Hi. ^_^ Temporary new address; humbug.org.au has been down for a few 
weeks. So if you've written me, I'm not ignoring you, I just can't get 
into my account. I'll try to catch up on any backlog that might have 
developed when it comes back on line.

Anyway, I've been poking a series idea around for a bit, and finally 
decided to put it on virtual paper. No, I haven't given up IMBS, it's 
just on break for a short time whilst Mike and I catch our breaths.

I'll send the first story tomorrow morning... now, here's the prologue.
======================================================================
P A S T present                   
by Susan Doenime

Prologue - End of the Beginning
==================================+

	It was a overcast Tuesday when they buried the ashes of 
Saotome Genma.

	It had not been a sudden death. Shortly after his son's 
wedding, he had abruptly announced that he was ill. The 
disease was terminal, there was no hope of remission, and he 
had at best a year to live.

	It was very hard to say who had taken it worse. Soun had, 
rather predictably, gone into an extended crying jag. Nodoka 
had been shaken, then supportive, and finally a bit numb as his 
last days approached. She spent a lot of time with Soun, who 
would stop crying for her sake.

	Perhaps Ranma had taken it the hardest? If so, he 
certainly put up a brave front. 

	"Time for your medicine, old man."

	"Yo, Pop, too feeble to spar today?"

	"Stupid old man, get up."

	Anyone who didn't know the two would have called him 
cruel.

	Those who did know him felt that he was taking it well, 
but weren't terribly surprised. Ranma was a resilient sort, and 
Genma wasn't the type of person you'd miss for long. He had, 
people concluded, been a truly awful father.

	Saotome Akane knew differently, because late at night 
she was the one her husband would cling to, sobbing like a 
wounded animal.

	It had been a long sort of autumn, and now it was over 
and Genma was buried. There hadn't been a lot of pain, and this 
comforted everyone. There hadn't even been many restrictions 
or limitations on him; up until the last few days he had seemed 
as fit and active as ever. For a terminal illness, it had been a 
gentle one.

	The funeral had been brief.

	Ranma had sat, somewhat sad, but not numb. He had been 
given a year's notice that this day would come, and had come to 
terms with it. But he held his wife's hand all through the 
service, tightly.

	For her part, Akane was surprised. Mostly by the people 
attending the memorial service.

	Nodoka and Soun and Nabiki, yes. Happosai, certainly. But 
Principal Kuno? Perhaps not so surprising; the two men were 
alarmingly alike in some ways. 

	She didn't know who the angry, upset-looking woman in 
the jacket was. The two Chinese matrons looked disturbingly 
like Joketsuzoku, and the huge man next to them looked like a 
steelworker. A very rural old man chatted with a 
distinguished-looking businessman. And then there was the 
oddly familiar young woman in blue and yellow and grey, who 
certainly didn't look sad at all as she chatted with the teenage 
girl sitting beside her on the wooden bench.

	All in all, there were far more people than she would 
have expected at Genma's funeral.

	She could tell that Nabiki obviously was thinking the 
same, but really didn't care much. Soun and Nodoka didn't seem 
surprised at all. 

	Her husband, understandably, wasn't paying much 
attention.

	The service was quick, and solemn, and final. The 
cremation had been done the day before, and the small box that 
was lowered into the earth was bowed to, eulogized, and 
finally covered with soil.

	The crowd filed past, sad and formal, and then melted 
away.

	"Do you want to stay for a bit?"

	Ranma shook his head. "Nah, thanks. I kinda said goodbye 
to the old man already." He glanced over at the teenager and 
young woman, standing by the grave. "Who are they?"

	Shaking her head, Akane shrugged. "I don't know. But I 
didn't know most of the people who came. Did you?"

	"One or two. Most of em are complete strangers." He 
stared at the grave, and the teenage girl, and the rapidly 
receding figure in blue and yellow. "The woman seems kinda 
familiar. Dunno the girl. No way that pop knew her; she's 
younger than us."

	"Someone's daughter, probably. We could ask."

	"Nah. Let's go home." He shivered slightly. "I wanna let 
Kasumi baby me for a bit."

	Akane poked him gently. "That's your wife's job, baka."

	"Yes, but Kasumi's a lot better at it than a kawaikunee 
macho tomboy like you."

	They laughed, and left. 

	"Should have been mine."

	"Perhaps. Give her what she's due."

	"Moron. I like him."

	"I'm glad."

* * *

	Kasumi did not baby Ranma.

	"Here's some tea." The usual cheerful tone was strangely 
absent. She was leaving for college in a few days, and was 
understandably terse.

	"Thanks, Kasumi." He took the cup she offered.

	She turned away, and removed a few odds and ends from 
the dishwasher. "Your father left you something, Ranma."

	He looked up, startled. "Huh?"

	Leaving the room, she returned with a neatly-bound book, 
of the sort people buy to keep a scrapbook or an album in. 
"Here."

	Somewhat confused, Ranma took it. "What is it?"

	Kasumi stared at him blankly. "I have no idea, Ranma. He 
left it with me because I'm the only one in this house who he 
knew wouldn't open it until he was dead. I suppose it's 
something he wrote for you."

	"Oh. Uh, thanks."

	Kasumi gave a short nod, and began to leave.

	"Hey, Kasumi? Why weren't you at the funeral?"

	She turned, looking a bit annoyed. "I was, Ranma-kun. You 
probably just didn't see me."

	As she walked away he was tempted to tell her that he 
was absolutely positive that she hadn't been there, but... 
Kasumi was such a gentle, wonderful person. She hadn't been, 
lately, but then leaving the only family you have can't be easy. 
Nabiki had been even more uptight just before going to 
university, and she was ten times as independent was Kasumi.

	"Ranma? What's that?" Akane sidled up, resting her head 
on his shoulder.

	"Dunno. Kasumi said it was Pop's. Probably some secret 
technique or somethin'." He felt a bit sad. "That's just the kinda 
thing the old guy'd do. He really was devoted to the Art, y'know. 
I think that's the best thing I can say about him."

	She hugged him. "Why don't you go upstairs and open it? 
I'll help Kasumi pack."

	He thought about it for a second, then shook his head. "If 
it's okay with you, why don't you read it with me? I could kinda 
use the company."

	"Okay. Why don't we sit over here on the sofa?"

	They sat down, leaned into each other, and Ranma 
carefully flipped open the book.

----------------------------

		If you're reading this, boy, either I'm dead or you're 
	more like me than I thought. If it's the latter, turn around 
	very slowly and pray Kasumi goes easy on you.

		Since you're still reading, it looks like I'm dead. 
	Damn.

		I take great satisfaction in the fact that you and 
	Akane got married. I am immensely sorry that I never got 
	to see my grandchildren, but have only myself to blame 
	for that. And for a lot of other things, I suppose. If she's 
	there, feel free to let her stay as you read. Both halves of 
	my son are welcome to hear this, and it concerns her, 
	too.

		Why am I writing this? Perhaps because we never 
	really got to know each other very well, in certain ways. 
	Perhaps because I feel the need to explain things, share 
	certain things. Maybe because I need to confess, and my 
	son is the only one who can absolve me.

		Regardless, I have waited until I am dead to explain 
	things, and we are both poorer for it. But there are some 
	things I will not and cannot face.

		Son, I've lied to you before, but not now. This is all 
	true. You can ask Soun, he knows a lot of it. Cologne can 
	verify some of the rest, with a bit of checking, and if you 
	trust Happosai to give you a straight answer you can ask 
	him. Don't ask your mother. Don't tell her about any of 
	this, though she already knows most if not all of it.

		This is my life, and my triumphs, and my mistakes. 
	You might learn something from them. You might not. 
	Regardless, here it is.

		This is Saotome Genma.

		But before that, there was Kasigi Genma, who was 
	a very different young man, indeed....


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