!”
     “--that it ain’t my fault?!” Ranma continued, ignoring Shampoo’s 
challenge. “You want revenge so bad, go find my dad!”
     “You one who defeat me in tournament!” Shampoo cried 
angrily. “You one who get me curse for body! I not know what 
father do, but Shampoo know you do this to me! Now Shampoo 
get revenge!”
     “You’ll have to come through me!” Ukyo cried back defiantly. 
She pulled a brace of small spatulas from her bandoleer. She wished 
she had her great-spatula to fight this crazy Amazon, but she would 
make do to protect Ranma.
     “Silly spatula girl only get in way, not defeat Shampoo!” The 
purple-haired Amazon girl retorted. Then she charged.
     Ukyo charged at Shampoo. What she planned to do about the 
Amazon’s sword was anybody’s guess. The crowds of merchants, 
beggars, fishermen, and coolies were clearing out of the way fast.
     Ranma didn’t want this, but with Ukyo attacking Shampoo 
he didn’t have much choice except to fight. Shy of killing her, 
which he also didn’t want to do, defeating her would only make her 
more angry, more desperate for revenge. It looked pretty hopeless 
for a peaceful solution unless they could incapacitate her long 
enough to get on a ship bound for Japan. Let her try finding him 
then!
     Ukyo attempted a lunge with her off-hand spatula to catch 
Shampoo’s sword and press it to the outside. Shampoo saw this 
coming a mile away and twisted her curved sword blade around 
the strike. She stepped inside Ukyo’s guard a moment later as the 
brown-haired girl tried to withdraw. All Shampoo would have to 
do was reverse her sword stroke, and Ukyo’s head would be cut 
from her neck in a flash.
     The next thing she knew, Ranma was in her face -with his shoulder 
blade pressed against the sword edge, preventing it from moving. She 
couldn’t hurt him with it either, as the edge wasn’t razor sharp, and 
counted on the weight of the blow to help with the cutting.
     Before she could lift her sword off his shoulder blade for a swing, 
Ranma thrust out with both of his hands, palm-striking her in the 
chest and neatly shoving her off her feet. She landed on her derriere 
with a gasp of pain and surprise.
     **She is so fast!** Shampoo thought in horror. Not even during 
her shameful defeat in the tournament had the outlander girl moved 
so swiftly. It appalled Shampoo to think that this girl was cursed with 
the body of a handsome young man; almost as much as it appalled 
Shampoo to become a cat upon occasion.
     Ranma wasted no time with the Amazon. He and Ukyo were 
already running away.
     “I kill you, stupid barbarian girl!” Shampoo taunted in desperation. 
She had to end this now, or risk disgrace in her tribe. Even Mousse 
would be thought higher of than herself after that!
     It almost worked. Ranma stopped long enough to cry, “I told you 
once, Shampoo! I-AM-*NOT*-A-GIRL!... I-AM-A-*GUY*!!!”
     Shampoo’s eyes widened in surprise. The first time she had 
heard Ranma make such a declaration, she believed it was a 
misunderstanding caused by the language barrier. To hear it a 
second time from Ranma meant that it wasn’t.
     **Not a girl?!... That means... No... Impossible!**
     Still, she didn’t *want* to believe it.
     As Ranma turned to rejoin Ukyo, he stepped into an old woman 
carrying a clay jar of water. He was soaked instantly. The old woman 
shrieked not only in surprise and anger, but also in terror as she 
watched Ranma transform into a buxom red-haired girl.
     The old woman wasn’t the only one shrieking. Ranma-chan 
seemed to be doing a fair amount of it herself. A brief shrill of terror 
escaped Shampoo’s lips as well when she saw the transformation.
     **She wasn’t a girl who fell in the Spring of Drowned Man...** 
Shampoo realized with a sick horror. **She was a man who fell in the 
Spring of Drowned *Girl*... Then that means that I was defeated by 
a man, not a woman...**
     A soft cry uttered from her mouth, the cry of a condemned 
woman hearing sentence passed upon her.
     **Oh no... This is worse than any nightmare...**
     Stunned into silence, Shampoo sat on the ground and watched the 
two escape down the waterfront. 



________________________________________________________________________
        J. Austin Wilde and Fission Park Press proudly present:



                    RULER OF THE RAGING MAIN
                           Part One:
                     The Price of Soft Flesh



J. Austin Wilde, K.B.C.S.
Super Critical Reactor Axe Man, Fission Park Press
wildeman@flash.net



                          Chapter One



     Ranma-chan caught up to Ukyo, and the two slipped around the 
corner of a mud-brick waterfront shop and stopped. The noise and 
banter picked up around them again as the excitement died away.
     “Is she gone?” Ukyo panted.
     “I think so,” Ranma-chan replied, not really sure herself.
     “Good.”
     “How does she manage to find us all the time?” Ranma-chan lamented.
     “I guess we aren’t too hard to notice,” Ukyo replied. “We’re both 
foreigners, and she’s Chinese. She probably just asks around and gets 
all the help she needs.”
     “The sooner we get to Japan the better,” Ranma-chan said glumly.
“There’s gotta be a way we can get on a ship.”     
     She sat down with her back against the wall of the shop and 
thought. Ukyo stood for awhile keeping watch for Shampoo, who 
would probably be searching for them. She wondered how good an 
idea it was to hang around the waterfront.
     Ranma-chan was watching the ship that now heaved its cargo 
onto the pier. Two tall westerners busied themselves haggling with 
one of the local merchants. There seemed to be a lot of good natured 
shouting going on, as if the men knew each other.
     Ukyo noticed what Ranma-chan was watching and decided to 
watch as well. 
     “Any idea what they’re saying?” She asked.
     Ranma-chan shook her head.
     “Nope. Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s Chinese.”
     This was obvious because of the way the men mashed so many 
consonants together to make sounds. It wasn’t anything like the 
sing-song rhythms of Chinese, nor did it have the syllabic elegance 
of Japanese. Of course this analysis was beyond anything Ranma-chan 
could have told Ukyo. She just knew it wasn’t Chinese.
      After some minutes of listening to this, with no sign of Shampoo 
to be found, they decided it was time to move on. Without money 
for passage to Japan, they would have to stay in Shanghai until they 
could come up with the money or find another way. In the meantime 
they would have to find a place to stay the night.
     As they were leaving however, Ranma-chan caught one word that 
garnered her immediate attention.
     Nagasaki.
     “Wait a moment,” Ranma-chan said with a touch of her hand on 
Ukyo’s shoulder.
     “What is it?”
     Ranma-chan gestured to the ship.
     “I think they’re going to Japan when they leave here.”
     “But I thought you said we didn’t have the money to pay for 
passage?”
     Ranma-chan smirked.
     “Who said anything about paying?” 
     Ukyo tried to smile in reply. Bad Things usually happened when 
Ranma got one of his bright ideas. In some respects he was almost as 
half-baked as his father when it came to schemes. Still, she loved the 
idiot with all her heart, and even if he was too dense to notice it, she 
wasn’t going to abandon him. Bad Things or not.



                        *       *       *



     Shampoo wandered aimlessly down the waterfront streets, at 
first oblivious to the stares she received from the locals. When 
their mutterings and muted laughs reached even her ears, she 
mustered up a bit of Amazon pride and carried herself haughtily. 
She stared coldly at the inferior men and women who surrounded 
her, her eyes gleaming a promise of bloody murder for any who 
dared cross her. 
     The murmuring stopped, and Shampoo was left alone to 
her thoughts once again.
     **I must find Ranma and kill him before anyone else learns 
the truth. Him and his silly companion, the spatula girl. Then 
I won’t have to marry him.**
     She shook her head as a tear welled up in the corner of one 
of her eyes.
     **But I must!** She thought bitterly. **If I do not marry him, 
then I spurn my own creed! I *must* marry a man who can defeat 
me in single combat. The very strength of the tribe depends on 
this simple commandment!**
     She lashed out at an empty barrel with her foot.
     **But I hate him so much!** She protested. **He made me 
look like a fool before the entire tribe. Even these filthy smelly 
fishmongers saw me shamefully defeated by him! I hate him! 
I wish he had killed me and ended this!**
     As Shampoo struggled with this irreconcilable conflict she passed 
a waterfront tavern. Drunken fishermen from the fleet sopped rice 
wine at her feet. One dared to paw at her and make lewd suggestions.
     It caught her by surprise. Instinctively, she lashed out with a 
spin kick that caught the drunk across the jaw and snapped his neck 
like a dry reed stalk. He spun around several times before sprawling 
on the warped wood of the pier frontage. He twitched slightly as he 
lay there, but Shampoo knew better than to waste time with him, 
she’d felt the bones in his neck give way as she followed through 
her flawless strike.
     The man’s friends stared in shock for a moment as they watched 
the man twitch and quiver at their feet. When they looked up to the 
author of the killing, Shampoo was in a fighting stance and waiting 
for them to try something stupid. She was quickly obliged. 
     The first one came at her with a clay pot of hot rice wine. Shampoo 
batted away his feeble charge with a deft flick of her left arm. The 
right arm she thrust out savagely in a forearm strike to the Adam’s 
Apple. The drunk flew over her shoulder, gagging helplessly against 
his crushed windpipe.
     Shampoo lashed out with her foot as she withdrew her deadly strike,
and caught another fellow under the ribs. It wasn’t a fatal blow like 
the first two, but it put the man down with hardly a grunt of exertion 
from her. The rest of the drunks held fast -just out of what they hoped 
was the extent of her reach.
     She glared at them defiantly. She had tasted blood and wanted more, 
but only if they dared challenge her again. That was the law of her 
people as well.
     They stood there, clutching rickety chairs and clay cups in defense, 
but they stood there. 
     Shampoo spat on the wooden pilings at their feet.
     “I shall waste no more time with you weaklings! Away from me 
before I forget myself a Warrior of the Joketsuzoku!”
     The drunks hesitated for a moment, unwilling to turn their backs 
on her, and aware that many people of the town were witness to 
their shameful defeat.
     Shampoo growled at them, stamping her foot as if she meant to 
charge. They broke and ran without a second thought. As the townsfolk 
laughed at their retreat, Shampoo whirled on them with a deft flick 
of the sword that had once lain tucked in her sash.
     “Do any more wish to feel the wrath of the Joketsuzoku this 
day!?” She cried angrily. “My sword is not yet blooded!”
     The townsfolk scattered. She was alone yet again. Or so she 
thought. From across the waterfront the fight had been witnessed 
with fascination. A fascination that melted quickly into an idea.



                        *       *       *



     There was a saying that the gods looked after children and fools. 
Genma Saotome was no child, but if it meant getting a lucky break 
every now and again, he didn’t mind playing the fool. His escape 
from the Amazons was truly a gift from those very gods.
     They had been marching back to Joketsuzoku with him as their 
prisoner. Tight ropes bound his arms to his sides, and his legs were 
roped at the ankles with just enough slack to manage a stumbling 
gait. A spear prodding his ample back provided the motivation to 
keep up the pace.
     Qinghai province was a mountainous region with weather that 
was unpredictable to the best of auguries. The sudden summer 
thunderstorm that blew down from the blunted peaks carried with 
it a drenching rain that transformed him into his formidable 
Jusenkyo body. A giant panda snapped the bonds that held it fast
like wet rice paper. 
     He wasn’t stupid enough to try and fight them, even if they 
were frozen in surprise long enough for him to get a few fatal 
blows in. Instead he did what he did best -he ran like hell.
     In the fury of the storm it was easy to get away. Genma 
knew all about evading pursuits. Once he slipped them for good, 
he knew his only hope lay in getting back to Shanghai. It 
was too bad for Ranma and Ukyo, but those were the breaks. 
With any luck they had evaded the Amazons as well, and were 
heading east themselves. Perhaps they could even meet in 
Shanghai -but he wasn’t holding his breath, and he certainly 
wouldn’t wait long for them. 
     It seemed like such a waste, though. Ranma was a good fighter; 
he had the makings of a samurai fit to regain the lost family status, 
and Genma did hate to lose his son. But he had to keep his priorities 
straight. He was still a fairly young man, and he could always 
father more children.

     Shanghai loomed before him. He could smell the town long 
before he caught sight of it over the low green hills of rice paddies.
The sight of the gaijin ship in the harbor swelled his heart. The 
white men didn’t take rice in trade, but their hearts were filled 
with a lust for silver and gold. Genma had a little of both of late, 
and soon he would return to Japan.



                          Chapter Two



     “Are you sure about this?” Ukyo asked Ranma in a hushed 
voice. The light of the ship spilled in little ruddy pools upon the 
dark waters of the harbor. The moon was a but a knife-edged 
crescent low in the sky.
     “Got any better ideas?” He returned.
     She huffed at her bangs. She hated it when he was full 
of himself. Which was often.
     “Okay. But what happens if we get caught?”
     Ranma hadn’t exactly thought that part through. It all depended 
on when they got caught, and where they were when it happened. 
**If,** he assured himself. **If.**
     “We won’t get caught,” he said at length.
     “Why does that not comfort me?” Ukyo sighed quietly.
     “Relax. It ain’t like this is one of pop’s stupid schemes.”
     **I don’t know about that...** Ukyo thought to herself.
     Ranma clambered across the mooring line that held the bow 
of the ship fast to the pier. It creaked as it took a strain from the 
ship. The tide was going out, and was trying to pull the ship with it. 
     Ukyo started as she heard the line go taut. Ranma, who was 
hanging upside down as he climbed, merely held still for a moment 
and waited for the strain to pass. A gaijin sailor roared laughter a few
dozen yards away at the waterfront tavern. He was joined moments 
later by the voices of others.
     The mooring lines took another strain. Ranma was in mid-climb, 
and the sudden shift of the heavy line caused him to lose his hold. 
He dropped backwards into the water with a splash, his feet still 
wrapped around the line.
     Ukyo’s heart skipped a beat as Ranma thrashed for a second 
under the water. Before she could cry out in fright, Ranma-chan 
pulled herself out of the water by sheer leg strength and clung like 
a wet rat to the mooring line.
     They waited in silence, Ukyo at the pier, and Ranma-chan on the 
line. The drunken revels at the tavern had concealed the noise 
-they hoped. No one seemed to investigate the sound of the 
splashing water. 
     Ranma-chan pulled herself up the rope and onto the ship. She 
poked her head up over the rail and gestured madly for Ukyo to 
follow. Ukyo let out a deep breath, and reached out for the line.
Ever so slowly, and fearful of falling into the water, she pulled 
herself up the line to the ship. Ranma-chan helped her over the rail, 
and together they huddled close beside a large coil of line.
     “See?” Spluttered Ranma-chan. “That was easy.”
     “Where do you plan on hiding, now?” Ukyo was quick to ask. 
“We can’t stay up here.”
     “I know that,” Ranma-chan replied. “We just sneak down 
into the hold and hide with the cargo. When we get close enough 
to Japan, we’ll jump over the side and swim for it.”
     Ukyo thought Ranma’s plan sounded too easy to actually 
work. “What if the ship doesn’t go to Japan?”
     “I heard them say they were going to Nagasaki,” Ranma-chan 
answered quietly.
     “You told me earlier that you just heard the word Nagasaki,” 
she countered. “For all we know they were already there.”
     Ranma-chan stuck her tongue out at Ukyo. “If you’re so 
worried, then why did you follow me?”
     Ukyo suppressed the urge to strangle him.
     “Well?” Ranma-chan pressed.
     “Just shut up,” Ukyo said quietly. “I believe you already. 
Let’s just find a place to hide while it’s still dark.”



                       *       *       *



     Shampoo wandered up and down the waterfront. Her inquiries 
concerning the whereabouts of Ranma and Ukyo were starting 
to take her in circles, and her already haggard patience was becoming 
even more threadbare. If she didn’t find them one way, she was 
prepared to take the entire town apart hovel by stinking hovel.
     She was lost in oh-so-satisfying plans for Shanghai’s urban 
renewal when two gaijin slipped out of one of the tent-front 
taverns that had sprung up next to the ship with the setting sun. 
She paid them no mind, confident that her word of her display of 
martial prowess had spread throughout the town. The fetid-smelling 
inhabitants of the town had certainly changed their tone when 
speaking with her.
     She had just collared the toothless pimp that had sent her on an 
hour long search for a place that didn’t exist when the blackjack 
came down on her head. She should have known better than to 
leave herself open, but the desire to wring the filthy little 
fleshmonger’s neck and then start on her rampage of the town 
was boiling in her blood. She slumped down with a whimper 
to the warped and salt stained wood.
     One of the gaijin flipped the pimp a small copper coin. The 
pimp made a clumsy catch and then scampered off. The two men 
threw a large burlap sack over Shampoo and hefted her away. 



                     Chapter Three



     The Ship’s Bell rang eight times. With it came the surly voice 
of the Bosun, who with a large willow switch, began to strike the 
bare feet of those sailors who were still too drunk to heave-to out 
of their hammocks when he came bellowing through the berthing 
area. They shrieked in pain only to catch another lash across their 
nether regions for their troubles.
     “<On your feet, you slackards!>” The Bosun bellowed. “<A
night of drinking and whoring, and you think you won’t pay for it 
in the morning?! Think again!>”
     He lashed out at another sailor still struggling with his trousers.
     “<Get on deck, you lout! I don’t care if your pecker swings in 
the breeze when you get there!>”
     Hopping clumsily while half out of his trousers, the sailor cursed 
his way out of the door and onto the deck. A crowd of bleary-eyed 
crew milled about cursing, spitting, and occasionally puking over the 
side as their excesses caught up with them. The sun was way too 
bright for this early in the morning.
     “<Get in ranks!>” The Bosun yelled.
     The crew shambled to comply. The Bosun whipped a few 
sluggards for effect. In moments they were assembled in three 
wobbly lines of fifteen.  
     The Bosun gave them a hard-eyed stare as a door opened aft. 
He put a whistle to his lips and blew a high pitched shrill, which 
had a few in the back ranks daring winces. They came to attention 
with a slow shuffle of feet.
     A bear of man stepped out of the door. His clothes suggested 
a uniform somewhere in their distant past, otherwise he was as 
ragged as the rest of the crew. Behind him stepped a tall and 
gangly man with hard dark eyes and a weathered green cloak 
over his shoulders.
     “<The crew is assembled, Captain Cristobal!>” The Bosun 
bellowed.
     “<Very well,>” Cristobal grumbled. He seemed a little 
hung-over himself, though the Bosun knew for a fact that he had 
never stepped ashore. He never did these days.
     “<What’s the count?>” The tall one, who was known as 
Delgado, asked.
     “<Just getting to that, sir,>” the Bosun harrumphed. Those 
slugs in berthing were going to pay for making him late for the 
count...
     The count went slowly, with a few lashes from the Bosun 
to jog men’s memories. Even then it came up one short. They 
counted again. One short.
     “<We’ll have to do this by names, sir,>” the Bosun said 
apologetically to the Captain.
     Cristobal belched and nodded absently.
     “<Be quick about it,>” Delgado added sharply.
     “<Aye,>” the Bosun grumbled, his dislike of the Mate barely 
in check.
     After another series of roll calls, it was at last established that 
a young recruit named Peraval was missing. Cristobal nodded and 
went aft to his cabin again. Delgado clicked his tongue brusquely.
     “<If he shows up before we weigh anchor, see to it that he gets 
twenty lashes and ten days of bread and water,>” he ordered.
     The Bosun nodded in acknowledgment. “<And if he doesn’t?>”
     “<List him as missing. If he shows his face the next time we’re in 
Shanghai, we’ll hang him for desertion.>”
     The Bosun aye-aye’d, and Delgado went below.


     “What was all that shouting about?” Ukyo asked quietly.
     “Don’t ask me,” Ranma-chan replied. “Maybe they’re getting 
ready to leave. The sooner the better.”
     “How long do you think it will take us to get to Japan?”
     “A week, I think. It’s been so long since we first got here, I 
don’t remember much.”
     The two ducked down quietly into the hold again. There were 
plenty of silk bales to hide in, so at least it would be a comfortable 
trip. As long as the rats didn’t put up much of a fight.
     They were just above the waterline, which was good. The lower 
hold, they had discovered, was leaking a bit between the wooden planks 
of the hull, and the bilge was filled with brackish seawater. It did not 
help matters that several drunks had decided to relieve themselves in 
it the previous night.



                       *       *       *



     The Bosun’s whistle shrilled again. The thumping of bare feet on 
the decks was followed by the creak of capstans, pulleys, and the 
anchor windlass. Men grunted in exertion as the Chanter called the 
rhythm of the work with a song. Mooring lines were heaved in, and 
the sails were unfurled with heavy sighs of weathered canvas.
     The ship heaved over roughly to starboard, its timbers creaking 
with the sudden strain of a full hold. Water sloshed in the bilges, 
bringing up a reek that Ranma and Ukyo found to be breathtakingly 
foul. Slowly the ship hauled out to sea.
     “I was worried about food,” Ukyo whispered. “Now I don’t 
think I can eat anything without getting sick from the smell.”
     Ranma-chan nodded with a pinched nose. “Maybe we’ll get lucky 
and catch a bit of a breeze when we go to steal food tonight.”



                        *       *       *



     Ranma-chan crept quietly out of the ‘midships hold with Ukyo 
right behind her. It was night once again on the ship, and with 
nothing to do, most of the crew were asleep in their hammocks. 
A drowsy lookout on the foc’sle and one at the helm were all that 
were even half awake.
     They made their way across the sea-slicked deck to the ladder 
that led down into the storerooms. Ranma-chan had scouted the way the 
night previous, and felt certain she could find the larder again. She 
had spent many a day in search of a stolen meal with her father, that 
was certain.
     They crept down the ladder, which creaked for no other reason 
than to spite them. No one came to investigate. Ranma-chan reached 
out and slipped the hook off the ring that held the door fast. She 
slipped into the dimly lit compartment only to stop dead in her tracks.
     Ukyo bumped into Ranma-chan as she stopped, causing her to 
freeze up as well. 
     “What is it?” She hissed.
     “You bastard,” Ranma-chan spat out. “How did *you* get here...?”
     Genma Saotome looked up from a barrel of hardtack biscuits, a 
large hunk of salted pork in his fat hand. A look of surprise, and quite 
possibly guilt, was plastered across his face. He recovered quickly and 
gave them a warm smile.
     “My son! My dear daughter Ukyo!” He whispered cheerfully. “I 
thought the Amazons took you!”
     “Don’t give us any of that shit, old man!” Ranma-chan spat back 
at her father. “You left us for the Amazons to kill while you made your 
escape.”
     Genma gestured frantically for them to come inside the compartment.
     “Keep your voice down, boy!” He hissed. “Do you want everyone 
on this ship to hear you?”
     “I just want to know how you live with yourself for the all things 
you’ve done to others in your life,” Ranma-chan growled.
     Genma was used to Ranma’s insolent outbursts, but there was 
something particularly venomous in his son’s words. Something that 
frightened him. 
     “I was so worried about you two,” he began. Ranma-chan’s 
fingers cracked as she flexed them into a fist.
     “I looked everywhere for you,” Genma added, hoping that it 
would do something to help. It didn’t. Ranma-chan advanced 
slowly on her father.
     “Ran-chan, you idiot!” Ukyo hissed. “You’ll get us all thrown 
overboard!”
     “To kill him, it might be worth it,” Ranma-chan growled.
     Ukyo grabbed him by the arm. “You’re being just as stupid 
and selfish as he is,” she told him sternly. “He hasn’t been the 
best father to us, but at least hear him out.”
     “Listen to your dear adopted sister, Ranma.” Genma added 
from the relative safety to be found cowering behind the barrel. 
“Just let me explain my side of the story.”
     Ranma-chan sizzled, her female features doing nothing to 
dampen the patricidal expression that burned in her eyes. 
     “Let’s hear it.”
     Genma wasted no time with the usual theatrics he would have 
employed under more civil circumstances.
     “After the purple-haired Amazon chased us out of the village, I 
lost my footing in the bamboo copse just south of the Cursed Springs.
When I got back to my feet, I saw her fall into one of the pools while 
she was chasing you. I was about to catch up when the rest of her 
tribe came running up from behind in pursuit.”
     He dared an apologetic look.
     “I *had* to hide, they would have seen me and killed me in 
an instant otherwise.”
     Ranma’s hate filled look softened slightly.
     “So you see,” Genma continued, “it’s not my fault that I 
couldn’t find you later. I really did try. After that I figured the best 
thing for me to do was go back to where we started our journeys 
in China, and returned to Shanghai.”
     “So you were going to leave us when the ship left?” Ukyo asked 
sternly.
     Genma blanched. “The ship was leaving. What was I going to do?
I bought passage on the ship and hoped that somehow you would 
find your way back to Japan on your own. I’ll admit, I had nothing 
but confidence in the two of you -after all, I trained you!”
     “Is that what you want us to take this nightmare as?” Ranma-chan
snarled. “A training exercise?”
     “If it helps...” Genma said hopefully.
     Ranma-chan looked to Ukyo.
     “I’m killing him; want to help me?”
     “You can’t kill your own father!” Genma protested before Ukyo 
could reply.
     “It’s been done before, old man!” Ranma-chan threw back.
     Genma stepped back as Ranma-chan tensed to spring. The 
red-haired girl leaped over the barrel of hardtack. Genma brought 
up his arms to block the blow. He was knocked back a pace to slam 
against the bulkhead.
     Ranma-chan pressed the attack. Her fists flew from her sides, 
and Genma blocked with all his ability. Ukyo hissed at them in as 
loud a voice as she dared to get them to stop. She was ignored.
     “This is for all the times you made our lives miserable!” Ranma-
chan raged as one of her blows landed on Genma’s face. He reeled 
with the blow and slumped over. Not satisfied, Ranma-chan cocked 
back her fist for the killing blow.
     Genma lashed out with a foot sweep that caught Ranma-chan 
off guard. As the girl toppled to the deck, he bolted past Ukyo, 
spilling the barrel of hardtack in the process. Ukyo let him pass, her 
first concern was Ranma, who had landed rather hard on her back.
     “Are you okay?” She asked.
     “Fine!” Ranma-chan spat. “Where’d he run off to?”
     Ukyo didn’t have the chance to answer before the Bosun 
appeared with a brace of musket pistols in hand. Two sailors with 
drawn cutlasses and pistols were close behind. The Bosun swatted 
Ukyo aside and thrust both barrels into Ranma-chan’s face.
     “<Stowaways!>” He bellowed. “<Wake the Captain,>” he 
ordered one of the men. The other now held Ukyo at sword point.



                     *       *       *



     “<The Captain is indisposed,>” Delgado said evenly to the 
Bosun. “<I shall deal with these two.>”
     He looked closely at the two young women. Despite their ragged 
and oft-patched clothes, both were quite pleasing to the eye. They 
had lovely curves to their hips and bosom; the red haired one in 
particular was quite voluptuous. Both had the stern and fierce eyes 
of tigers; the dark haired one a lambent green, and the red haired 
one an icy grey-blue.
     “<Are they virgins?>” He asked.
     “<I wouldn’t know, sir,>” the Bosun replied. “<In any case, 
no one has touched them beyond what was necessary to bind them. 
I can vouch for that.>”
     “<Very well. Let us for the moment assume they are.>”
     **Better than I hoped for,** he thought pleasingly. His face 
betrayed none of his inner satisfaction, and continued to exude 
a dour bitterness for the sake of the two prisoners. **DeGuzman 
will reward me handsomely for even one of these.**
     “<Have you a sign of our passenger?>” He asked the Bosun.
     “<Nay, sir. Not a trace. He must have fallen overboard in 
the night. Perhaps in the struggle with these two that we overheard 
before apprehending them.>”
     “<Perhaps,>” Delgado nodded. He paused. It seemed the 
Bosun had other news for him. Unpleasant news. “<Well, man, 
spit it out!>”
     “<It seems, sir, that one of the crew smuggled a large black 
and white bear aboard ship the night before we left port. One of 
the men found it in the lower hold while we searched for our 
passenger. We’ve got it held fast with ropes. We’re keeping it 
there until we can get the guilty party to own up to it.>”
     Delgado shook his head slowly. **This ship nearly founders 
with a lack of discipline amongst the crew! Would that I had a free 
hand in matters...** 
     When he did speak, it was in an icy voice, leaden with contempt.
     “<Whoever brought it aboard may consider it forfeited to the 
interests of the ship. Unless a confession comes forth, waste no time 
searching for one. For all we know it was that stupid deserter Peraval 
that brought it aboard. Just see to it that the beast is well chained. 
Perhaps we can make a quick sale of it. If not, well, I’m certain a 
little fresh meat at some point in the voyage could never do any 
harm.>”
     “<Aye-aye, sir!>” The Bosun saluted, happy at the prospect 
of a good steak a month hence.
     Delgado gestured to Ranma-chan and Ukyo, who sat sullenly 
bound and under guard.
     “<Put these two with the other girl,>” he ordered. “<DeGuzman 
prefers his women unsullied. With this in mind, if one of the men 
even touches them outside the dispatch of his duty I’ll see him flogged 
to within an inch of his life and then hanged to finish it, Cristobal’s 
say be damned.>”
     Though the Bosun had no love for the Mate, he knew the man
fortune smiled upon. Cristobal had the lung sickness, and was 
worsening with every week. It would not be long before Delgado
would assume the captaincy upon Cristobal’s inevitable death.
     “<At once, sir!>”
     The Bosun and two of the men led Ranma-chan and Ukyo in 
silence to a storeroom located farthest aft. The Bosun unlocked the 
door to reveal a small compartment with a single porthole and no 
furnishings. Shampoo sat chained to the inner bulkhead stanchion.
     The Amazon’s eyes flicked up to regard whoever it was who 
had disturbed her. When they fell upon Ranma-chan and Ukyo, 
they began to burn with a fierce loathing. She strained at her chains
to no appreciable effect.
     The Bosun was a good judge of character. Immediately 
recognizing the hostility Shampoo presented to the other women, 
he decided to secure Ranma-chan and Ukyo to the outer bulkhead 
stanchion, which was just out of Shampoo’s manacled reach.
     After personally inspecting their bonds, the Bosun left instructions 
with the men, and the three left the women alone in the storeroom.
     As soon as the door was shut and locked, Shampoo growled 
menacingly at Ranma-chan and Ukyo. Ranma-chan ignored her, with 
Ukyo following the pig-tailed girl’s lead. Shampoo snorted in contempt
for them.
     “When Shampoo get free from bonds, she kill you,” she told them.
     “Yeah yeah,” Ranma-chan replied, nonplused. “Tell us another 
one.”
     “Shampoo no tell joke. Shampoo state fact.”
     “Uh-huh,” Ranma-chan muttered as she inspected her manacles. 
Ukyo stewed next to her. 
     “Are you happy now, Ran-chan?” She said at last. “We’re prisoners 
instead of passengers.”
     “We’ve been in worse spots,” Ranma-chan replied softly.
     “Name one,” Ukyo challenged him. Ranma-chan was silent.
     Shampoo grinned at them. “Shampoo say it gift from gods. Now 
Shampoo no have to chase all over China.”
     Ranma-chan rolled her eyes disparagingly at Shampoo. “Yeah, 
and you’re no closer to killing us now than if we were a hundred 
leagues away.”
     Shampoo growled in reply, and then chose to ignore them with 
great theatrics.
     “That’s what I thought,” Ranma-chan said finally. She looked 
down at her iron manacles with a sigh. She could not free herself 
from them.
     “Now what are we going to do?” Ukyo asked.
     “We wait for a chance to escape. One’s bound to come along. 
In the meantime we just act like we’re defeated, and hope they 
get careless. I’m sure this boat’s going back to Japan. We still 
have a chance...”
     “If you say so,” Ukyo replied sullenly.
     They passed several long moments in silence. At last Ranma-chan 
turned to regard Shampoo, who was rubbing the back of her head 
until she realized that she was being watched. She quickly changed 
the motion of her hand to an idle scratching and pretended that nothing 
was wrong.
     “Get a little bump on the head?” Ranma-chan asked.
     Shampoo gave him a sharp look. 
     “Shampoo not know what stupid barbarian talking about.”
     “I see,” Ranma-chan replied with a grin. “No-one could 
*possibly* have caught you unawares and knocked you out. You 
must have come with them willingly.”
     Shampoo growled under her breath.
     “Shampoo not guest here! Even stupid interfering barbarian 
see that.”
     “So you *did* get a nasty bump on the head,” Ranma-chan 
said with a snicker.
     Shampoo wrenched at her chains with all her might. It was 
enough effort to make the stout wooden stanchion creak a bit, but 
she was held fast. 
     “Shampoo hate you more than words describe...” she said coldly.
     With that, the tiny room became silent save for the the creak 
of the timbers and the roar and spume of the sea. 



                         Chapter Four



     Delgado looked again through the spyglass. The same black 
banner fluttered in the breeze from the top of the daimyo’s castle 
that overlooked Nagasaki. He grunted in disgust.
     “<Those little monkeys are at it again,>” he said gruffly.
“<They’ve barred the seaport from us.>”
     Cristobal coughed harshly once.
     “<They’re doing it to drive up the price of silk,>” he replied. 
“<If they can keep us out of the city for a week or so, they’ll 
double their profits.>”
     “<What of our perishables, then?>” Delgado asked. “<They’ll 
be rotted away in another week.>”
     Cristobal thought this over. 
     “<Set a northerly course up the coast,>” he said at length. 
“<Perhaps we can find a buyer elsewhere, and if not, it will kill 
time until Nagasaki decides to open its doors again.>”
     The Mate smiled at this.
     “<Perhaps we can find something else to please deGuzman 
while we’re at it.>”
     Cristobal grunted. “<Three isn’t enough?>”
     “<Think of the profits, Captain. If deGuzman doesn’t find 
them to his liking, there are others who will. The princes of Italy 
and of Turkey always have an eye for fine oriental treasures.>”
     “<Very well,>” Cristobal sighed, though he never once entertained 
any notions of sailing to the Mediterranean to sell off slave girls. 
“<Use discretion if you must go, I don’t want this ship turned 
into a slaver’s brig.>”
     Delgado nodded, “Of course, Captain.>”
     Cristobal went below. Delgado saw him eyeing the large 
golden ring he wore on his finger as if it were a heavy burden. 
Delgado’s eyes narrowed as the odd crystalline stone flashed 
the colors of a heavy sea before a storm.



                   *       *       *



     The Lady Akane of the House of Tendo ignored the 
plaintive cries of the samurai Tatewaki Kuno as she dashed 
from the trees and down onto the coarse grey sand of the beach. 
The waves crashed hard and cold on the rocks, scattering 
salty spray across the warm afternoon air. Kuno could 
be heard thrashing through the trees behind her.
     “Though my Lady flies like the deer of the forest, she 
secretly hopes that her stalwart Gamekeeper will prevail!” Kuno 
cried gleefully as he cleared the trees. His yukata fluttered in the 
wind behind him. “Fear not, my shy doe -that I shall!”
     “Will you stop with that nonsense!” Akane cried over 
her shoulder. “Just because the old women of the household 
gossip about something doesn’t make it true!”
     Kuno picked up speed as his bare feet reached open and 
level ground.
     “The Blue Thunder need not heed the wagging tongues 
of crones, for he has received such news in a dream from 
Heaven!” He replied with a happy cry. He was almost upon 
her now.
     As he closed to glomping range, Akane stopped dead in her 
tracks and leveled her fist at him. He ran straight into her clenched 
fist and staggered backwards to land in the moist sand.
     “Thy coy rejoinder wounds me...” he said with a pinched 
voice.
     Akane shook her head sadly as she regarded the samurai at 
her feet.
     “Oh Kuno, it’s not that I don’t like you,” she began softly.
 “It’s just that until such an engagement is made official, I am 
free to do and see whom I please.”
     Kuno regained a bit of dignity by sitting up and settling on his 
knees in a stately posture.
     “Though thy unchained spirit inspires such rapture in my 
noble breast, these are not the behaviors of a daughter of the 
Lord,” he said solemnly.
     “I couldn’t care less about learning to play the koto, and all 
of the other stupid things ‘ladies’ are expected to endure,” Akane 
shot back. “I wish to learn the ways of the sword and study 
Confucianism like a samurai.”
     She leaned in close to him.
     “Females *can* become samurai, as you are well aware...” 
She added with a dead level look in his eyes.
     Kuno’s face became one of exquisite rapture.
     “Oh my gorgeous lotus blossom from Heaven! Though thy 
impassioned words do inflame me as do none other, know that in 
all truth thou truly must join with me! For is not dazzling beauty 
a flash of quicksilver Lightning followed by the sonorous roar 
of Thunder?”
     Akane dipped her head in frustration.
     “Kuno, you didn’t hear a word I said.”
     The samurai reached up to take Akane’s arm at the wrist. 
As he began to pull her down to him for a passionate and 
completely unwelcome kiss, Akane bashed him soundly on 
the top of his head. Even a girl who could shatter stout wooden 
planks had to wince at how dense and hard Tatewaki’s skull was.
     Nevertheless, the blow was enough to stun the samurai 
and allow Akane to escape.
     When Kuno regained what little sense he possessed, he saw 
his beloved Akane several dozen yards down the beach. She 
seemed to be struggling in the grasp of two large shaggy foreigners. 
Two more tried to grab at her wildly kicking feet. A fifth gaijin 
stood in a beached whaleboat with a musket pistol lowered in 
his hand.
     “AKANE!!!” Kuno bellowed. “Unhand her, you fiends!” 
     He dashed at them with glittering sword pointed high, his 
wrists locked at the level of his chest.
     “Kuno!” Akane cried desperately as the savages clawed at her 
flailing limbs.
     “Prepare thyselves, for the righteous fury of the great Tatewaki 
Kuno -known throughout Japan as the Blue Thunder- is meted out this 
day!!!” he cried at the top of his lungs.
     Delgado calmly leveled his pistol at Tatewaki Kuno and fired.
     The musket ball smacked into the samurai’s forehead with an 
audible *crack,* dropping him flat on his back with a splatter of 
blood. Akane screamed in horror, then slackened in the grasp of the 
men who struggled against her.



     Nabiki and Kasumi Tendo came swiftly to the beach, accompanied by 
several other household samurai. They were alarmed by the sounds of 
Akane’s screams, which were stopped short by the distinctive sound of 
a musket discharge. They found Tatewaki Kuno lying spread-eagled on the 
sand, still clutching his sword -which continued to stand straight up in 
his grasp.
     Nabiki knelt over the samurai. She wiped at the blood that stained 
his forehead and then bent low over his chest to listen for a heartbeat.
     “He lives,” she said to the others. She found a squashed musket 
ball lying in the bloody sand by his side and picked it up to study.
     “One would think that the great Tatewaki Kuno’s reputation for 
musket balls bouncing off his thick head would have his foes aiming 
lower,” she declared, still eyeing the crushed lead ball.
     “Where is Lady Akane?” one of the samurai asked with great concern.
     “Oh dear,” Kasumi remarked almost casually. “It appears she is on 
that little boat with those men.”
     All eyes turned to the distant whaleboat rounding the last of the 
swells before reaching deep water. A caravel lay at anchor some distance 
beyond, sails lowered against their spars. Akane’s brightly colored 
kimono could be seen clearly against the deep blue color of the sea.



                         Chapter Five



     Ranma stirred from a restless sleep at the sound of the door 
being unlatched. Ukyo continued to sleep peacefully in her lap. 
Shampoo watched the door warily from the other side of the little 
compartment.
     “Feeding time?” Ranma asked no-one in particular. She 
was famished.
     “Shampoo not know,” Shampoo replied quietly.
     “Who asked you?”
     Shampoo glared at Ranma.
     The door opened, stifling any further conflict between the two. 
A girl in a tattered kimono was brought in and chained to the same 
stanchion as Shampoo. Tears stained her face, though she looked 
at the sailors who chained her with hard eyes.
     Ranma could tell by the kimono that the girl was of great social 
standing. That fact alone made her indifferent to the girl’s plight. 
     The girl lashed a foot at one of the sailors careless enough to 
turn his back to her. Her strike sent the man sprawling against the 
bulkhead to a chorus of laughter from the other sailors. He spun 
around, ready to give the girl a good thrashing -and then probably 
something else to remember him by. The meaty paw of the 
Bosun suddenly clutched at his shoulder with a grip that held 
him fast.
     “<Touch her and you’ll swing in the sun, laddie-buck,>” He 
said evenly.
     The sailor cursed once to himself and turned away. Ranma 
found herself giving the girl a grudging respect. 
     **She’s got guts,** she thought.
     Ukyo had since awoken from the clamor, and she regarded the girl.
     “Who’s the kimono?” she asked Ranma. Akane managed an 
indignant huff at this.
     “Beats me,” Ranma answered. “Just another prisoner, I 
suppose.”
     Ukyo’s brow furrowed slightly in concern.
     “I don’t like this, Ran-chan. It’s like they’re collecting 
women or something.”
     “You mean for slaves?” Ranma replied.
     “I think so,” Ukyo replied gravely.
     “I am *not* going to be someone’s slave!” Akane said suddenly.
     “I don’t think there’s much you can do about it,” Ranma riposted.
     Akane cast a hateful glare at him. “Who are you to talk?” She asked 
haughtily. “A tattered whore like you should be glad to be thought of 
so highly as to be sold as a slave. It’s more than you deserve.”
     This had Ranma’s hackles up. Fighting against the heavy chains to 
stand up, she pointed an accusing finger at Akane.
     “I am Ranma Saotome of the Saotome School of Anything Goes 
Martial Arts!” she cried.
     “Sounds like a style learned in a brothel,” Akane said dryly.
     Shampoo began laughing hysterically at this.
     Too furious for words, Ranma settled back down to the deck.
     Ukyo rolled her eyes. “Am I the only one who understands 
that we’re all in the same situation here?” she asked them. “Don’t 
you think we’d be better off working together instead of insulting 
each other?” 
     She cast a dark look to Ranma first.
     “Yeah...” Ranma replied sullenly.
     Ukyo looked to Shampoo. “Truce?”
     Shampoo stopped giggling and glared at Ukyo.
     “Shampoo sworn to kill Ranma,” she declared.
     “Do you think you’ll ever get the chance the way things are now?”
Ukyo asked firmly.
     Shampoo thought about this for a moment.
     “Shampoo will help spatula girl and other one, but she no help 
Ranma,” she said at length.
     Ukyo decided not to press the issue. Instead she turned to Akane.
     “What about you?”
     Akane stiffened. “I don’t require assistance from the likes of a 
whore and her companions.”
     Ukyo clenched her fists tight. “Then I hope you rot here!”
     Akane turned away.
     “Nice try, Ucchan,” Ranma said quietly.
     Ukyo sighed sadly and settled against Ranma’s shoulder.



                     *       *       *



     Captain Cristobal looked across the vast expanse of sea that 
surrounded his caravel. His lungs were heavy and his cough 
watery and weak. He knew the end of his days was drawing 
close. A month, maybe two, at best.
     The ring on his finger glowed with the reflected rays of 
the afternoon sun. The odd crystalline stone shimmered a deep 
blue that mirrored the color of the gently rolling sea. As beautiful 
as it was, how he wished he could be rid of the thing!
     Delgado strolled on deck, reproaching the helmsman for a 
sloppy appearance before standing behind Cristobal.
     “<How are we feeling this day, Captain?>” he asked 
cordially.
     “<I am not dead yet, Mister Delgado,>” Cristobal replied 
evenly. His words lost effect when he began a vigorous coughing 
fit.
     “<We shall reach Tai-pei in three days,>” Delgado said, 
waiting until Cristobal had stopped his coughing.
     “<I will be happier when we are through the Straits of 
Malacca,>” Cristobal remarked. “<The Dutch become more bold
with every passing day.>”
     Delgado nodded with a bitter grunt. A mutual hatred of the 
Dutch was nearly the only thing the two men had in common. 
     “<How fares our cargo?>” Cristobal thought to add.
     “<As well as can be expected,>” Delgado replied offhandedly. 
“<They shall likely survive the voyage to Panama.>”
     Cristobal slapped the rail with his hand. “<Not chained in that 
little closet you have them in, they won’t. Have Velacruz bring them 
up on deck.>”
     Delgado raised an eyebrow in disbelief. 
     “<Whatever for, Captain?>”
     “<To illustrate a point,>” Cristobal said with a hacking cough. 
“<Quickly now, Mister Delgado.>”
     Unsure of the captain’s intent, Delgado barked orders for the 
Bosun to fetch the four slave girls.



                       *       *       *



     Ranma, Ukyo, Shampoo, and Akane were brought up on deck.
Their hands and ankles were chained, and their chains were linked to 
each other by another length. The Bosun saluted as he presented the 
girls to the Captain. The remainder of the crew stood about on deck 
and gawked.
     Delgado watched them warily. He knew what the Chinese girl was 
capable of at the very least, and the finely dressed one had put up a 
considerable fight. The other two remained enigmas, but Delgado had 
the feeling they were no less dangerous if taken for granted. He almost 
felt sorry for Don Juan Perez deGuzman, even though the man had a 
preference for feisty women.
     “<Is the Preacher on deck?>” Cristobal asked aloud.
     A man in ragged sackcloth stepped forward. A wooden crucifix 
dangled from his neck by a length of large polished sandalwood 
beads.
     “<I am here, Captain Cristobal,>” the man said calmly.
     “<Translate my words, Father,>” Cristobal said to him. “<See to 
it that they understand what I tell them.>”
     “<As you wish, Captain,>” the Preacher replied.
     Cristobal looked to the Bosun.
     “<Mister Velacruz, remove the women’s chains,>” he said.
     “<Captain?>” The Bosun asked in surprise. Delgado’s jaw 
dropped.
     “<You have become hard of hearing, Mister Velacruz?>” 
Cristobal asked in return.
     The Bosun snapped to. “<No, Captain. It shall be done.>” 
He began to unlock the manacles and leg irons of the four girls at 
once.
     Cristobal spoke in a loud voice as the Bosun went to work.
     “<As you can see, we are several days out to sea,>” he told 
the four girls. The Preacher spoke passable Japanese, and passed 
on the Captain’s words.
     “<It is pointless to chain you now, as you have nowhere to go. 
Should you choose to jump over the side, it would only be to your 
deaths, for in which direction lie your homelands now?>”
     He gestured to the endless expanse of empty ocean that heaved
and swelled in every direction they looked.
     “<On my ship everyone aboard earns his keep,>” he went on. 
“<You shall be no different. We could do with kitchen help, 
sculleries, and maids.>”
     “<That’s not all we could use, Captain!>” one of the crew cried 
out. A chorus of agreement murmured through the ranks.
     A look from Cristobal to the Bosun sent a switch across the man’s 
face.
     “<The first man who lays a hand on one of these outside of the 
performance of his duties shall be flogged and then hanged as an 
example to the rest. In this I am not adverse to Mister Delgado’s 
proscribed punitive measures.>” 
     The happy buzz of the crew went silent.
     Cristobal returned his gaze to the four. 
     “<In return for your labors you shall be fed as the rest of the 
crew. You shall stay in the storeroom where you have been kept 
when released from work. You shall not travel about the decks 
unescorted without my permission. If you choose to make trouble, 
I’ll have you thrown over the side to feed the sharks. 
     “<Mister Velacruz shall make up a bill detailing your duties. 
Father deGama will ensure that you understand what is expected of 
you.>”
      With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them.
      As Ranma was taken below, he caught one final glimpse of 
the ocean that imprisoned him as surely as any length of iron 
chain.



                      END OF PART ONE



Author’s Notes:

1. Yes, this is going to be another big one. Just in case you had 
any doubts, let me dispel them now.

2. The Portuguese hatred of the Dutch stems from the decline of 
the Jesuits (and consequently Portuguese trading efforts) in Japan 
following the establishment of the Tokugawa Shogunate. While 
Ieyasu Tokugawa considered Japan to be isolated, limited trade with 
Japan did occur. The Dutch East India Company began to rise in 
wealth and power through other Asian trade while the Portuguese 
sank into the morass of domination by the Hapsburg kings of Spain.