Bubblegum Crisis
Best of All the Years II
Episode 2
(To review:
(Priscilla S. Asagiri awoke in Crystal Tokyo, and was told that she
would be forced to pay back her "debt to society" (the cost of her
restoration). Furious, Priss swore to find Lady Mars, who had ordered her
resurrection. After six weeks of searching, she found herself at a rebel
meeting, at which Lady Mars was also present, undercover. Priss demanded
an explanation for her cloning. Mars explained that Priss had really been
in coldsleep after the destruction of the Knight Sabres in 2041, due to
her guilt at failing to save Nene Romanova's life. Priss then destroyed
the rebel leader, the last of Genom's Boomers. Recovering from her
injuries, Priss began to come to terms with her life in the future.)
(Priss became one of the Palladins of the Crystal Realm, and was
involved in stopping a scheme of the Centauri Republic to steal technology
critical to Earth's defense. At the same time she began to read Sylia
Stingray's journal in hope of regaining some of her memories, and was
shocked to discover that Sylia had fallen in love with her, but had
believed that Priss was not interested in her ... which Priss was not sure
was true. The shock was cushioned by a brief relationship between Priss
and Sheila Tenkai, Lady Jupiter's adopted daughter -- which ended due to
an ongoing feud between Priss and Jupiter. Ultimately, Priss saved the
Neo-Queen Serenity's life after she was kidnapped, using the final version
of her Hard Suit to rescue her. During this mission, Priss made a choice
on which, the fate of the world rested. As a reward for making the right
decision, Lady Pluto opened a gate back to 2041, allowing Priss to rescue
Sylia from her seeming fate ... and to realize that she did, in fact, love
her former teammate.)
(Unfortunately, that was just the beginning of a new set of trials for
Priss and Sylia. Priss was confronted with the fact that Sylia's
extensive biological and cybernetic modifications meant that she might not
be considered to be human in the view of Crystal Tokyo, while Sylia was
horrified to learn that her journal had been published. Unfortunately,
Priss chose to deceive Sylia by claiming to actually be the clone of the
original Priss, as her memories of the years between 2033 and 2041 were
still indistinct. Furiously, Sylia attacked and rejected Priss, leaving
them both unceratain as to their future.)
SYLIA
"If you would state your name for the record, it would be greatly
appreciated," she said, softly.
There was something very strangely familiar about this young woman's
appearance. I could not place it exactly. Her golden eyes and light
purple hair -- the colour of crushed amethyst -- were exotic enough that
she should stand out no matter how long ago I had seen her, but the exact
memories were buried deeply. It did not matter. I would find them,
eventually.
"Dr. Stingray?"
I blinked. "That is not my name," I said, almost reflexively.
She gazed at me, confusedly. "According to the information on you,
you graduated from the Nekomi Institute of Technology with a Doctoral
degree in computing science in 2030. Your thesis was on the subject of
the application of cyberdroid psychology in dealing with artificially
intelligent computer systems. I have read it. There can be no doubt that
you earned your degree. Why then do you not wish to be referred to by a
title that honors it?"
"If you know all this, then you must certainly know who I am," I
answered calmly.
"I know whom I believe you to be. I am trying to determine whom you
believe yourself to be. If you would state your name for the record, it
would be greatly appreciated."
I considered it, and wondered why she hadn't challenged my evasion.
"Sylia Stingray," I said, slowly, to give myself more time to consider.
She made a note. "Sylia Stingray. It is an odd name, isn't it? Your
father was originally named Stengovitch. And the usual romanization of
your personal name is `Celia'." The way that she spoke emphasized the
subtle difference in the way that the two names were pronounced. "Why do
you prefer the form you have chosen?"
FOR SILIA'S EYES ONLY.
"I don't see the relevance of the question," I replied.
"The names that we choose for ourselves tell us a lot about who and
what we are, I think."
"Oh?" I asked, trying to regain a little of the ground I'd lost in
this conversation. "Then what's your name?"
This time she didn't blink. "Catty. Caterina Narses."
"Beyond what your adoption of a diminuitive version of your personal
name says, your name tells me nothing about you," I commented.
She nodded, slowly. "Yes. To understand the significance of my
chosen name, you would have to have a more intimate relationship with me
than you currently have. Tell me, Dr. Stingray --"
"That is not my name."
"How would you prefer to adressed, then? Ms. Stingray? Would you
rather be called by your first name, Sylia? Or --"
"Ms. Stingray should suffice," I interrupted.
She made another note. "Very well. Ms. Stingray, with whom would you
consider yourself to be in an intimate relationship?"
LIKE ME, YOU ARE A SUPERIOR BEING --
"What exactly do you mean by, intimate?" I asked, as much to distract
myself from that line of thought as to clarify the question.
"There are degrees of intimacy in one's relationships with others, as
I'm sure you are aware. The most casual degree of intimacy is that
normally that existing between acquaintances. Then colleagues, then
personal friends, then intimate friends, then lovers. How would you
characterize your most intimate relationship?"
My throat was dry. I moistened it. "There is no one with whom I am
sexually intimate at this time."
She nodded. "All right. Then would you characterize your most
intimate relationships as those between yourself and your intimate
friends?"
"All my friends are dead," I informed her. I did not allow her to see
the grief. If in fact there was any.
She began to make a note ... then paused, and looked up at me. "*ALL*
your friends?"
I nod, once, firmly. Her spirit was gone. That was all that had
mattered.
She lowered her gaze once more, and resumed making the notes. "So
then, you would characterize the most intimate relationship you have at
the present time as that existing between yourself and a colleague? Or an
acquaintance?"
"Between myself and an acquaintance, I suppose."
"Such as myself?"
I stared at her.
"Evidently not," she noted, and stared at me for another long moment.
"Ms. Stingray ... your father developed the nanotechnological computer
systems used as cyberdroid brains, correct?"
"My father invented the boomer, yes."
She cocked her head to one side. "Why do you refer to them by the
slang term?"
"Because the slang term originated from my father's own usage, during
the developmental stages," I answered calmly. It was, after all, the
truth.
"But that term was usurped by the organization which you blamed for
his death. They applied it to the corruption of his ideals. Why do you
perpetuate their --"
"My father's final testament to me indicated that he desired that
boomers -- *his* term, not Genom's -- become humanity's friends. I have
striven to bring about his dream." <He did not intend for me to protect
Mackie so that Mackie could bring about his dream. That's ludicrous.> I
willed myself to believe my own thought.
"I see. And what about your dreams, Ms. Stingray?"
"I don't understand the question," I temporized.
"What did you intend to do after you had achieved your father's dream,
liberating all cyberdroids from their slavery -- that is more or less what
his dream entailed correct? After that, then what?"
"I had not given the matter a great deal of thought," I answered
simply. After all, I hadn't.
"Why not?"
<Because I realized that there was no guarantee of the benevolence of
boomers if they were liberated.>
<Because I recognized that it was impossible.>
<Because I knew I couldn't win.>
"Because I never had enough time to do so. I was engaged in a war to
ensure that Genom was kept in check ... and it understandably took up much
of the time that I might have used to come up with plans for the future."
"Ah, yes. Maintaining the balance. Your biographer stated that that
was your stated intent."
I blinked. "My biographer?"
"`Sylia Stingray: Whom The Gods --'" She broke off, and shook her
head. "That's not important. It was written in 2045 by Lisa Vanette."
I recognized the quote, of course. I also recognized the author's
name. The irony made me want to laugh. I suppressed the urge, of course.
"I have one final question, Ms. Stingray. You are aware that you
possess abnormal levels of cybernetic and biological enhancement?"
I stared. "What constitutes a `normal' level of cybernetic or
biological enhancement?"
"The medical examination indicates that some of the enhancements were
added when you were in your teens, Ms. Stingray. That is not considered
to be `normal' by current standards, or by those of your time."
"Perhaps not. What of it?"
She looked down to examine her own notes, and possibly to avoid
meeting my gaze. "You should be aware, Ms. Stingray, that excessive
amounts of biological modification *can* cause someone to be considered
not humnan under the legal system of Crystal Tokyo."
YOU AND I ARE THE SAME, SYLIA ...
"I see," I said, tersely.
"How does that make you feel?"
<Angry. Resigned. Unsurprised.> "Ambivalent about being a citizen
of this place and time," I answered.
She nodded. "Understandable. I take it that you take pride in your
humanity?"
"I ..." It was a difficult question. Human beings, ultimately, were
the ones who had perverted my father's dreams. Not boomers. It was not
right to blame all of humanity for the acts of the masters of a huge
corporation ...
But it was easy to do so, as well.
"I do not think it is right that others should determine whether one
is or is not a human being," I finally answered.
She gazed at me for a long moment, then nodded. "Very well then, I --
oh! My apologies, I forgot one addendum to one of the earlier questions.
Uh ... with regards to your friends and colleagues, do you no longer
consider Priscilla Asa--"
"Priss died nearly nine hundred years ago. That thing is not her." I
was startled by my own vehemence.
"I ... see," she said, gazing at me oddly. "Very well then. The
orderly should be along shortly to escort you back to your hospital room.
Good day, Ms. Stingray ... it has been an honor."
My brow furrowed as she exited the room. <An honor?>
PRISS
I watched as the boomer stepped out of the room, stepped out of the
line of sight of the window, and let out a sigh as she leaned back against
the wall of the hallway.
When she hadn't said something after about a minute, I got impatient.
"Hello?"
"She's human," the boomer said without looking up. "Quite human. Or
at least if she's not human, her ... behavioural logarithms are too
complicated for me to detect a pattern." She shook her head. "Which
means that if she is, her programming is at a higher level than mine ...
and that's not possible. I hope."
The words I didn't want to remember kept coming back at me. "Suppose
her father ... made her? I mean --"
She looked at me for the first time. I could tell she was still
fairly pissed off at me. "Ms. Asagiri, my mind is the product of a
technological civilization as far removed from Crystal Tokyo as Crystal
Tokyo is from your era. I have studied, in *minute* detail, the work of
Dr. Katsuhito Stingray -- and he could not have created a program more
sophisticated than my own, EVER."
"Okay, dammit, I'll take your word for it!" I snapped.
"Thank you," she answered calmly. "There is one thing that you could
clarify for me, haowever. Why does she believe that you are dead?"
Shit.
"Caterina, is that relevant to your evaluation of her psychological
condition?" Lady Mercury's voice came from behind me, sounding very crisp
and polite. I turned around to see her looking at the two of us with the
most neutral expression that I'd ever seen.
"Not ... as such," the boomer replied grudgingly. "However, if she is
given to delusions --"
"Does other evidence in your evaluation support such a conclusion?"
Mercury interrupted. "Catty," she continued gently, "stay out of it. For
your own good."
The boomer bit her lip, bowed, and stepped away. "I'll have my report
ready in an hour," she said over her shoulder as she walked away.
"Uh ..." I brilliantly observed.
"Ms. Asagiri," Mercury said, turning to look directly at me. "I have
given the matter a certain amount of thought, and I have come to a pair of
conclusions about you. You are the single most abrasive human I have ever
encountered. And I owe you an apology."
*That* came close to flooring me.
"When my husband said that he viewed my behaviour towards you as quite
proper, I realized that I had a certain amount of self-evaluation to
embark upon. I was rude, impatient, and prejudiced. For these things, I
am sorry, and I will try to improve my behaviour in the future."
"Er ..." I suavely commented.
She looked at me for a long moment. "Ms. Asagiri, I believe the
normal response is, `Okay, but if you do anything like that again, I'll
kick your butt around the room'."
I blinked. "Excuse me? That's --" I caught myself in time, then
glared. "Apology accepted." Something else that she'd said caught up to
me. "Husband? Wait a minute, a few days ago it was fiance --"
"Your point?"
I found myself smiling, more or less instinctively. The utter air of
calm combined with the subtle sense of humour reminded me a lot of --
-- of course, that thought killed the smile.
Seeing it fade, Mercury let out a sigh. "Ms. Asagiri ... may I call
you Priscilla?"
"Sure," I said, shrugging, as she talked over me.
"Have you had lunch yet?" I shook my head. "Would you care to join
me in the cafeteria? I think we should talk."
" 'Bout her?" I said, glancing back at the door to the room.
"About you. About her. About the two of you. Unless you have other
plans?"
I shook my head, and followed her down to the hospital commissary.
She ordered a light salad, and I got a burger -- to which she gave a
mildly disapproving glance that went away as soon as she realized I was
watching her.
I sat down across from her, and started to chow down.
After a moment, Mercury finally spoke. "You're aware that your
problems with your memory are primarally psychological in origin,
correct?"
"Yeah. Her Divine Omnipotence --"
"Please," Mercury interrupted. "She doesn't claim either of those.
If you don't feel comfortable with `Majesty', then simply call her by her
name."
I considered using a different slam-honorific, but I decided I didn't
need to push things more than I already had. "Yeah, she told me so."
"Well, it's a bit more complicated than that. It's psychological,
with a physical component -- not unlike a manic-depressive state." She
chewed on some sprouts. "You were given a mild rejuvenation treatment
shortly after you were brought out of coldsleep for the first time.
Enough to make you look like a woman entering her twenties, rather than on
her way out of them, as you were when you were put under."
Thinking on it, a bit later, I realized that I should have realized
that. In virtually everything that they'd done to me, there was a little
detail that, if I'd thought about it, would have made me realize that the
stories I was given didn't make sense. The colour of my eyes in the
mirror telling me that I was the original, and not a clone, for instance.
But I'm not the sort of person who thinks about the details.
Anyway, *then*, I took another bite of my hamburger, and glared at
her. "Lemme guess, while you were making me look eight years younger, you
accidentally rinsed my brain out and --"
"No," Mercury answered firmly. "While it's not uncommon for patients
to experience mild cases of amnesia, due to the ... to use your analogy,
`cleansing' of the neural pathways during the process, your reaction to it
is unprecedented. At most, I'd say we rejuvenated you seven years. Even
with a rejuvenation of fifty years, the most amnesia any of my patients
has experienced is the loss of a few *months*."
"So what you're saying is that my brain's over-reacting to what's been
done to it," I said dryly. "Makes sense."
"I decline to comment on that," Mercury said, the faintest touch of
sarcasm in her voice. "However, it's clear that there is a psychological
element to your problems, as well as a neurological." She lifted another
leaf of salad to her mouth before continuing. "It's my theory that the
rejuvenation is also tied into the psychology."
"How's that --"
"This theory strays into a bit of mysticism," she interrupted. "I'm
drawing on my knowledge of the mechanics of reincarnation. I'm not sure
if most people do reincarnate, but even if they do, there's very little
chance that they'll ever remember their past lives as anything other than
vague dreams."
I had the weirdest feeling that I'd had this conversation with someone
else, recently. "Why not? I mean, I don't know jack about how the mind
works ... but if you actually remember something with your soul, then --"
"But what if one of the things that your soul remembers is how you
look?" Mercury asked.
I blinked. "I don't get it."
"If you were walking down a hallway in the palace, passed a mirror,
and turned to look in it, and saw that you had ... say, curly blonde hair,
blue eyes, and red-and-black body armor ... what would you think?"
"I'd think it wasn't a mirror. I'd think it was a holographic display
thing for a plastic surgeon's chop shop -- `For just 15,000 nuyen, this
could be you!' -- or something like that."
She blinked. "There actually were such places in MegaTokyo?"
"Well, one," I shrugged. "I *think* that was where I got my eyes
done."
"Astonishing," she muttered. "Should probably have spent more time in
that place. Wouldn't have been so shocked by what went on in the United
Galactica if I had ..." She trailed off for a moment, and then suddenly
realized that I was still there, and gave a little cough. "In any event,
you wouldn't think that it was *you*, correct? You wouldn't identify
yourself with the image."
"No," I said, starting to get an idea of where she was going with
this.
"Similarly, the appearance of most people's past lives wouldn't look
anything like their present self-image, and so they'd dismiss memories
which were centered around *being* a person like that as the flotsam of
dreams. Also similarly, I suspect that your conscious mind is rejecting
memories of yourself that deal with you appearing as other than you are
now."
I sat back and thought about it. Among the coherent memories of my
life after 2033, I couldn't find a single one of what I looked like.
There were flashes of my friends growing older, and feelings of myself
losing a bit of my fire ... but my own face eluded me.
"You may be onto something here," I said slowly. "So now what?"
Mercury seemed a bit troubled. "I'm not sure. While I have a fair
amount of psychiatric training, I don't really have the experience to deal
with this sort of thing. I could refer you to a different doctor ..."
I felt a prickling at the back of my neck. "Sounds good to me," I
temporized as I looked over my shoulder. And there she was.
Her long red hair was tied up in an extremely severe French braid,
drawing attention to her forehead and eyes -- which were glaring at me. I
could have been mistaken, but I think the clothes she was wearing, then,
were the same ones that she'd worn the first time we'd met, in the
hallway.
For all I knew, we stared across the room at each other for another
thousand years. All sounds in the cafeteria died down as those angry
brown eyes bored into my own.
And then, with a scrape, she jerked a chair out from under a table,
and sat down in it. Facing away from me.
I turned back to look at Mercury, who was now regarding me with an
expression that reminded me of a doctor looking at a terminal cancer
patient. "Do you know, I do not think I have *ever* seen Sheila that
angry?" she mused.
"It's ... complicated."
"No doubt," she said, again with just a little bit of sarcasm.
There was a sudden beeping noise. Mercury looked down at her wrist,
and frowned. "I'm afraid I have to be going, Ms. --" she said as she was
standing up.
"Look ... call me Priss, will you? Everyone calling me Ms. Asagiri is
giving me rickets," I snapped.
For a second, she stared at me as though I were some sort of bug under
a microscope. Then she nodded. "I think I will, at that. Good day." I
followed her with my eyes until she walked out of the cafeteria.
Leaving me alone -- okay, surrounded by a whole boatload of people I
didn't know -- with Sheila, whom I suppose I could call my ex-girlfriend
if not for the fact that it'd lasted less than twenty-four hours.
The "relationship", I mean.
I tore a chunk out of the hamburger, and tried not to think about
whether she was thinking about me.
You really gotta understand ... this was kind of a new experience for
me. From the time I turned thirteen 'til I was seventeen, I basically
screwed anything with two legs. No regrets, no complications (an
"arrangement" with the local pharmacist kept me stocked up with the
necessary paraphernalia, if you get my drift), and no semblance of a
"relationship".
And then I met HIM.
The funniest part of the whole thing was that up until then, I'd've
probably classified myself as "lesbian, not adverse to the use of males as
dildos" on a survey. Assuming I wouldn't just use it as toilet paper.
But for a grand total of seventeen months, I was not only exclusively
boy-crazy, I was exclusively mono. I almost knifed one of the other girls
in the gang that I'd screwed a few times when she wondered if I'd be
interested in sharing. If I hadn't been crazy in love with the guy, I
would have scared shitless. Maybe I was.
And then he got himself killed.
I mean, after that, you'd expect me to be disinterested in any kind of
companionship for a while, right? A few weeks of mourning, then back in
the game.
Try eighteen months.
Hell, I still remember the first time I thought about doing anything.
I'd just caught Mackie putting a videocamera in my trailer, and after I
tore a strip off of him, I stared at him for a while, and then said, in a
curious tone, "Mackie, do you wanna fuck?"
Sylia *would* have killed me. This added spice. Unfortunately, the
geek fainted dead away. So I dumped him back at Sylia's, and tore off
looking to get lucky. Three hours later, I lit up for the first time that
year.
I didn't go wild ... here a groupie, there some "record executive"
(read guy who knows a guy who knows a guy, yadda yadda yadda). I'm pretty
sure Sylia would have cracked down on me like a ton of bricks if I went
through as many boyfriends as Linna did. She wrote that she let each of
us have one bit of freedom. Linna could chase cute boys to her heart's
content, Nene could scope out as much dirt as she wanted on her lonesome,
and me ... I got to break things.
And then I met Sylvie, and I broke some things I couldn't put back
together.
Dumb-ass way of putting it, but true.
I would've slept with her. Almost did a couple times. But we
couldn't do it at my place (she was worried about her sick little sister)
or hers (ditto) and I didn't want to do it in public, or in some "love"
hotel. I wanted to be in bed with her. You can call it a yearning for
intimacy or something psycho like that, but that was what I wanted.
And I never got it.
Afterwards ... I don't know how long I was off the market, after
that. I do know that I *did* have sex at least once between 2033 and
2041, but I don't remember much about it.
So this thing with Sheila was something new. Both of us were alive,
and I had regrets. Lots of 'em. I brushed the crumbs off my hands, and
looked over my shoulder again.
She was gone.
Irritated with both of us, I stood up, and carried my tray to the
disposal.
It was then that I heard a female-type voice that I didn't recognize
at first, behind me. "Ms. Asagiri?" the voice inquired.
I turned, started on, "Yeah, who wants to kn-" and graduated to, "-oh,
shit."
Her long, aqua-blue hair tumbled down her back, and her cold blue eyes
were gazing daggers at me. It was Lieutenant Ryouko Mizuno, the woman
whom Sheila referred to as her nemesis, and claimed was the biggest
homophobic ego-freak in the Realm's powered armor corps.
"Ah, you remember me," she said quietly. "Good. I was wondering if
you and I could have a few ... words, elsewhere?"
Shit.
SYLIA
Immediately after the conclusion of my interview, I was returned to my
chamber. The fact that the door was firmly locked prevented it from being
a room, yet I had quickly determined that I was not under surveillance --
which indicated that it was not a cell, either.
At least, not under technological surveillance.
I despise magic. A psychologist might well attribute this to my need
to be in control at all times, and a reaction to my feeling of being
helpless when confronted with a power that I can neither manipulate nor
fully comprehend. I could not argue with that analysis.
In any event, after I was taken to the chamber for the second time,
My father had been something of an enthusiast for science fiction
classics, and had ensured that I was exposed to certain works at a very
early age. I learned to read on Asimov's juveniles, and progressed from
there. The first film which I can remember with any degree of clarity is
Kubrick's "2001".
This doubtless explained why I found it surreal that I was being
imprisoned in a room which had clearly been constructed to echo the
architectural style of the period to which I was native. I began to feel
less like a captive than the subject of an experiment. The dreamlike
quality that had almost overcome me in the first few moments of my
awakening in this place returned, in part.
Unfortunately, the Crystal Tokyo Society were not as adept as the
makers of the monolith, and so I could have spent hours picking apart
their replica's mistakes. I elected to not do so.
Within the chamber's dresser drawers, I found clothes tailored to the
fashions of 2041 -- the strangely muted style that the designers of Paris,
Neo Angeles, and Beirut had popularized, almost in a prophecy of the chaos
that would engulf the latter part of the year. Convenient. I had rather
liked that style.
Doubtless the clothes, like the chamber itself, were a reward for
agreeing to have the psychological evaluation performed. No reward had
been promised, of course. That would have biased the responses, in any
other subject.
I stripped out of the rough white hospital garment, and began to
dress. Then I remembered the true reason that I'd approved of that year's
fashion -- gloves had been in.
Perhaps half an hour after the interview concluded, guards appeared at
the door to the chamber. I was told that I had been asked to come to a
meeting with my physician and others. I asked which others.
"Lady Mars and Lady Jupiter will be present, as well," I was told.
>From comments which I had overheard, I knew that my physician was called
Lady Mercury. They seemed to have a fixation for the planets.
Before you ask, yes, I *did* know about the legend of the Sailor
Soldiers. I simply disbelieved it. Nor had I ever become familiar with
more than the general details of their appearances. Which explains why I
did not react strangely to the sight of them when I was brought into their
presence.
They were seated behind a long table -- Mercury in the middle, with
Mars to her right, and Jupiter to her left. Introductions were made, and
I was invited to sit down in a chair before them.
Mars was looking at me with a studied neutral expression, but I could
see hints of curiousity about me in her eyes. Curiousity ... and
respect. On the other hand, Jupiter was looking at me with thinly
disguised irritation.
"Ms. Stingray," Mercury began, "I believe that this discussion should
clarify a number of matters for you. Please feel free to interrupt any of
us if you have questions."
After a moment, I realized that they were waiting for a response, so I
nodded silently.
"First of all, you should be made aware that the psychological
examination which you have just recently undergone was not, strictly
speaking, an undirected inquiry. There was a specific question which it
was intended to answer." She checked her notes, and frowned slightly. "I
see that you were informed of our policy in regards to cybernetic and
biotechnological implants during the inquiry. You are aware, then, that
overly extensive modification of this kind can cause a question, under our
laws, as to the humanity of the subject of modification?"
I nodded again. So far, this required very little interaction. So
far, so good.
"Incidentally, Ms. Stingray ... would you care to enlighten us as to
the origins of the modifications to your body?"
I considered my options, realizing that there was more than simply
passing interest behind the question. Focusing on incidentally, I changed
the direction of the discussion. "Am I required to give you an accounting
of it?"
Mercury opened her mouth to reply, then turned to look at Jupiter.
The other woman's frown deepened. "While it is our policy to license and
regulate all cyber and biotech surgeons," Jupiter said slowly, "we have
never *required* those who had modifications performed outside of our
jurisdiction -- in terms of time, as well as space -- to register their
modifications."
I sensed that I had scored a point, though I was not sure with whom.
"Then I cannot see how my describing the circumstances under which I had
them done would change matters, since all of those involved are deceased
-- except for myself." A slightly catty comment wriggled its way from my
brain to my tongue before I realized what was happening. "And in any
event, I believe that my personal journal is available to you, and I
discuss a number of the incidents there."
Mars frowned, but said nothing.
"Very well," Mercury said, calmly. "Let us continue to the main point
of this discussion. Ms. Stingray, I am pleased --" She did not look as
pleased as all that. "--to inform you that the results of your
psychological evaluation demonstrate that you *are*, in fact, still
human. I should note, however, in reference to certain worries which you
expressed during the evaluation, that we do extend full citizenship to
many who do not qualify as humans."
She seemed to be fishing for a reaction. I considered giving her one
-- lifting an eyebrow to feign curiousity, for example -- then rejected
all such ideas. I simply gazed back at her.
After a few seconds of this, she shrugged almost imperceptibly.
"Moving along, I am pleased to offer you citizenship in the Crystal
Realm. Normally, we require immigrants and infants to take an examination
before granting them --"
"I have a question," I interrupted.
"Yes?" Mercury responded.
"The Crystal Realm, as I understand it, constitutes the government of
the entire planet Earth, as well as its orbital and lunar colonies. If I
elect to not accept this gift of citizenship, will I be obligated to leave
this world?"
Clearly none of them had been expecting *that*. "No," Mercury
replied, a bit unsteadily. "I believe that there are roughly ... perhaps
ten thousand people, living on Earth, in orbit or on the Moon, who are
eligible for citizenship yet have elected not to obtain it. Exact numbers
are difficult to obtain, since they have no obligation to cooperate with
census takers, but --"
Interrupting again, and rather enjoying it, I suggested, "Perhaps you
could describe the benefits and responsibilities of citizenship within
this Realm?"
It may have been a misstep. Mercury turned to look at Jupiter once
more, and the latter seemed rather less discombobulated by my rapid
changes of topic than she did. "The first -- and fundamental -- right and
responsibility of a citizen of the Crystal Realm is that of franchise.
Naturally, only citizens may vote."
"Or hold public office, I presume?" I asked.
Mars suddenly leaned forward. "Actually, Ms. Stingray, the concept of
`public office' is foreign to our system of government -- although a
number of communities, particularly in the Americas, have established
mechanisms to elect representatives to address her Majesty. The voting
mentioned is in direct democratic decision-making."
"I see," I said slowly. Direct democracy, with almost universal
enfranchisement. Something never attempted, to my knowledge. And yet,
with a monarchy. An exceedingly strange combination.
"However," Mars continued, "only citizens may join either of our armed
forces -- or work for companies which have contracts with them."
I nodded. Not surprising.
She stared at me for a moment. "I'm not sure you understand, Ms.
Stingray ... the only way for you to have sufficient security clearance to
work with Ms. Asagiri is --"
Any semblance of a good mood which I had felt evaporated. "I repeat
myself. That person is not Priss. I have no desire to --"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Mars asked. "She is. I should
know."
I blinked. "She -- I was informed that she was a clone of --"
Mars immediately turned to glare at Jupiter, who glared right back.
"I had nothing to do with this," snapped the tall auburn haired woman.
"If Asagiri told her that she was a clone, she did it on her own time."
Own time?
Mercury spoke up then. "Ms. Stingray, I think I should explain. Due
to a psychological trauma of uncertain nature, Ms. Asagiri seems to have
lost her memories of the interval between 2033 and 2041 -- when she was
rescued by us, and placed in cryogenic storage at her request." She
hesitated, then continued. "I believe that she feared that you would not
believe her, if she stated that she could not remember those years, and so
... she lied."
Lied?
But she ... but I ... but she ... but I ... butshe butI butshe butI
butshebutIbutshebutIbutshebutIbutsheIsheIsheIsheIsheIsheIsheIsheIsheI--
"Ms. Stingray?" I heard Mars ask, with concern in her tone.
I closed my eyes.
You never gave me the chance to be what I wanted to love you as I am.
I opened my eyes.
"Are you all right?" Mercury asked, half-standing.
"I'm fine," I lied smoothly.
"Well. Uh, to return to the original focus of this discussion --"
"I am sorry, but I will require more time to fully consider my options
before I make any decisions. May I be excused?" I asked as I rose from
my chair.
Mercury opened her mouth, then nodded, slowly. "You may at any time
reach us through the vidlink in your room."
"Thank you," I replied. "Oh. Could you give me directions to the
nearest washroom?"
Jupiter did, with a confused expression on her face. I bowed, and
quickly left.
I locked the door to the washroom behind me, and went over to one of
the sinks. I began to mechanically wash my face, seeking to eradicate any
sign that I had cried recently.
I hadn't. That was the strange thing.
For a long moment, I stared at my red-rubbed face in the mirror. And
then I realized where I'd made my mistake.
Her eyes.
The colour of them could easily have been faked. But not the pain.
The pain that was always there, no matter how much she tried to bury it
behind walls of machismo. It had grown worse, over the years, but even in
2033 it had been there.
No clone, no matter how perfect, could have faked that.
I should have known.
It was, after all, part of the reason that I loved her.
I walked over to the washroom window, and was pleased to note that it
slid open, and that there was no screen behind it. I looked down, and
determined that I was perhaps ten stories above the ground. More than
sufficient.
I began to climb out.
"You don't want to do that," a modulated voice behind me said.
I quickly looked over my shoulder.
Standing a few feet away was a black Hardsuit. Behind the visor, a
green light was glowing. The suit itself was a hodgepodge of the various
styles I had designed over the years -- and I was disturbed, on one level,
to realize that a few of them were designs which I had only considered
towards the end, and never actually set to paper.
"Don't I?" I asked the obvious hallucination.
The head unit shook in a gesture of negation. "You have made a
mistake. But so has she. Do either of you deserve to suffer forever for
your --"
"You don't understand!" I burst. "It's not just one mistake! It's
*countless* mistakes! How many times have I been on the verge of telling
her, when she's done something to push me away, or I've done something to
push *her* away? How can this be love when we only try to hurt each
other?!"
"If you did not care, then you would not be hurt," the hallucination
told me. "That you are hurt by what she does, and regret that she is hurt
by what you do --"
"Spare me the platitudes!" I snapped.
"What will she feel when she learns that you have killed yourself?"
the perfectly obscured voice asked.
I wanted to scream. "I won't care! I'll be dead, and I won't be able
to care what she feels anymore!"
"You do not accept the possibility of an afterlife? To deny the
possibility without evidence either way is hardly logical."
I closed my eyes, and drew in a long, shuddering breath. "The only
god there ever was died when I was twelve, and I would not wish to see the
heaven he might have created."
It had been dark, and it had hurt. He had said that it was necessary,
and it had hurt. I wanted to die, and it had hurt.
I heard the sound of a visor being lifted. "Your father was not a
god, Sylia. You do him dishonor by thinking of him in that way."
It was a woman's voice.
I opened my eyes to look into the face of the Black Knight Sabre.
To Be Continued
"Bubblegum Crisis" was created by Toshimichi Suzuki and others, and
brought to North America by AnimEigo. "Sailor Moon" was created by Naoko
Takeuchi and brought to North America by DiC. This story, while
incorporating characters from a motion picture held under copyright by
others, is copyright 1998 by Chris Davies.
Nobody Sue Me Okay?
Chris Davies, Advocate for Darkness, Part-Time Champion of Light.
"WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT FOR THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN?"
-- Death, in "Reaper Man", by Terry Pratchett.
http://www.ualberta.ca/~cdavies/hmpage.html