Whose Will Be Done?

                                 Book One:

                                  Hashiin

         I lost my faith in an unusual, yet quite common way.  I know this 
from listening to the voices of many of those who came to me for counsel 
in those days, expressing everything that I also felt, but kept a secret 
tightly within my heart.

         I have to stress that I still *believed*.  As my husband was wont 
to say, I believed the whole nine yards.  The Father, the Son, the Holy 
Spirit, the holy Church, the communion of saints, the resurrection of the 
body, and the life everlasting.  I believed that a rational person who did 
not believe in miracles was not a realist.  I believed in predestination, 
and I believed in the freedom of will.  And I had learned how to support 
believing in those two contradictory tenets, and believed in the logic 
that supported them.

         I just no longer felt as though it no longer had any connection 
to my life, or indeed to the world in which I lived in, to borrow from the 
Beatles.

         I tried to keep up a brave front for the small number of souls 
who came to the church, stayed involved with our attempts to bring in new 
members.  I remained optimistic, and calm, and serene while surrounded by 
troubles.

         And it took a man who did not express optimism, who was given to 
the bleakest pessimism, to give me back my faith.

                                 *   *   *

         His name was Urawa Ryo, a member of our church since before I had 
had any inkling that my Calling would lead me back to my father's home.  I 
learned within the first few weeks of knowing him that he was a minor 
celebrity, having been one of a small handful of people who had suffered 
youma possession during the Golden Age, decades before.  He'd been an 
associate of the Sailor Senshi, who had saved him from his possession ... 
who had in fact saved *all* of that small group, who had become friends 
with each other later in life as a result of their shared experience, and 
started to attend the church, which was being ministered to by one of 
them, my predecessor.

         Urawa-san was, in fact, the last of that small group of victims.

         He quickly became a friend in addition to a member of my flock, 
and his enthusiasm for Canadian football led to his friendship with my 
husband, even though they argued fiercely about the rightness of the 
referee's calls, which Urawa was always correct in guessing.

         Whenever he came over to join us for dinner, we would both listen 
to his stories about the Sailor Senshi, and of the other heroes who had 
danced their way into legend all those years ago -- the Ai Tenshi, Great 
Mazinger, Cutey Honey, Mighty Atom, the original Supercar, the Thunder- 
birds of International Rescue, and all the others.  Tom, God rest his 
soul, would always scoff at them afterwards, accusing Urawa of mixing half 
a thousand stories much older than the golden age had been in order to 
fill in the blanks.  But Tom was always willing to hear another, too.

         The saddest thing is, he listened more closely than I did.

         Before illness and bitterness had begun to take its toll on him, 
Urawa often accompanied me on my visits to the sick and aging members of  
the church.  He insisted that even though Graviton City was still one of 
the safest places in the world to live, even with the then-recent loss of 
its greatest protector, there were still places where a woman -- "Even a 
woman of the cloth, Bara-sensei," he added quickly, always -- should not 
walk unaccompanied.  I let him have his rationalization for wanting an 
audience for his monologues as we walked.

         I recall once that as we were passing the scene of an "accident", 
as everyone was quick to refer to it -- fearing retribution if blame 
should be laid to either of the involved parties -- that the anger that 
Urawa felt first began to show itself.

         He walked up to one of the plainclothes officers -- a rather 
beautiful man, roughly my age -- who was supervising the cleanup, and 
asked him point blank, "Young man, do you miss the concept of human 
achievement?"

         The officer blinked.  "Uh ... excuse me?"

         "The Nobel Prize.  The Olympic Games.  High school tennis 
matches.  Do you miss things like that?"

         "Urawa-saaan ..." I said as I gently led him away from the 
confused officer.

         We had only gone a few steps when I heard the officer call out, 
"Oi!  Old man!"  We both turned, and saw that the confusion on his face had
gone away, replaced with a sense of sadness.  "Yeah," the policeman said.
"Yeah, I do."

         Then Lieutenant Daley -- for that was his name, as I heard him 
called by his associates -- was called away, leaving me to wonder which 
was more disturbing:  the oddity of the question, or the fact that the man 
had known exactly what Urawa was talking about.

         And so did many others, increasingly.

         Urawa insisted that the root of all the problems that the world 
faced was that when humanity had demanded more of its children than it had 
ever asked before, in order to prepare them to face the future, they had 
gotten more than they had ever bargained for.

         To be more specific, they had gotten the Newtypes.

         And Urawa had mocked and disdained these self-appointed champions 
and heroes, comparing them unfavorably to the "real" heroes he'd known in 
his youth -- heroes who had, he claimed, promoted human achievement, 
rather than belittling it.

         The world around us kept getting even more dangerous, and Urawa 
seemed to mirror its growing coldness in the way he seemed to grow feebler 
and angrier at the same time.  Towards the end, before he went into the 
hospital for the last time, he occasionally lost what little decorum he 
had and went into rants in which he quoted extensively from the Book of 
Revelations.

         Or the Apocalypse, as it was once known.

         I remember his last day as though it were yesterday.  It is 
almost as though I am still there, in some way, still indulging him by 
listening to him read from the book which so fascinated him ...

         ... still ...

                                 *   *   *

    "`And I saw the Lamb break open the sixth seal.  There was a violent 
earthquake, and the sun became black like coarse black cloth, and the moon 
turned completely red like blood.  The stars fell down to the Earth, like 
unripe figs falling down from the tree when a strong wind shakes it.  The 
sky disappea --' KAFF!"

    "Yes, Urawa-san," I take the chance to interrupt peacefully, "this is 
all very interesting, but wouldn't you rather read something more 
cheerful?"

    "You don't understand, Bara-sensei," he wheezes.  "I have seen what 
St. John saw, all those many years ago!  It's not ... it's not an 
allegory, sensei ..."

    "I know that you've been having nightmares, Urawa-san --"

    "Not nightmares!" he insists.  "Visions!  Visions of what *will* be!"  
He struggles to sit up, and inadvertantly yanks the intravenous needle 
from his arm.  "`Their chests were covered with what looked like iron 
breastplates, and the sound made by their wings was like the noise of many 
horse-drawn chariots rushing into battle'!"

    A middle-aged nurse, with short-cropped blue hair gone to a metallic 
sheen, pokes her head in the door.  "Oh no," she mutters, and calls for a 
doctor ... but not before Urawa sees her.

    "Ami-chan!" he calls out.

    "For the thousandth time," she says in an irritated voice, "my name is 
A-RI-mi!  Not A-mi!"  

    Then the doctor is there, gently forcing Urawa to lie back.  "Sensei!" 
he calls out.  "I owe you so much ... and yet I have nothing to give you 
but my insight --"

    "No!" I try to insist.  "You don't owe me anything, Ryo ..." I pause, 
momentarily startled to realize that I have never before this point called 
him by his personal name.

    "It's all in the book, Bara-sensei!" he gasps.  "Read it!  READ IT!"

    From the expression on the doctor's face, I can guess that it may well 
be that I will soon take on the role of my vocation that I enjoy least.  I 
open to the First letter to the Corinthians, and begin to read aloud, 
though my voice is shaky.  "`There is, of course, a physical body, so 
there has to be a spiritual body.  For the scripture says, "The first man, 
Adam was created a living being"; but the last Adam is the life-giving 
spirit.  It is not the spiritual that comes first, but the physical, and 
then the spiritual ...'"

    And although there is more, Urawa Ryo does not hear it.  And for long 
hours afterward, I wonder why I did not begin further down, and offer the 
words of comfort that come later in that verse.

    The funeral is sparsely attended.  A handful of Urawa's fellow church 
goers, and myself.  And a sad-eyed blonde young woman, her hair done up in 
buns with streams of hair flowing back from them.  I wonder, briefly, if 
she was one of Urawa's relatives.

    It is a few days later that it happens.  I have purchased groceries at 
the local supermarket, and am walking home.  I come to a cross walk, and 
wait for the light to change.

    This saves my life as the bus flies down the street, passing a few 
inches in front of my glasses.  I hear the sound of the impact, and turn 
to see what has caused the bus to become airborne.

    It is, of course, a struggle between Newtypes.

    I recognize only a few of them.  The Knight Razor is probably the most 
famous of the ones struggling here and now -- the polished ceramics of her 
Hardsuit are infamous, even if they are only for show.  Her half- 
cyberdroid physiology ensures that she can take vastly more punishment 
than even a Hardsuited warrior, like her reputed parent, could endure -- 
to say nothing of her weapons.

    The one who calls herself Burnt Honey is there, her features and 
clothing shifting from moment to moment.  I note with vague distaste that 
the two known as Younger Mars and Younger Jupiter are also fighting this 
day.  The irony being that they're on opposite sides, if I understand the 
conflict.  If the concept of "side" applies".

    The others are unfamiliar.  The minotaur figure who towers over all of 
them seems somewhat familiar, as do the two shockingly dressed women who 
chase after it with whips ... but I can't place them.

    I suppose that it doesn't matter.  Ultimately, they are all equally 
dangerous.  They number in the nameless thousands; progeny of the past, 
inspired by the deeds of those who came before, if not the honor.  They no 
longer fight for the right, or for a cause.  They fight only to fight, 
their only foes each other, as they boast of having eliminated the various 
kinds of monsters and demons hiding within the earth.

    Small comfort.

    They move freely, through the streets, and through the world.  They 
are challenged, but unopposed.  They are, after all, our champions.

    And they are coming this way.

    I become one of the crowd fleeing the rampage, my groceries fallen 
forgotten to be either crushed beneath the crowd's feet or to be destroyed 
by the battling Newtypes.  I pause only briefly to snatch up a child who 
has fallen before he can be crushed, and note the tears of terror in his 
eyes.  The instinct to tell him that boys don't cry is ruthlessly 
supressed.

    And then ...

    The ground begins to shake, much more violently than the gathered 
Newtypes have caused, bringing those of them who remain on the ground to 
their knees just as surely as it does us.

    And then the sun goes black, as a huge cloud of dust rises in the 
east, obscuring it like ...

    <An earthquake,> I think.  <The sky gone black like thick black 
cloth.>

    An eternity passes, and I hesitantly look to the window of an 
electronics store, through which I can see the glimmer of television 
screens.  I hope for a rational explanation.

    In one sense, I'm not disappointed.  In another, I am.

    Time has run out.

                                 *   *   *

    "Then the kings of the earth, the rulers and the military chiefs, the 
rich and the powerful, and all other men, slave and free, hid themselves 
in caves and under rocks on the mountains!  They called out to the 
mountains and to the rocks, `Fall on us and hide us from the eyes of the 
one who sits on the throne and from the anger of the Lamb!  The terrible 
day of their anger -- DIES IRAE! -- is here, and who can stand up against 
it?!?"

    I pause to draw in breath, and my eyes meet those of the members of my 
congregation.

    Sometimes, when I've recited the scripture to them, I've seen a 
struggle for understanding in their faces, even from this simplified and 
translated version of the Word.  And now, I wish with all my heart as it 
slows down from its earlier manic pace, that that was what was there now.

    Because they understand perfectly.

    And they are terrified.

    "... I ... please ... I don't know what came over me ... I am sorry 
for what I have done ..."

    The remainder of the service is almost happily brief, and the small 
handful of people present are all in a great hurry to leave, citing 
various reasons, obligations and commitments to attend to.  As the last of 
them exits, I wonder, momentarily, if any of them will be back in a week.

    And then I remember that the world is poised on the brink of armag-- 
the apoc--  the end of the world, and so the question may become academic.

    I sit quietly in one of the pews, trying to understand what drove me, 
just a moment ago.  Even before I felt my Calling, I disdained all the 
"preaching windmills", screaming, with mascara running down their cheeks, 
about the imminent apocalypse, which the actions of all the convenient 
targets were speeding up.  And just now, I became something that I 
promised myself I'd never become.  Spreading a gospel of fear, instead of 
one of love.

    But it's not my fault.  It's these visions.

    My hand clenches involuntarily, and it doesn't register for a moment 
that I've torn a page from the Bible.

    I've tried to deny the visions as the product of an overwrought 
imagination in the wake of the Tragedy, but this moment of quiet 
reflection has reminded me that they had been coming even before that.  
But they had been less ... visceral, and I'd been able to dismiss them as 
my mind dwelling on Urawa's final words.

    The visions that Urawa had are now mine, and they are visions of utter 
despondence.  If this is indeed what he saw, I begin to understand why he 
had embraced the doctrine of predestination.  What can anyone do to 
prevent what is coming?  The Tragedy proved it.  Because of the Newtypes, 
the end is truly near ... and the Word of God so very far ...

    ... and then I hear it.

    The sound of wings.

    I lift my head to gaze at the "stained glass" at the head of the 
church, depicting the Ascension.  For a moment, it seems to grow darker, 
more solid, and then something is moving through it.

    It ... she is a woman, clad in white robes.  Her eyes are the most 
dazzling shade of blue I have ever seen, and her hair is the color of spun 
gold.  It is drawn into a pair of buns on either side of her head, behind 
each of which there is a long tail of hair.  On her forehead is the sign 
of the crescent moon, and from her back stretches wings.  Long, feathered 
wings, impossibly large for a human to bear.  They flap, once, as she 
descends to the floor.  I notice, almost as an afterthought, that her feet 
are bare.

    "Tezuka Bara," the angel says, "I need your help."

    I hear myself whisper, involuntarily.  "I am hearing things, as well 
as seeing things ... I've lost my mind."

    She shakes her head, once.  "That you have *retained* your mind may be 
vital to the survival of humanity.  Even as I stand before you, an act of 
utter darkness is beginning to take shape, and the end of the world draws 
near."  She pauses.  "But you know all this already, for yours are the 
dreams."

    "You can see into my mind?  My *soul*?" I gasp.  "What are you?  An 
angel?  Or --"  <Have I the honor of adressing God?>  I cut myself off 
before I can say that.

    "I am Serenity," she says, as though this would explain everything.  
"I have been charged by a higher power to bring justice to those 
responsible for what will be."  Again, she pauses ... perhaps to let her 
words sink in, or to consider what the next ones should be.  "Once ... I 
would have been able to determine who bore that responsibility easily, but 
time has ... eroded my confidence in this area.  In order to make this 
judgement, I must be guided by a human soul who seeks justice."

    "But I don't --"

    "You will."  Her tone does not permit debate.  And then what has 
bothered me about her eyes dawns on me ... they don't reflect light.  They 
are perfect, blue circles on a white sea with a dark centre -- with no 
more life in them than in those of a corpse.

    "Why me?" I delay, trying to understand what I am seeing.

    "Because I was too late in seeking out the dreamer Urawa Ryo.  He also 
saw what would be, but his fatalism prevented him from acting upon it ... 
save for his final act of bestowing his gift upon you.  Now will your 
visions guide us both.  In order to complete the task before us, we shall 
be witnesses to the events that lead to armageddon.  Come with me," she 
concludes, and extends an alabaster arm and hand to me.

    "But ... but I can't just leave!  The church ... my congregation will 
need me to --"

    "-- to do what?" she asks, flatly.

    I look over my shoulder, self-consciously, to see the Bible I let fall 
from my lap when I rose as she arrived.  The Bible with the torn page.  I 
swallow.  "All right," I breathe.  "I'll come."

    I take hold of her hand, half expecting it to have the chill of the 
grave.  I am startled at the warmth, and the gentleness with which she 
takes my hand in hers.  As I realize this, the world around me begins to 
grow indistinct.

    It is at that point that it occurs to me that she had said that she 
would punish those responsible for what was to be.  Not that she would 
prevent my visions from coming to pass, and I open my mouth.

    "That is not what I am meant to do," she says, calmly.  "Once this 
world boasted many who would have tried to prevent the destruction to 
come, but you will soon realize that they are not to be the source of the 
solution in this case.  In fact, they are very much the source of the 
problem ..."

    And then the world comes back into focus around us, and I gasp at the 
impossibility of what I see.  A long, golden beach, beneath a setting sun, 
against an azure sea.  And no matter how hard I try, I can't convince 
myself that the gentle roar of the surf is an illusion.  It can't be real, 
and it can't be a product of my mind.

    I turn to Serenity to protest that this is impossible, and the words 
die in my throat as I see the other person in this place.

    "There is no need to be silent," Serenity assures me.  "We can neither 
be seen nor heard.  Not even by her."

    She crouches a few meters away in a runner's starting pose.  Red hair 
spills down her back, unbound.  From where she stands, I cannot see her 
eyes, or much of her face ... it is hard to tell how old she is.  Her feet 
are bare, like Serenity's, but they are far from alabaster -- they are 
covered in wet and dried sand.  Her arms and legs are well-muscled.  She 
is dressed in a pair of red shorts and a short-sleeved blue shirt.

    "There's something about her that's familiar ..." I say slowly.

    "Indeed, though she is not truly a part of this world -- her lineage 
guiding to a planet long dead, and to a people thought legendary ... both 
of which have endowed her with what power she possesses.  You know her by 
a name she has not used in ten years."

    And then, as though reacting to the sound of a gun that only she can 
hear, she begins to run.  In the blink of an eye she's hundreds of meters 
away, her feet hardly seeming to touch the ground as she dashes ahead.  I 
blink and realize that we're following her, maintaining a position only a 
short distance behind her.  I don't feel any sensation of movement as we 
do so, but I do feel the wind that she makes as she cuts through the air 
before her --

    She stumbles, and falls.  The speed at which she was running propels 
her hard into the ground, and produces a huge explosion of sand in her 
wake.  I jerk my arms up to keep it out of my eyes, but nothing seems to 
be affecting me.

    I lower my arms in time to see her rise from the ground, unhurt.  She 
shakes sand out of her hair, brushes herself off, and for the first time I 
see her face.  She looks like a woman in her early thirties ... but as she 
contemplates the hole she threw herself into, the mirthless smile she 
gives makes her seem much older.

    And all at once, I know her.  "A-Ko," I whisper.

    "Not now," Serenity replies.  "Not since she began her exile."

    I nod, on somwheat familiar ground.  "I remember!  She left Graviton 
City ... it was just before I came there.  I ... I can't remember the 
details.  There was ... there was a trial, of some sort.  Things ... went 
bad.  But she seems so lonely, here.  So alone."

    I hear the bark of a dog, and turn to see a large black dog bounding 
down the beach, coming to A-Ko's side.  The dog begins to lick her face, 
and she almost starts to smile.

    "Not always alone," Serenity notes, pointing at the young man standing 
nearby.  I almost jump as I see him there, and wonder why I didn't notice 
him before.  He's definitely distinctive enough that I should have.  He is 
younger-seeming, in most respects, than A-Ko, though his eyes suggest that 
they are of a similar age.  His short-cropped, light purple hair rests on 
a hard, scowling face that could have been chiseled out of rock.  His body 
is even more tightly muscled than hers is, something which is clear even 
though his frame is covered by his baggy trousers and blue leather 
jacket.  I glimpse the logo of a "Capsule Corporation" on the sleeve.  
There is a sword strapped to his back.

    "Hello, Eiko ..." he begins.

    She gives him a Look.

    He sighs.  "Hello, *A*."

    A-Ko continues to pet the dog.  "Trunks," she says brusquely.  
"Haven't seen you in ... quite a while, now.  What can I do for you?"

    "Leave this place and go back to the real world?" the young -- Trunks 
replies.

    "I like it here."

    "You can't live out the rest of your life like a hermit."

    "It's a free planet.  I can do pretty much anything I want," A-Ko 
answers, standing up as she does.

    "Which means that you don't *want* to face your fear," Trunks 
counters.

    "I'm.  *NOT*.  Afraid of her."

    Trunks lets out an exasperated sigh.  "I didn't mean, *her*.  I meant 
... ah, shit.  A, you've gone through so much --"

    "People die.  *You* know that.  And sometimes they don't come back, 
either."

    I find that last statement horribly confusing.  I look to Serenity in 
hopes of gaining some clarification, but her eyes are on the scene before 
us.  When I look back, A-Ko has started to walk away from him.

    "They were your mother and father, Eik-- *A*.  And she was ... she was 
your best friend."  A-Ko turns to give him a look that drips with 
contempt.  "All right, *lover*.  Happy?  You still shouldn't call them 
`people'.  Now listen, I --"

    "Trunks, I don't want to hear about it.  All I want from life right 
now is the chance to lie in the sun and rest."

    "Oh yeah?"  Faster than the eye can follow, his left elbow jabs out to 
press against something where I can only see empty space.  "Wrong place 
for it."

    All at once, the sky vanishes, replaced with an arcing black and 
yellow grid.  I can see now that the sea is actually a large tide pool on 
the far side of the room, which stretches for miles in either direction.  
As I had thought, it could not be real ... but that doesn't stop the brief 
flash of disillusionment.

    The dog, on the other hand, seems to take it even worse.  He cowers 
and wimpers.  A-Ko turns and slaps her hand against a different section of 
the grid, even as Trunks steps away from where his hand had rested.  
"You're scaring Hikari," A-Ko says shortly.  "Stop it."

    "As long as I'm getting a reaction from *someone* here.  Now will you 
just hear me out?  Do you not know what's happened out there?  A, she's 
out of control."

    "You don't say."

    "Yes, I do, and yes, you told them that she was that way ten years 
ago, and yes, *they* didn't listen to you.  Get over it."

    "I don't care anymore," A-Ko replies, turning away and stepping 
through a door in "mid-air", which leads into a room filled with the 
pieces of broken robots.

    "Oh yeah?" Trunks demands.  "Two words.  Love and justice.  Do they 
sound familiar, or have you forgotten them completely?"

    A-Ko looks over her shoulder at Trunks, her eyes shadowed due to the 
irregular lighting in this room.  Her expression is almost impossible to 
read.

    "Just see for yourself, what she's done this time.  That's all I'm 
asking," Trunks presses.  "Just ... be ready."

    A-Ko taps on a section of the wall of the robot room, and a door opens 
up into darkness.  She walks into the darkness, and picks up an antiquated 
remote control from a table.  Pointing it forward, she presses the power 
button.

    A thousand television screens, forming the far wall of the room, 
activate simultaneously.  The sensory shock of going from silent darkness 
to that intensity of light and sound would cripple any normal mind, to say 
nothing of the impossibility of making sense out of the barrage of 
information in every language of humanity.  A-Ko's eyes flash across the 
screens, as fast if not faster than her legs had moved during her run.  
They come to rest every few seconds on a particular stream of 
close-captioned text.

    "the inconcievable tragedy which struck --"

    "-- el mundo fue shockeado por horribles actos --"

    "-- le President des Etats Unis et son cabinet ont descendu aux 
citadels subterraneans --"

    "-- no word as yet on any response from the Lepton Kingdom --"

    "-- une Newtype Japonaise au nom de --"

    "Wir haben gelernt das Sakura uns gefahdet hat --"

    And now a single word breathes forth from A-Ko's lips.

    "Sakura ..."

    "-- fight appears to have begun in the American city of Miami, where 
Sakura, along with the other members of the Japanese Floral Assault Unit,
descended in force on Captain Napolipolita and the remnants of her 
invasion force --"

    " -- battle eventually carried to Cape Canaveral, where the survivors 
hijacked a space shuttle for --"

    "-- despite repeated offers to surrender --"

    "-- pursued by the Unit, to Genaros-1 --"

    "-- battle resumed almost before docking procedures --"

    "-- commentators were staggered, but not surprised by the ferocity 
with which Sakura pursued the attack --"

    "-- best known as being responsible for A-Ko's disappearance ten --"

    "-- alone, Napolipolita obviously panicked --"

    "-- final assault in Genaros' main reactor core --"

    "-- last transmission from Genaros station's security monitors clearly 
shows --"

    "The mecha has been knocked back OH SWEET MOTHER OF GOD THE REAC--"

    "-- e quella fu la fine."

    A-Ko's eyes rest on a single diagram, depicting the descent of an 
object from a Lagrange point to impact with Earth.

    "The explosion, killing all but a handful of those on board the 
station, also altered its orbit so dramatically as to send it on a 
collision course with Earth.  Despite efforts of United States Astro Guard 
Interceptors to destroy the falling star, it impacted into the west coast 
of California and exploded, creating the largest astrobleme in this 
geological epoch, centered around the site of the town of Bashtarle.  The 
tremendous explosion also triggered a Richter 11 earthquake along the 
entire San Andreas Fault, essentially devastating the California coastline 
far more extensively than the Second Great Kanto Earthquake devastated 
Tokyo twenty years ago.  There have been serious aftershocks reported all
along the Pacific Ring of Fire, with tsunamis being reported throughout
the Pacific, and the Tragedy is believed to have been a key factor in
triggering the recent eruption at Mt. St. Helens.  However, the damage
remains heaviest in California, where the casualties are believed to
exceed ten million.  The entire state, and parts of Oregon, Texas, and 
Nevada, is essentially a wasteland at this point in time.  As well, the 
destruction of one of the centers of the international marketplace has 
thrown the global economy into chaos.

    "Sakura, who escaped the destruction of Genaros through means which 
remain unclear, could not be reached for comment --"

    "Off," A-Ko whispers.

    At once, the room is dark and silent once more.  A-Ko turns and walks 
away, not meeting Trunks' eyes as she leaves the room.

    "Come on, A -- you can't just walk away from this, you have to take a 
stand.  If you don't, nobody else is gonna have the guts to do --" Trunks 
begins.

    "I can't do anything about what's happened," A-Ko says, not looking at 
him.  "Go back to wherever your family has been, these last ten years.  It 
should be safe there."  She steps through the door leading to the illusory 
beach, and it closes behind her.

    For a moment, the scowl on Trunks' face falls away, replaced by a look 
of disbelief ... and mounting anger.  His teeth clench, and there is a 
faint golden aura about his hair.  He finally shoots straight up into the 
air, flying through the rock, and then the ice, of the Antarctic 
continent.

    Standing beside Serenity, some distance above, I watch him fly.  
"`... nobody else ...'  Like who?" I ask.

    "All of those who, a decade ago, had to deal with the aftermath of 
A-Ko's decision to absent herself from the world.  The shock of seeing her 
abandon the heroic ideal took an immeasurable toll on her contemporaries 
and peers.  Some followed her example and retired, while others, unable to 
turn their backs on the world they knew, continued to use their abilities 
and equipment to champion order ... though often in secret."  She 
gestures, as if parting a curtain.

    And I see a great city, which I recognize at once as Chicago.  The 
Sears tower still dominates the early evening skyline, although we seem to 
be standing some distance above it.

    I suddenly see an object moving at vast speeds among the buildings, 
flitting about with greater speed than any helicopter, and greater agility 
than any bird.  As I gaze at it, it grows larger and larger in my sight, 
until it's nature is clear.

    It's a car.  A flying car.  While hovercraft are hardly uncommon, in 
these days, it doesn't make any sense for this one to be designed to look 
like an automobile.

    "It is a tradition," Serenity informs me, softly.  "This is the 
culmination of fifty years of work in creating the ultimate car -- a 
legacy passed for three generations ... and perhaps more.  But the driver 
of this vehicle, unlike his father before him, does not compete to prove 
his car's prowess, and find adventure incidentally.  The race he runs is a 
more lonely one, against time; seeking to set right even the most harmless 
of troubles in this city."

    "But that's impossible!  No matter how fast his car is, he can't be 
everywhere at once!"

    "He can try.  And with the power of his vehicle's engines, he has a 
chance of succeeding, from time to time.  Much can be accomplished ... at 
Mach Five."

    Serenity gestures again, permitting me a glimpse of the man behind the 
wheel of the Mach Five.  His face is covered by a mask and goggles, with a 
G emblazoned on his forehead.  He is connected directly to the vehicle's 
controls by cybernetic linkage.  Across the goggles of his flight suit 
streams a flow of information.

    And judging by the impression he has left in the seat of his vehicle, 
he has not left it in years.

    Then we are standing in mid-air above an island in the sea, on which 
there is a large industrial plant that dominates most of the landmass.  I 
recognize it after a moment.  "The Heatsinks," I say aloud.

    "The source of much of the electrical power for the Pacific Rim," 
Serenity replies, nodding.  "These geothermal plants have been claimed as 
a protectorate of another of yesterday's guardians."

    We seem to move at an incalculable speed, passing through the walls of 
the complex as though they aren't there.  Within, I see a group of 
uniformed, armed men moving through a shadowed corridor.  "Some call this 
champion," my escort continues, not commenting on the terrorists below, 
"little more than a corporate lackey ... but he is feared by those who 
would interrupt or devastate this source of cheap energy."

    There is a sudden scuffling noise, and one of the terrorists goes into 
a shooter stance.  "Dare da?!?" he shrieks.

    And then, from behind them, a white shape swoops down, moving among 
them with ruthless intent.

    "A white shadow that moves unseen," Serenity continues.  "Once there 
were five ... now there is but one."

    When at last all the terrorists are beaten to the ground, I see the 
figure even more clearly.  His muscular frame is clearly emphasized by the 
tight fit of the blue body suit he wears beneath the white cape.  His face 
is covered by a mask of opaque blue glass.

    "The scientific ninja ... Gatchaman," Serenity concludes.

    Then we are within the void of space, beneath Saturn.  My breath is 
almost stolen by the beauty of the great gas giant, its rings, and its 
moons.  And then I see the ship casting its shadow on the rings, and lose 
my breath in truth.  Every child knows that ship -- rebuilt from the hull 
of one of the proudest battleships of the Second World War, outfitted with 
alien technology --

    "Yamato," I whisper.

    "Yes.  Out here, among the outer planets, the space battleship stands 
its lonely vigil, its crew alert for any and all extraterrestrial 
threats.  They have stood this guard for nearly ten years, all told."

    A gesture, and I can see the bridge of the great ship.  It's not what 
I'm expecting.  It is all but empty, save for an old man, seated in the 
captain's chair, gazing at a glass of wine.

    Then we are standing on a mountain, gazing down at a city that looks 
like a picture book image of ancient China.  "The gods of yesteryear no 
longer walk with humanity, Tezuka Bara," Serenity explains gently.  
"Instead, they journey apart ... they have lost themselves in ancient 
civilizations ..."

    Then we stand among the spires of a city of gleaming crystal.  In the 
distance, I see a dark-skinned girl sitting on a park bench, and a pink 
haired girl in a boy's school uniform jogging up to her.  "... or in 
future times.  They have left humanity to its fate."

    Then we stand, gazing down at the earth, from a close orbit ... and I 
know, without knowing how, that we stand where the Genaros space station 
had once been.  I turn to Serenity.  "And what about the ones who 
*weren't* gods?  I remember one who dwelt in Mega Tokyo ... what has 
become of the last Knight Saber?"

    "Mega Tokyo," she whispers.  And we are there.

    Within the dark alleys of that city, I witness a group of young 
hoodlums running away from the scene of their crime -- a fatal mugging.  I 
hear one of them crack a joke that I can't quite make out, and the others 
laugh in response.

    A laughter which is cut off when the first railgun spike impacts the 
ground before them.  They look up to see the slender form standing on a 
nearby rooftop, its palm pointing in their direction, its eyeslits glowing 
red, and turn and flee.

    Only to confront another, *identical* figure coming from the opposite 
direction.

    Six in all of the Saber Boomers -- they move far too gracefully to be 
humans, I realize -- finally corall the frightened muggers.

    "It would seem that the last Knight Saber has Mega Tokyo under 
control," Serenity muses.

    And then we are standing on the Seto Bridge, in Graviton City.  In the 
distance, I can hear the sounds of another fight between Newtypes, and I 
note that there are people fleeing past us, but I ignore them.  Instead, I 
stare at Serenity.  "That's it?  That's all you have to show me?"

    "Is something wrong?" she asks, politely.

    "You're damn right something's wrong!  So what you're saying is that 
there's no hope?!?"

    "I never said that --"

    "That all you have to tell me is that those who might save us won't?  
That's it?!?"  I shriek.  "`There was a violent earthquake, and the sun 
became black like coarse black cloth, and the moon turned completely red 
like blood!'  `The kings of the earth, the rulers and the military men, 
hid themselves in caves!'  That's what Urawa saw!  California was just the 
end of the beginning, because now all those idiots who call themselves 
*heroes* see themselves for what they really are!  *LOOK AT THEM FOR GOD'S 
SAKE!*"

    I whirl around to see the fight myself.  Burnt Honey is there, as is 
the giant minotaur thing from the earlier fight, with his two pursuers.  
The four of them seem to have combined their forces, however, in conflict 
with another grouping, of whom I recognize only the pink tresses of the 
Sukeban Deka.

    "They're *worse* than before!" I yell at the impassive face before 
me.  "Then, at least, they had *some* grasp of responsibility!  But now, 
nothing matters!  They're following Sakura's reckless lead, right out of 
control!"

    Behind me, I hear a whip crack, and slice through one of the cables of 
the suspension bridge.  Immediately, the other cables on that side of the 
bridge begin to groan and splinter under the strain of the weight, tossing 
the combatants about like so many toy soldiers.

    "Trunks was right -- nobody has the courage to *stop* the cycle, so 
it's going to go on and on and on!  ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?  If anyone is 
going to survive, we need --!!"

    And then there was a wind.

    No, not a wind ... a blur of motion, seizing the weapons of the 
Newtypes and smashing them beyond repair, incapacitating them if need be.  
The sound of metal cables being tied into knots.  Then silence.

    And even before the fact that the fight was over has sunken into the 
bystanders, they know.  Everyone know.  We know ... and remember.

    "Look!" I hear a voice cry.  "Up there!"

    Every eye tilts up to see her.  She stands on the top of the 
suspension cable, balancing without effort.  The blackness of her blouse 
transforms the otherwise unextraordinary schoolgirl uniform, making it 
look more like the clothes of a soldier.  Her red hair flows down her 
back, unbound still, and her jaw is set.

    She has returned, and --

    <I see her screaming as she burns.>

    -- and the threat of armageddon hasn't ended.  Dear God, it is closer 
than ever.

                             To Be Continued.


AUTHOR'S NOTES:  On "Why?"

    Why the new title?  Because Nicholas Leifker is working on another 
story entitled "Kingdom Come".  I didn't want to force him to take on a 
different title because of me.  And then there was that other story called 
"Thy Kingdom Come" that was the center of a debate that I was involved 
in.  I note with a great deal of satisfaction that the author of that one 
still hasn't gotten himself out of the corner he painted himself into in 
another project he started a while ago.  (Hold grudges?  You bet yer sweet 
fanny I do.)

    Why do this?  Because I adore Kingdom Come (see the next essay in this 
series) and I adore Anime (see the next essay after that) and I thought it 
would be fun to combine the two.  It has been fun, and it has also been a 
*lot* of work.  But I hope you enjoy the results.

    Why California?  So I could wreak even more havoc than Waid and Ross 
did.

    Why a falling space colony?  Because I couldn't figure out any other
way to work Gundam in.

    Why make Sakura, of the computer game (and new OVA series) Sakura 
Taisan, the heavy?  I'll go into that in more detail elsewhere.

    Why do writers go insane?  Because they don't get commentary and 
criticism.  Please send me your thoughts and feelings about what I've done 
here, I welcome all of it, even the flames.

    Why aren't I including the usual list of all the creators and 
distributors of the series I've referenced in this part in this space?  
Because it would go on forever.

    This story, while incorporating elements of motion pictures and the 
plotline of a magazine held under copyright by others, is copyright 1998 
of Chris Davies.

    Nobody Sue Me Okay?

Chris Davies, Advocate for Darkness, Part-Time Champion of Light.
"Damn it all, how am I supposed to sit here and wallow in self-pity and
disgust with all this racket going on?" -- Yuusaku Godai, Maison Ikkoku.
http://www.ualberta.ca/~cdavies/hmpage.html