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SAILOR MOON 4200: What has gone before
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In the year 3478 Crystal Tokyo was destroyed in an as-yet unexplained
disaster. Queen Serenity and her Senshi died fighting a hopeless battle
against the invaders. Civilisation fell; a new dark age began. Now, in
the year 4200, a new world order has risen, centred on the city of Third
Tokyo and ruled by the shadowy Serenity Council.
Artemis survived the final battle; now he and his great-granddaughter
Bendis are searching for a new generation of Senshi. Shortly after they
argue and split up, Bendis discovers the new Sailor Venus: a girl called
McCrea Beth. For his part, Artemis finds the new Jupiter and Mercury --
Hayashi Miyo and Sharma Dhiti. Miyo is actually Kino Makoto, now reborn
in her third lifetime; but when Artemis tries to re-awaken her memory of
her previous life as Sailor Jupiter, he accidentally restores her memory
of the Silver Millennium as well.
The first exploits of the Senshi are national news but public opinion
soon takes a disturbing direction: some people hate them; others want to
worship them. The Council, already searching for Bendis, create "vitri-
morphs" -- crystalline monsters designed to hunt Senshi.
Meanwhile another survivor of Crystal Tokyo has become involved: Hino
Rei, once Sailor Mars, now powerless, and owner of the Olympus Gymnasium
under the name Pappadopoulos Itsuko. Her office is bugged by a group of
Council investigators after Artemis is seen at the Olympus. To preserve
the secret of her past, she seeks help from an old friend in the Sankaku
clans, a mysterious criminal group. But the investigators learn of this
and their suspicions are only raised.
When vitrimorphs appear in the city, Venus, Jupiter and Mercury begin
to work together, fighting them. They are followed by an Opal, a flying
patrol vehicle fitted by the Council with Senshi detectors; but the Opal
has been sabotaged by Sailor Pluto (who has also survived, now using the
name Fumihiko Sadako), and crashes.
Without Beth's knowledge, two students at her school realise that she
is Sailor Venus. And Miyo, upset by the realisation that Minako and Ami
have not been reborn in this time, is taken to see an old friend ...
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S A I L O R M O O N 4 2 0 0
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by Angus MacSpon
macspon@ihug.co.nz
http://shell.ihug.co.nz/~macspon/fanfic/index.html
Comments and criticism welcome!
Based on "Sailor Moon" created by Naoko Takeuchi
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C H A P T E R S E V E N
"Transformation: Thy Will Be Done"
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"Hello, Makoto," said Itsuko. "How've you been?"
Miyo just stood there, looking stunned. "Rei?" she whispered again.
"It's probably best that you don't call me that," Itsuko said calmly.
"And you're Miyo now, right?" She glanced down at Artemis. "I take it
he didn't tell you who you were coming to see."
Miyo closed her mouth, finally, and swallowed hard. "Rei," she breathed
for the third time. "What are you ... how ... you've been reborn too?
Oh, thank goodness --"
Itsuko closed her eyes for a moment. "No," she said. "No, I haven't
been reborn. I got here the hard way."
"The what?" After a second she saw the sudden comprehension in the
girl's eyes. "Oh. Oh, no."
"Yes. It's been a while." Itsuko got up from her desk and went to the
window. It was a struggle to keep control. Part of her wanted to
throttle Artemis, for springing this on her without warning. Part of
her wanted to run to Miyo and hug her. And part of her --
Part of her remembered the last time she had spoken to Makoto.
--**--
"The truth is," she'd confessed to Artemis several days before,
"when it happened, when everything fell apart and she got killed
... we hadn't spoken in more than fifteen years."
They'd gotten together, she and Makoto and Haruka and Michiru, for a
meal and a chance to gossip about the old days. Rei hadn't seen the
others in a while, and it was nice to be able to catch up. All of them
had their duties, and they carried them all over the globe and beyond.
Chances to meet like this were few.
They talked about what they'd been doing. Michiru spoke about some of
the work she'd been doing on Europa, and Haruka told a story, about a
drunken flare-rider she'd had to chase all the way out into the Oort
cloud, that had them all laughing. And Rei and Makoto had their own
stories to tell ...
It had all been very pleasant and amicable.
"It was just a silly argument. Nothing important at all. But it got
out of hand ... neither of us would back down, and ... oh, it just
went on and on! For weeks, whenever we saw each other, we'd just
end up bringing it up again ..."
Just a silly argument. Meaningless.
Makoto was telling a long and rather unlikely story about when she'd
last seen Minako, and Rei saw the punch-line coming and beat her to it.
That was all. They laughed about it, but Makoto got annoyed, and
gradually the conversation turned into friendly bickering. Then
not-quite-so-friendly bickering.
All the same, the evening ended up well enough. After all, they'd known
each other for so long, hadn't they? Haruka and Michiru made their
excuses and left together, their arms around each other, and Makoto and
Rei watched them go and breathed envious sighs, and exchanged rueful
glances -- none of Makoto's marriages had lasted more than five years,
and Rei's record was little better -- and then they too parted,
perfectly satisfied with the evening.
A few days later they were called to the Palace. Serenity had a job for
them, a fiddly thing; they'd have to work together pretty closely for
the next few months. Well, that was fine, wasn't it? They were the
best of friends.
Which one of them brought it up again? Such a little, petty thing. It
was only meant as a joke, certainly. But the bantering became carping,
and the carping became an argument that turned acrimonious, and before
long they had to cut short the day's work.
Still, it wasn't important. They were adults, and they were good
friends, and neither of them really wanted to continue with an argument
that was, really, so trivial.
But neither of them could leave it alone.
"It just kept getting worse. We knew each other so well, we knew
all the wrong things to say ... we usually ended up shouting at each
other ..."
Rei would never have dreamed that the day would come when she dreaded
seeing her friend. She was quite sure that Makoto felt the same way.
And underneath it all, they were still friends. They both of them knew
that what they were doing was foolish, insane. A simple apology could
have ended it at any time.
Somehow, though, the apologies never quite came. There was always the
need for one last quick jab before the humble words could be spoken; and
so of course the humble words never got spoken at all. They had all but
forgotten the original argument by now.
So, little by little, the rift deepened. Little by little, the hurt
accumulated, shaping something terrible out of a friendship nearly
fifteen hundred years old. It was all unravelling, everything they had
gone through together; and neither could turn aside from the dark road
they were travelling. Words had been spoken, hot, angry words that cut
deeper than any knife.
There came a time when there were no more words to be said.
"One day I ... it was my fault, I went too far ... I said some
horrible things to her, really horrible things, things I couldn't
take back. And then she said --" She'd stopped, shaken her head.
"No. I don't want to think about what she said. Not ever again.
And we fought, Artemis, we actually fought ..."
It came down to this: two Senshi, alone in a room, staring at each
other, enraged, fists clenched, each waiting for the other to make the
first move.
Makoto had never been the type to back down. Neither had Rei. And they
had gone far past the point when either would have considered it. The
original argument was almost forgotten now. The damage had been done;
the insults and curses -- and worse -- had been exchanged. Only two
people who had been such good friends for so long could have hurt each
other so badly.
They were far past the time when words might have resolved the issue.
Neither of them could bear to try it again. The hurt was too deep, the
anger too hot, and the pain of shattered friendship too raw.
It came down, finally, to this: two Senshi, alone in a room, staring at
each other. And then, with no visible signal, flying at each other.
"I think that was the worst thing I ever did. We'd been such
friends, for so long -- and all we could do was try to kill each
other ...
"I don't remember how it ended. I truly don't. Nobody stopped us,
I know that much. I don't think anyone else ever knew. But finally
... afterward ...
"From that day until the Trouble began, we never spoke. We tried
never to be in the same room together. The few times we couldn't
avoid each other, I could see that she hadn't forgotten a thing ...
and I'm sure she could see that I hadn't either ..."
Old friends.
--**--
"How did you get up here?" Itsuko asked coolly.
She could hear the confusion in Miyo's voice. "I came in through the
basement. I don't -- Rei, what's wrong? Why are you so --"
"I asked Artemis not to bring you here. Apparently he decided he knew
better." Itsuko turned, looked Miyo in the eyes. "I had to tell him
about -- before. I'm sorry."
For a second longer she saw puzzlement in Miyo's expression. Then it
vanished. She saw the sudden memory dawn. She saw the astonishment,
the horror; and lastly, in the instant before Miyo's face went perfectly
blank, what she had known would be there. The rage.
Artemis must have seen it too. "Um, excuse me ..." he began. He
stopped when he saw how completely they were ignoring him.
"It was a long time ago," said Miyo slowly.
"Fifteen years," answered Itsuko.
"More like ... what, seven hundred and forty?"
"Fifteen years for you, though."
"True. I --" Miyo stopped, shaking her head. "Rei, I don't want to do
this. I don't ... do we really have to dig this up again?"
"Oh, please. Are you going to tell me that you just want to let it
drop? After everything you said? After everything _I_ said, for that
matter. After that ... time in Amsterdam? I still have the scars, if
you don't."
"Unfair." Unconsciously, Miyo rubbed her side, just below her ribs. "I
had my share of scars."
"Just a moment," said Artemis sharply. "Itsuko ... no, Rei. You told
me that you'd forgiven her. You said that after seven hundred years,
you'd --"
"Butt out, cat." For an instant, real anger entered Itsuko's voice.
"That's beside the point ... isn't it, Makoto?"
"Beside the point? Is that all you can say, 'beside the point'?" Miyo
demanded, outraged. "Where do you get off? You accuse me of trying to
just bury it all under the table, but you want to do the same thing?
What the hell are you trying to pull here?"
"I --" Itsuko broke off. It was all going wrong. She wasn't ready for
this. She wasn't ready for any of this.
"I know what you're doing," Miyo said in a low, dangerous voice. She
didn't look sixteen years old at all, not now. "You're trying to
manipulate me, just like before. You want me to be the one to let it
drop, so you won't have to admit you were wrong!"
It hit Itsuko like a hammer-blow. Was _that_ what she was doing? Did
she really feel that strongly about it, after all this time? Was she
really that much of a hypocrite?
No. She couldn't be. She couldn't bear it.
"That's not it," she heard herself saying. It was as if someone else
was speaking through her lips. "That's not it at all."
"What then?" demanded Miyo icily.
"I --" She hesitated. But there was nothing left now, nothing but the
truth. "I need to know if you _can_ let it drop."
Miyo stared at her.
"Seven hundred years, Makoto," Itsuko said softly. "Seven hundred years
is a long, long time. Alone."
And so it was out at last. Out in the open. The two of them stared
at each other. Itsuko bit her lip uneasily. Miyo opened her mouth to
speak --
The phone rang.
Itsuko swore furiously and snatched the receiver up, ready to bawl out
whoever it was. But the words died unsaid when she heard Ochiyo's
voice. "Itsuko-san? There are some 'P' Division officers here to see
you. They want to ask some more questions about the burglary on Monday
night."
Itsuko sighed. "All right," she said heavily. "Tell them I'll be down
in a couple of minutes." She hung up and turned back to Miyo and
Artemis once more.
They were gone. She was alone in the office.
"Shit."
--**--
A little distance away from the Olympus, Miyo stopped to aim a vicious
kick at the wall of the building she was passing. The wall stubbornly
refused to disintegrate, so she kicked it again, then again and again.
The violence was better -- anything was better -- than having to think
about ... things. About the very bad day she was having.
"You could go back," Artemis suggested.
"Not a chance," she snarled. "I'm not going to get sucked into that
again. I won't let her ... won't let her manipulate me again, not the
way she --"
"Rei? Manipulate?" said Artemis incredulously. "Since when was she
ever that subtle?"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Rei can be the most subtle person I ever met
when she --" Miyo broke off in mid-sentence, shooting an unfriendly
glance at Artemis. "Now who's trying to manipulate who?"
"Dammit, Miyo, can't you see she wants to end this? She admitted it
herself! And you said you didn't want to keep it going either! Why
can't you just --"
"YOU SHUT UP!" shouted Miyo at the absolute top of her voice. He
recoiled, shocked. In an only slightly lower voice she went on, "Damn
you, you weren't there! You don't know! You -- you had no business
butting your nose into this! You don't know what happened!"
They stared at each other for a moment: Artemis tense, ready to run;
Miyo white with rage, her fists and her teeth clenched.
A hand fell on Miyo's shoulder.
She whirled, furious, ready to strike -- and stopped suddenly. It was
Ichiyo standing there, looking unusually serious. Fujimaro was a little
distance behind. He looked scared.
"Calm down, Miyo-chan," said Ichiyo in a low voice. "You're making a
spectacle of yourself."
"What are you --" she began.
"Everyone's looking at you, oneesan," said Fujimaro in a thin, strained
voice.
She looked around quickly. There were several other people in the
street, and most of them were watching her. As she met their eyes, they
looked away quickly. [How much did they hear?] she thought. Her anger
was gone, melting away in a sudden rush of embarrassment ... and fear.
Her eyes flicked back to Fujimaro. Why did he look so nervous? And
Ichiyo seemed so serious --
[Oh, no. They think I'm cracking up.]
[Maybe they're right ...]
"What are you doing here?" she asked stupidly. A moment later she felt
like biting her tongue. This was the fashionable part of town, the
place where the trendy set hung out; and it was after nine on a Saturday
evening. Ichiyo fit in here perfectly. It was she who didn't belong.
"I think you should come home," Ichiyo said quietly, ignoring her
question.
She looked at him for a moment, then back to Fujimaro; and finally,
quickly, down to Artemis. But the cat had his back turned, refusing to
look at her. As she watched, he slowly walked away, never looking back.
She turned back to Ichiyo. "Hai," she said, in a low, defeated voice.
They escorted her home, one on either side of her. She was surrounded
by family, by brothers she knew cared for her. But she had never felt
so alone.
****************
Number Twelve knocked gingerly on the door. A voice said, "Come," and
she opened it and entered the office.
The chairman looked up briefly, said, "Sit," and went back to the file
he was reading, occasionally adding an annotation. Twelve sat down and
waited, trying not to appear impatient. It wasn't easy. The waiting
game was an old power ploy -- childish, really -- but that did not stop
it being effective.
"Have you seen the latest reports from 'D' Division?" the chairman asked
suddenly, not lifting his eyes from the monitor screen.
"I haven't had much chance to keep up lately," Twelve answered shortly.
The chairman knew that as well as she did. The Vitrimorph project was
taking all her time.
"Mm. We have to remember there's a world outside, though." The
chairman shook his head, sighing, and switched the monitor off. "We're
getting quite a lot of pressure from other countries to take an official
position on the Senshi. After all, we rule in their name." He laughed
dryly.
Twelve frowned. "Is it serious?" she asked.
"Not yet. 'D' Division can take care of any situations that develop.
But before long we will have to make a statement on the matter. We're
beginning to look bad, and we can't afford that. The Yen has dropped
slightly already."
"But -- what kind of position _can_ we take? We can hardly announce
that we're going to stand down in favour of a bunch of young girls!"
"Mm. And yet, our other solution to the problem doesn't seem to be
working too well, does it?" The chairman's eyes hardened suddenly.
"Report," he ordered.
She took a deep breath and began describing the operation: the selection
of an attack site in the area where they suspected the Senshi were
based; the commencement of the attack; and the arrival of Sailor
Mercury. The chairman stopped her once or twice to ask questions, but
for the most part he listened in silence, expressionless.
When she reached the end of her story, he nodded slowly. "And your
analysis?" he inquired.
She shrugged. "As I warned you, we were seriously hindered by the ...
the childish form of the attack. An animated dressmaker's dummy! If
you would just allow us to use the full range that the vitrimorphs are
capable of --"
"That is out of the question, as you should know. These ... childish
attacks, as you put it ... are exactly what we need." He smiled. "At
least for now."
"But --"
"Which brings me to another matter." He glanced down at a sheet of
paper on his desk. "Your report seems to have been incomplete in one
important respect."
She froze. He'd had somebody else watching? Checking up on her?
"'I'm leaving. Kill them all,'" the chairman read aloud. "Those were
your words?"
She licked her lips nervously. "I -- they scared me. I didn't --"
"You were made well aware of the purpose of this operation. The Senshi
must not be harmed until they have achieved our objective. And yet --"
He shook his head sadly. "You ordered the vitrimorph to kill. You
complained to me, not two minutes ago, that you were being held back,
when holding back is precisely the point." He folded his gloved hands,
and looked up at her. "Have you any excuse to offer?"
"Please --"
"I thought not." He touched a button on his desk. "This is not the
first time your behaviour has been ... unsatisfactory. I'm afraid that
our Master takes as dim a view of it as I do."
Behind her, the door opened. She tried to get up, to run, but the
impulse was instantly overridden. Her body was no longer her own.
The Master was in control.
"You have been allowed too great a level of autonomy. Fortunately, this
can easily be corrected."
She felt hands on her shoulders, dragging her to her feet. Her neck
still worked; when she turned her head, she saw Three and Five, her
colleagues, standing there. She opened her mouth to beg for help, but
her tongue froze before she could utter a word.
"A second initiation should take care of matters." The chairman leaned
back in his seat, his face expressionless. "Take her away."
She could not speak, but she could still scream as they dragged her out.
--**--
The chairman sat at his desk for some time, staring down at his hands.
He had fought, too, when he had been initiated. He still paid the
price, even today. But it was for the best, really. He knew now how
foolish it was to struggle. Twelve should have remembered that, too.
But she would be reminded, soon enough.
With a sigh, he turned to the next report on his screen. A preliminary
analysis of another one of the day's disasters. That was one he wasn't
going to be able to discuss in his office, though.
He glanced at the clock display on his screen. Almost three in the
morning. Well, too bad. The one he needed to talk to would still be
up.
He left his office without ceremony. A chauffeur was waiting outside.
The chairman gave his orders, allowed himself to be helped into a car,
and settled back with a sigh. Moments later they were humming through
the night.
It took fifteen minutes to reach the 'M' Division offices. The building
was mostly darkened at this hour, but there were still lights on in some
of the assembly and maintenance bays. He nodded at that, satisfied.
Whatever else he was, he was still the director of 'M' Division, and it
pleased him to see that his people were on the job.
He nodded to the security guard in the lobby, and was allowed through
promptly -- he couldn't use one of the palm-print readers, of course.
In the elevator, he slipped a plain white mag-card into the maintenance
key slot. The elevator started downward immediately.
Sixty metres below ground, he stepped out into a dimly-lit passage. The
guards here didn't wave him through; they covered him with their weapons
while they checked his retinal print. At last he was allowed to pass,
and stepped through the doors into M's workroom.
One end of the laboratory had been cleared of equipment. The space thus
created was filled with the remains of an 'S' Division Opal.
Disassembled components and pieces of wreckage were strewn across the
floor in what, to him, looked like a haphazard arrangement, but to M was
probably perfectly logical. He stepped through them gingerly.
M was not in sight at first; but after a few seconds he heard a scraping
sound, and the scientist clambered awkwardly out of the wreckage,
carrying a complex-looking unit that dangled a maze of severed optical
connectors.
"What have you found?" the chairman asked quietly.
M jumped, apparently seeing him for the first time, then sighed. "I
should have known you'd come here tonight."
"Have you found anything?" the chairman asked again.
"There has scarcely been time --" M stopped suddenly, seeing the
chairman's expression, then dumped the unit unceremoniously down on a
workbench and sat down, yawning. "No. Or rather, nothing useful.
Something caused a whole series of failure signals to go off at once.
Everything in the Opal simply shut down. I can't explain why."
"Was it something to do with the new sensors you designed?"
"No! Nothing I designed could possibly do that."
"But are you sure?" the chairman insisted. "If it was some kind of flaw
that was already in the Opals --"
"All right. All right." M sat back, rubbing eyes that were reddened
from lack of sleep. "That much I'm sure of, at least. The other Opals
are safe. But --"
"But you have no idea why this one crashed."
"I only received the wreckage two hours ago!" M sighed. "No, I've no
idea, yet. And I cannot see how it could have been the new sensors,
either. Most of the internal logs were erased, but I managed to recover
enough to show that the sensors had been active for some time, and were
functioning normally, when the failure occurred."
"That matches what the pilot says," the chairman said.
"Eh? Oh. Yes, of course. Can I get a copy of the debriefing report?
It might help."
The chairman hesitated. The debriefing report would show what the Opal
had been doing when it crashed, and he didn't want to give too much away
to the scientist. "I'll see what I can do," he temporised.
"Huh." M scowled at him. "It would be helpful if I had some idea of
what these sensors are _for_. The specifications you gave me were so
broad --" The chairman raised his eyebrows, and M sighed. "All right.
I'll keep on checking. I suppose it's possible that there was some kind
of interference between the wave buffers in the sensor unit and the
propulsion field sink ... though it's hard to see how. I'll have to run
some simulations ..."
The chairman ignored the gobbledegook. "How long will that take? There
is a certain amount of urgency in the matter."
"There always is." M considered. "I'll try to push it, but these
things take time. Just calculating the parameters --"
"I'm sure it would be very inconvenient for you if you had to do your
work from a wheelchair."
There was a short silence.
"Yes, it would," said M softly. "There's no need to make threats,
though. I'll do my best. But it's still going to take time."
"As long as we understand each other," said the chairman mildly. "I'm
sure that your best will be sufficient, as always."
M snorted. "How trite. I never give less than my best." And then,
after a pause: "Anyway, it's not as though I have anything else to do,
down here."
"No," said the chairman. "No, you don't, do you?"
****************
"Captain?"
Hiiro looked up from the report he was reading. "What is it, Mitsukai?"
There was a slight frown on her face. "There's a message from
headquarters. They want you for a meeting there tomorrow."
Now it was his turn to frown. "Unusual," he said thoughtfully. "What's
on their minds, I wonder?" He got up and stepped back to her "control
centre" -- the tiny corner of the van that had been fitted out with her
comms equipment and computer.
"Let's see," he murmured, reading over her shoulder. "'Lack of
progress' ... I expected that, and they should have too." He sighed,
and went on. "'In line of recent developments' -- that's interesting.
I wonder if someone else has made a breakthrough?"
"They could mean the Hoseki connection," she offered.
He shook his head. "HQ doesn't know that has anything to do with this
case. I've got a couple of people looking into Hoseki, but that's
nothing unusual. No, it must be something else. They --" He stopped
suddenly, and swore. "Wait a minute. Midori found out, didn't he?
Last Wednesday, when you and Kitada were checking the property files."
She nodded. "Damn!" he went on. "That'll be it. Midori knows Hoseki's
a dead end as well as we do, but somebody's leaning on Colonel Shiro for
results, so Midori's brought it up. That's all we need -- another red
herring to get in the way ..."
"So what do we do?" she asked after a moment.
"What _can_ we do?" he shot back. "You send back an acknowledgement and
say I'll be there for the meeting, that's what we do." He thought about
it and added, "Tell them I'll bring Kitada with me. He saw the files,
and it'll do him good to get a look at the desk-job end of things."
"Yes, sir." Her fingers rattled briefly on the keyboard. "Anything
else?"
"I don't think so." He eyed her sharply. "Wait a minute. How long
have you been on duty there?" At her sudden change of expression he
said, "What have I told you about that before? As a matter of fact ..."
He stepped over to a wall chart and scanned through it. "I thought so.
You were supposed to be in the gym an hour and a half ago."
"Sir --" she began. He cut her off.
"It's not just to spy on the clients, you know. It's important for you,
as well. You can't stay glued to that console all day long." He patted
her shoulder, smiling. "Go on, now. Get moving."
He returned to the report he'd been working on, carefully not thinking
about just how many hours he'd been on duty himself. Rank had its
privileges.
At her console, Mitsukai sat for some time, touching her shoulder where
he'd patted it, a curious expression on her face. At last, obediently,
she got up, fetched her gym bag, and stepped out of the van, blinking in
the sunlight.
****************
Beth trotted cheerfully toward school, Bendis just behind her. It was
a cloudy morning, but the air was warm and the day promised to be sunny
by afternoon.
"What's got you so happy today?" grouched Bendis as they went. Beth hid
a smile. Yesterday the cat had announced that she would be going into
school with her. She insisted that she had some important things to
check out at the school, though Beth was pretty sure that she was just
going stir-crazy, stuck in the house all day. Today, though, she'd been
downright testy when Beth woke her up. In almost three weeks at the
McCrea home, Bendis had developed a definite preference for sleeping in
in the morning.
"Oh, nothing," Beth answered.
It was nearly true. Actually, she was rather looking forward to school
today -- or, more specifically, to seeing Nanako. After all, she and
the other Senshi had destroyed another monster on Saturday afternoon,
and then been chased all over Third Tokyo. She was eager to hear what
the rumour mill had to say.
[Who are those other Senshi, anyway? Jupiter and Mercury. Maybe next
time I'll get a chance to talk to them properly ...]
She was so lost in her thoughts that, as she veered around a corner, she
ran straight into someone before she noticed they were there. A moment
later, both of them were sprawled on the ground.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Beth said hastily as she got up onto her hands
and knees. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'm so sorry --"
"It's all right," said the person she'd run into. Another girl, Beth
realised; a little taller than herself, with dark brown shoulder-length
hair and a somewhat mournful expression. She was wearing a different
school's uniform, with red-copper piping on the sleeves, and she was
rubbing her elbow as she stood up.
"Are you okay? Beth asked. "I didn't --"
"I'm fine," said the other girl patiently, still rubbing her elbow. She
bent down to pick up her satchel, and Beth caught a glimpse of a name
printed neatly on its side: ITAGAKI. "I have to get going," she added
before Beth could say anything else. "Good-bye."
"Er -- sorry," Beth said again, weakly, as the girl hurried off. Shaking
her head and sighing -- and rubbing one or two sore places herself --
she picked up her own satchel and started back toward school.
"Just a moment," Bendis said before she'd gotten more than a few steps.
She looked back. The cat was watching the other girl hurrying away in
the opposite direction.
"What is it?" Beth asked, a little impatiently. If they didn't hurry,
she'd be late.
"There's something funny about that girl," Bendis said slowly.
"What?" said Beth, not really paying attention. "No, that's just a
different school uniform. Yonjugo, I think --" She stopped suddenly.
"Funny in what way?" she asked cautiously.
"Umm, I'm not exactly sure," Bendis admitted. "I'd have to touch her
to be certain --"
"Do you think she might be another Senshi?" asked Beth excitedly.
"I don't know! She -- it didn't feel anything like when I first found
you. It could be something completely different."
Beth blinked. "Like what?"
"Er --" Bendis hesitated. "Well, I'm sure there could be other
explanations --" She saw Beth's expression and hastily added, "I'm
going to follow her, just to make sure. I'll see you later, okay?"
Beth scratched her head, watching as Bendis took off after the other
girl. Something suddenly occurred to her. "Hey, Bendis!" she shouted.
Bendis stopped, looking back. "What?"
"Don't go dropping any pianos on her head, all right?"
****************
Dhiti listened to the teacher with half an ear, toying idly with a
pencil. She was bored. She usually enjoyed history classes -- it was
about the only subject she liked enough to bother to do well at -- but
she'd read several books about the Refounding, and the teacher wasn't
saying anything she didn't know. Actually, she probably knew more about
it than he did.
Instead she was thinking about Hayashi. Something was wrong there,
something she couldn't make out.
Saturday evening, at least, had been comprehensible. Then, after the
battle, Hayashi had been grief-stricken at the loss of a friend. Dhiti
could understand that, at least, and it had troubled her that she hadn't
been able to do a thing. (Strange, really, how much it did bother her.
When had Hayashi's well-being started to become so important to her?
They were friends, sure, but this was different.)
Today, though ... today, Hayashi wasn't sad. She was -- different.
Distant. Cold. Depressed, perhaps. She looked straight through people
as if they weren't there. She brooded. Even the teachers noticed it,
and left her alone in class. It was ... Dhiti groped for the right
word. It was eerie. Completely unlike the Hayashi she knew. Normally
she was so totally open, you could read her like a book. Today, all
the pages were blank.
Dhiti had been watching her all morning, and she couldn't make out what
it was. At times she thought Hayashi was about to explode, fly into a
rage. At other times it seemed more as if she were about to cry.
Something had happened over the weekend, but Dhiti couldn't get her to
talk about it. When they'd arrived at school that morning she'd tried
to speak to her, but Hayashi just brushed her off as if --
"-- tell us, Sharma-kun?"
She jumped, her attention suddenly brought back to the classroom.
Eguchi-sensei was looking at her expectantly. Whoops. What had he
asked her?
"Sorry, sensei," she said, beaming at him. "I was so wrapped up in your
brilliant oratory that the question just flew right past me."
Nobody in the classroom even snickered. They were used to this. Pity.
Eguchi-sensei just sighed. "I asked, Dhiti, if you could tell us some
of the guiding principles that allowed the Refounding to occur?"
Dhiti thought about it for a moment. An easy question, but ... "Blind
luck, and royal whim," she said.
It would have gotten her into trouble in any other class. But
Eguchi-sensei knew Dhiti well enough -- and, more importantly, knew
how much she loved history -- that he only raised his eyebrows and said,
"Explain."
Dhiti grinned. "Blind luck that the Archives weren't destroyed in the
Great Fall, so the Indian expedition could find them in 4102 --"
--**--
In 4102, the world was in the depths of a new Dark Age.
The fall of Crystal Tokyo in 3478 had left a ruined planet in its wake.
When Queen Serenity died, the world died with her. Every crystal-based
form of technology simply stopped working; and after so many centuries,
few other forms of technology still existed. Every piece of machinery,
every computer, every lamp and every library-reader was suddenly dead.
Before long, so were most of the people.
Without technology, the automated farms stopped working. Without
readers to display the library crystals, nobody could look up how to run
the farms themselves. And without the farms, everybody starved ...
Not quite everybody. A few settlements remained, mostly built around
places where rare troves of _printed_ books remained. They weren't much
help, usually (there are few practical hints for running a farm in a
carefully-preserved antique copy of _Dune_) -- but sometimes they were
enough for a primitive kind of civilisation to survive. But inevitably,
the enclaves themselves were targets for those who had nothing. By the
year 4102, not many of them were left.
Some of them did well, though. In 4102, the Cuddalore enclave in south-
eastern India was fairly prosperous, and in a burst of expansionist
fervour they outfitted a sailing ship and sent an expedition to Japan.
To the ruins of Crystal Tokyo itself -- where, it was hoped, they would
find some kind of booty or relic that might make the enormous cost of
the trip worthwhile.
The ruins were deserted. The fall of the city had devastated the area
for a long way around, and though the blasted regions had finally grown
over and become fertile again, few people had returned. The Cuddalore
expedition simply walked in, pitched camp, and started exploring.
Two weeks later they struck gold. No, not gold. Platinum, diamonds ...
no, more valuable than that. They struck history. They found the
Royal Archives.
The man who found the entrance -- who managed to break the seal and open
the door, and descended the steps into the first underground vault --
had never heard of Howard Carter, and never would. But the sense of
wonder and awe that he felt, as he raised his lantern and looked out
over the contents of the first chamber of the Archives, were feelings
that Carter, thousands of years before, would have recognised.
He had expected to find another library: a computer core, filled with
racks of crystals -- pretty things, but useless; worth a little as
trinkets, enough to make them worth taking home, but not much. Instead,
he found the future.
Because the room didn't contain storage crystals at all. It contained
books. Printed books. Thousands upon thousands of books.
--**--
"Yes, it has been commented upon," admitted Eguchi-sensei. "The
survival of the Archives was certainly remarkable. Calling it 'blind
luck' might be a little excessive, though."
"Practically nothing else in Crystal Tokyo survived," pointed out Dhiti,
"not even other underground facilities. But all of the Archive vaults
were intact."
A treasure trove beyond imagination. The stored knowledge of an entire
civilisation, perfectly preserved. Vaults of books -- and, in other
chambers, different kinds of treasures: paintings, and sculpture, and
other works of art; audio and video records, etched onto little silvery
metal disks; and so much more. A short-cut to civilisation, everything
the explorers needed to know to be able to start again. Within a year,
there were lights shining in the ruins once more. In twenty years, they
weren't ruins any more.
The teacher chuckled. "All right, then. I'll accept 'blind luck' for
now. But what about 'royal whim'?"
"Why else would they contain books, instead of storage crystals?" Dhiti
said promptly. "Nobody was _making_ books any more. Queen Serenity and
the Senshi were the only ones who really even remembered them. It had
to have been a Royal decree."
Today, the Archives were sheltered under a great dome at the heart of
Third Tokyo. That was a 'royal whim,' if you like; the Serenity Council
decreed it, and it was so. The dome had been completed twenty years
before, at colossal expense. It was surrounded by a huge forested park,
and was lit up at night. From the air, it looked like a giant glowing
eye in the middle of the city.
"It might have been Lady Mizuno's suggestion," Dhiti added cheekily.
"She's supposed to have liked books. Or maybe Meiou-sama knew the Fall
was coming, so she arranged it --"
"Ah, yes," said Eguchi-sensei. "The mythical Sailor Pluto. But I think
we're getting into some grey areas here, historically speaking. As I'm
sure you're aware, there's nothing in the Archives to suggest that such
a person actually existed --"
The lunch-break bell chimed, cutting him off. A few students had been
following the argument with interest; most of the rest simply breathed
sighs of relief as they hurried out of the classroom.
Dhiti stayed at her desk for a few moments, watching Hayashi. The tall
girl rose slowly and started for the door. Her expression was difficult
to read: distracted, distant. At least she didn't look actually hostile
at the moment. Maybe she'd be willing to talk now. Dhiti hurried after
her.
"It wasn't quite like that," Hayashi said absently as she caught up.
Dhiti blinked. "What wasn't?"
"The Archives. It wasn't just a ... whim. It was supposed to be a
memorial. A reminder of what the world had been, before the Ice.
It was a museum as well as a library."
That was an interesting idea. Dhiti thought about it. "But what about
the records from Crystal Tokyo itself? Shouldn't they have been on
library crystals, then?"
"Most of them were, I think. And there were copies of everything on
crystal, of course. But the archivists got very proud of their books,
and they kept on making them. I remember they set up a printing press
behind the Palace."
"And what about Meiou-sama? Sailor Pluto? Was she for real?"
There was the ghost of a smile on Hayashi's lips. "Sorry, that's a
state secret."
"Oh, come _on_!" Dhiti burst out indignantly. Hayashi's smile widened a
little.
"Fine," Dhiti grouched. "Be that way. See if I care. Some friend you
are."
The smile vanished like a soap bubble bursting. A quick flash of
something -- pain, perhaps, or regret -- flashed across Hayashi's face.
Then, her expression quite blank, she started to turn away.
Dhiti stared after her. She'd said something wrong. But what? "Wait a
minute!" she said. "What's the matter?"
Hayashi did not respond. She stood, her back turned, her head hanging.
She did not appear to be breathing. Dhiti grabbed her by the shoulder
and shouted, "Dammit, Hayashi! What's the matter? What did I say?
Will you _talk_ to me!"
The other girl did not answer for a moment. At last she said in a low
voice, "Talking doesn't help. Sometimes it just makes it worse."
With some difficulty, Dhiti bit back the flippant answer that tried to
burst out. The walls were down, she realised; just for a moment,
Hayashi was wide open. But something told her that she had to be
careful. One more careless remark and they'd slam back up. Maybe for
good.
She took a deep breath. "That depends on what you say," she tried
gingerly.
Hayashi looked back at her, and there was a world of torment in her
eyes. "What do you say when you've said everything, and nothing
helped?" she asked.
[Has she been fighting with someone?] Dhiti thought frantically. [But
who? Why?] She didn't know what to do. But Hayashi was waiting,
waiting for her to make it better, and she had to tell her something.
"You could say 'I'm sorry,'" she suggested.
Hayashi actually flinched. "But what if it's too late?" she whispered.
"What if it isn't?" said Dhiti.
They stared at each other for some time. At last Hayashi said, in a
voice that cracked, "I'm scared that she _won't_ be sorry."
And finally Dhiti could no longer hold back the question. "Who?" she
asked. "Who is it? What's happened?"
"Who?" Hayashi laughed mirthlessly. "Nobody you know. Somebody who's
been dead for a long time."
"Do you mean --" Dhiti swallowed with difficulty. "Do you mean ...
Lady Mizuno?"
"Ami?" Hayashi gave that laugh again. "No. Don't you remember? She
died on Saturday evening. You were there."
And with that she turned her back and strode off. Dhiti did not try
to follow.
After a while she felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned to see Kin,
Liam and Mark grinning at her. She managed to grin back, and for the
rest of the lunch break she gave a very convincing simulation of having
a good time, which fooled nobody.
****************
Masao followed Hiiro in through the foyer of 'S' Division headquarters.
Rather to his surprise, there was a sign outside clearly marking the
building as 'S' Division. He'd expected it to be hidden somehow:
perhaps disguised as a shipping corporation, or something. When he said
as much, Hiiro laughed.
"Oh, there are camouflaged offices and depots and safe-houses and so on.
But we are a government agency, remember. Sometimes we need a public
face. Somewhere where the crazies can come in off the street and report
their neighbours for hoarding beans. Somewhere" -- he shot a wry glance
at Masao -- "where people can sign up as Irregulars."
Masao cleared his throat. "I promise you, I've never hoarded a single
bean in my life --"
They made their way up to the sixth floor, both laughing. Public
offices or not, security _was_ tight, Masao noticed. They had to show
their IDs three times on the way. Hiiro's was a pale blue card. Masao,
as an Irregular, had an orange one.
Two men were waiting for them in the sixth floor reception. Masao
recognised one of them: Lieutenant Midori. The two exchanged cool nods.
The nod Midori gave Hiiro was even cooler.
The other man, Colonel Shiro, was tall and lean, with iron-grey hair and
thick, bushy eyebrows. He smiled as he shook Masao's hand.
"Kitada-san," he said. "With us a little longer than expected, I see."
"It's been a very, er, educational experience, sir," Masao said,
grinning.
"I'm sure," Shiro said with a chuckle. "You've met my ADC, Midori, I
think ..." At Masao's nod, he turned his attention to Hiiro. "Captain,
good to see you again. Sorry to pull you in like this --" Hiiro
shrugged. "Yes. Well, we've got one other guest coming in for this
afternoon's meeting. He should be arriving in just a few minutes ..."
As he spoke, the elevator chimed, and two men stepped out. One of them,
to Masao's admittedly inexperienced eye, looked like a typical flunky.
He recognised the other one immediately, though. A little less than
average height, with a bullet head and bright, lively eyes, and a face
that was famous not through public appearances (for he made none), but
through his frequent appearance in caricature in editorial cartoons.
Takeda Ryobe, Number Three of the Serenity Council, the director of 'S'
Division.
"Director," said Shiro, bowing his head respectfully.
Takeda nodded quickly. "Colonel," he said. "These are the officers
you mentioned?"
"Yes, sir. Captain Hiiro" -- Hiiro bowed -- "and this is one of our
Irregular agents, Kitada Masao." Masao bowed too.
"Irregular, eh? And not doing quite the sort of work you imagined we
do, I'll wager." Takeda gave a quick smile. "I assure you, we do do
other things besides looking for lost cats." Masao started to stammer
an answer, but the director was no longer paying attention. "Colonel,
let's get started, if you please. I have another appointment at half
past three --"
Shiro nodded. "Yes, sir. This way, please." He led them through into
a meeting room (except for the flunky, who remained behind at the
reception desk). As he closed the door behind the last one to enter,
the atmosphere inside took on a curiously dead quality, and Masao
realised that the room was sound-proofed.
"Now," Takeda said briskly, almost before Shiro was seated. "I hear
that our cat search has unearthed some ... unexpected connections."
Shiro's eyes flicked toward Hiiro. Hiiro sighed. "Yes, sir," he said.
"Or at least the possibility. Our investigations have been centred
around the Olympus Gymnasium. Mr Kitada here reported a lost-and-found
poster on the notice-board there, for a cat which closely matches the
description of the cat we're after -- right down to the scarred
forehead."
"I have confirmation of that," said Midori, sliding a sheet of paper
across to Takeda.
Hiiro shot him an irritated look. "We confirmed the existence of the
poster ourselves," he went on. "But the next day, it had been removed,
and none of the gymnasium staff claim to know anything about it. We've
been questioning clients and --"
"Yes, yes, that's understood," said Takeda impatiently. "I've seen your
reports. Get to the new developments."
Masao caught his breath, wondering if Hiiro was going to reveal that
they'd seen Artemis prowling around the gymnasium. To his relief, Hiiro
avoided the subject completely.
"Last Tuesday, the owner of the Olympus received a visit from three men.
One of them was a known Sankaku agent." He slid a photograph across
the desk. It showed three men entering a building. A ring was drawn
around one of them.
"And the other two?" inquired Takeda, studying it.
"The man in front is Okuda Jiro, a security consultant. No definite
Sankaku connections, but he does occasional work for the Hoseki Property
Group --"
"Hoseki?" said Shiro sharply. "Damnation! Then --"
"Yes, sir. There'd been a break-in at the gymnasium that morning, and
their security contract is with Hoseki."
"And Hoseki is owned by the Sankaku, but is ninety-nine percent
legitimate," completed Shiro. "So the contact with them was quite
possibly innocent. Is that it?"
"Yes, sir," said Hiiro reluctantly.
Takeda frowned. "So, it's a false alarm, then?"
Hiiro shrugged. "Probably. I've put extra surveillance on Hoseki,
just in case, but I'm not really expecting to come up with anything."
"After all, why would the Sankaku be interested in a cat in the first
place?" put in Masao. "There's not much a bunch of criminals can _do_
with one, except maybe hold it for ransom ..." He trailed off. All the
others were exchanging glances. "What?" he asked.
"The Sankaku are not precisely criminals," said Shiro carefully. "That
is the image we prefer to give them, true, and the way they get reported
in the news media. But while they support themselves through criminal
activities, we are fairly sure that they have some other goal than the
accumulation of wealth or power. It is possible that they are
revolutionaries --"
"Probable," said Takeda curtly.
"Probable, then." Shiro's face showed how likely he thought that was.
"They're a group of three organisations -- they call themselves clans.
The three often work together, but they have their own separate
leadership and methods ... and, we suspect, their own agendas." He
sighed. "Hiiro, you'd better give him some of the briefing papers on
the Sankaku. It looks as though they may be helpful. This cat case is
turning into a _nightmare_!"
"Yes, sir. Kitada, the point to remember is that while we've managed to
infiltrate the clans, several times, we've never gotten anybody into
their very top leadership. We don't know _what_ they're after, but
we're sure it isn't just money. And they've managed to infiltrate us a
few times, too. So the situation is, we watch each other very closely.
If the Clans know we're interested in cats -- and we can be sure that
they _do_ know, by now -- then they'll be interested in cats as well."
Masao shook his head. "But why _are_ we interested in cats?" he
said plaintively. "Nobody seems to know!"
A curious hush fell around the table. Shiro's face was quite blank.
So was Hiiro's. Midori started to turn toward the head of the table,
but stopped suddenly and stared downward.
Finally, Masao realised just who had issued the order for the search.
"So," said Takeda softly. "To summarise: we have a possible link
between your investigation and the Sankaku. A dubious link, to be
sure." He pursed his lips. "Under the circumstances, it would be
safest to check it thoroughly. Colonel, do we have anybody inside
Hoseki?"
"Lieutenant?" said Shiro.
"One moment, sir." Midori tapped an inquiry into his comm. "Ahh ...
yes, sir," he announced a few seconds later. "One Irregular."
Takeda frowned. "Not really enough. Colonel, I'm thinking that it
would be a good idea to send a few teams in and clear out Hoseki
thoroughly. Even if we don't find anything, it's always wise to cut the
Sankaku back occasionally." Shiro raised his eyebrows, then nodded
slowly. "Good. See what the Analysis section can come up with. It
might be best to raid a few of their other fronts at the same time, to
hide what we're really interested in."
"Yes, sir. I'll let you have our proposals by ... Wednesday?"
"Good." Takeda stood up. "Well, gentlemen. Thank you for coming.
Good to see you again, Shiro-kun." He opened the door and strode out.
The other three followed him more slowly.
--**--
Kitada sent downstairs with Midori to look through the latest briefing
papers on the Sankaku. Hiiro remained for a few moments to speak
privately with Colonel Shiro.
"Very interesting," he murmured.
"So it was," replied Shiro, equally quietly. "I'm most grateful to you
for bringing Kitada-san in. I don't think I'd have dared ask that
question. At least not quite as directly as he did ..."
"No." Hiiro smiled. "Kitada can be quite direct."
"So how is he working out, then?" asked Shiro, raising one eyebrow.
"The truth, not what you put in your reports."
Hiiro shrugged. "The truth _is_ what's in the reports. He's working
out very well. He doesn't have all the training he needs, of course,
but he's bright and he's picking it all up fast." He scratched his chin
thoughtfully and added, "Actually, that's one of the reasons I brought
him in today -- so he could get a look at the other side of the
business. When this job is finished, I'm going to invite him to sign on
permanently."
"Oh? Do you think he's likely to accept?"
"Quite possibly. He does have an aptitude for thinking around corners
... once he got over the shock, that is." Hiiro grinned. When Kitada
had started, he'd been quite horrified at some of the underhanded
techniques he was being taught. "He's been running a background check
on one of the Olympus staff for a few days. Kuroi's monitoring him, but
Kitada's doing quite well on his own."
"Well, we'll see," said Shiro, shaking his head and grinning back. "For
now ... let's head down to my office. I'm going to want your input on
these raids --"
****************
"Umm, I'm sorry," Beth said reluctantly. It was Wednesday lunch-break,
and the group were gathered in their usual spot. "I can't. My Mom
wants to get me some new clothes, and the way she goes about it, it
usually takes hours. I'm probably going to be tied up all Friday
evening."
Nanako wrinkled her brow. "Are you sure? I already bought my ticket."
"I'm sorry," Beth repeated with a sigh. "I told you already, yesterday.
I can't." Curiosity made her add, "What movie is it?"
"Oh, come on! You've got to have seen the ads! It's 'Icewalker III'!
You know -- 'He treads the wastelands of the Great Ice' ... c'mon, you
must have seen the first two in the series?" Beth shook her head
nervously and Nanako looked pained.
"This whole thing is so stupid," grumbled Eitoku. "I mean, the whole
world was asleep during the Great Ice. Everyone knows that."
"They explained that in the first movie!" pointed out Nanako, irritated.
"There was this stasis capsule that malfunctioned and --"
"Oh, please, that is just so --"
"Well if you think it's so dumb, why did you agree to come and see it?"
As Eitoku spluttered and fumbled for an answer, scarlet-faced, Nanako
turned to Iku. "What about you, Iku-chan? You've got to see this!"
Iku looked taken aback, flushing an even brighter red than Eitoku. "Oh,
no ... I couldn't. I have a dentist appointment on Friday afternoon,
and ... I ... I'm not going to be anywhere near ..." She trailed off
uncertainly.
Everyone winced in sympathy. "Heckuva lot better excuse than yours,
Beth-chan," muttered Nanako.
"What? But --" Beth began. She was cut off as the school bell rang.
With a sigh, she shook her head and stood up, trudging back inside. The
others, with their own various groans of disappointment and sighs of
resignation, collected their things and followed her.
Nanako hung back for a moment. As Beth and Iku walked on ahead, she
glanced over to Eitoku and said, "You see? I told you it'd work."
--**--
Hideo crept out of the bushes after the two were out of sight. He was
doing much better now; he was fairly sure that even Nanako hadn't
spotted him today. He stood up straight, stretched, and began to brush
the dead leaves and fragments of bark off his clothes as he, too, headed
back in to class.
A moment later he stopped, seeing something lying in the grass where the
four had been sitting. He picked it up. It was a sheet of paper,
crumpled and dirty. He stared at it for a few seconds, uncomprehending,
then stuffed it in his pocket and ran off.
****************
Miyo lay in bed, listening to Miliko's regular breathing and trying to
think. The last two days had been pure misery. Artemis wasn't talking
to her. Dhiti seemed afraid to breathe when she was around, let alone
talk. Her family acted as though she were made of glass --
That last frightened her. Her brothers seemed to think she was going
mad, and now that she was aware of it, she could see how gingerly her
parents were treating her, too. They acted as if they thought she was
made of gelignite. Only Miliko still treated her normally; the twelve-
year-old didn't really seem to understand what was going on. She could
see that something was wrong, though, and it clearly worried her.
[Everyone's worried about me,] Miyo thought bitterly. [How nice.]
If she could just decide what to do ... She sighed. They all had their
ideas of what she _ought_ to do. [Relax and have fun.] [Be a normal
sixteen-year-old.] But none of them were in her shoes. None of them
could possibly understand --
Well, perhaps Artemis could. He had the perspective.
What he lacked was the _involvement_. He hadn't been there when she and
Rei had fought. He hadn't heard what they'd said to each other, before-
hand. He hadn't felt the betrayal, and the rage. He hadn't bled. It
didn't matter how good his intention were; he didn't know -- he couldn't
know -- what he was asking.
[Can't you see she wants to end this?] he'd said. And Rei had virtually
admitted the same thing, earlier. Miyo had been tempted, so tempted.
It would have been so easy to let it go, to finally let it end ...
But no. Even today, even seven hundred years later, Rei hadn't changed.
[I still have the scars, if you don't,] she'd said. Still the same old
Rei, as aggressive as ever. Under the blankets, Miyo's hand crept up to
touch her side. There were no scars there, not any more. Did Rei think
she was inferior, because she'd been reborn?
[Are you going to tell me that you just want to let it drop?]
She had wanted to, for a moment there. The thought of seeing an old
friend, someone who could understand what she was going through, had
been seductive. But then Rei had thrown it in her face. _She_ clearly
wasn't prepared to forget, even if Miyo was. That cynical question --
and then her casual accusation: [That's beside the point, isn't it?] Oh
so clever. Turning it around, casting the blame on _her_.
How could she make her peace with someone like that? With someone who
only paid lip-service to wanting to end the breach?
[I'm scared that she _won't_ be sorry,] she'd told Dhiti. That was only
part of it, though. The truth was worse. The real truth was that she
was afraid that if she tried to apologise, Rei might laugh at her.
And yet --
And yet, there had been that look in Rei's eye.
[I need to know if you _can_ let it drop,] she'd said. [Seven hundred
years is a long, long time. Alone.] Miyo could almost believe that
she'd seen sincerity in Rei's eyes in that moment. That she truly did
want to let it end.
If she dared -- if only Rei could be trusted --
"Miyo?"
Miliko's sleepy voice, from the other side of the room. "What?" Miyo
answered softly.
"Can you stop sighing all the time? You're keeping me awake."
"Sorry," she said involuntarily. She heard Miliko mutter something,
then turn over and resume her slow, steady breathing.
Quite suddenly, the absurdity of it struck her, and she found herself
laughing silently. So much pain and heartache ... and all it amounted
to was that she was keeping her little sister awake. How Rei would
laugh, if she only knew ...
She stopped laughing as the implications sank in. [All it amounted
to ...] Was that it? Could that be it? Could that be _all_?
"Sorry," she whispered again. And realised that she was crying.
Wasted. That _was_ it. All those years of rage and hatred ... and it
was all in vain. Wasted. What good had any of it done? What had it
accomplished?
Nothing.
No-one else had ever even known about it. They had argued and fought
and bled, and still, seven hundred and thirty-seven years later, nobody
but them cared! What was the _point_?
She remembered what Artemis had told her, a week before: [The only
person messing your life up ... is you.] As then, as always, it was
true. The more she fought Rei, the worse she hurt herself; but after
so long, she was afraid to stop fighting ...
She clutched her pillow, soaking it with her tears. If she dared ...
if only she dared --
Her last thought, before grey sleep finally claimed her, was of what
she'd said to Dhiti on Monday: [What if it's too late?] And Dhiti had
answered, [What if it isn't?]
What if it wasn't?
****************
They came for her early on Thursday morning. Number Twelve was dozing
fitfully in her tiny, windowless cell. She'd been locked there since
Sunday, with no food and little water. To lower the psychic defences,
she supposed. This hadn't been necessary at her first initiation. She
didn't like what that implied.
When the key clattered in the lock, she snapped open instantly. Sitting
up made her head swim for a moment, but she was ready and waiting for
them when the door swung open.
She did not try to fight or run. She knew how pointless it would be.
Any such attempt would fail instantly; her legs would freeze, or
suddenly go limp; the cloud would come down on her thoughts; and for a
time she would not be _herself_ at all, but only an extension of the
Master.
That was what they were going to do to her again this morning. This
time, though, it would be permanent.
She stood obediently when they took her by the shoulders. She stumbled
a little as they led her down the corridor; she was light-headed with
hunger. They helped her patiently.
She stole glances at them from the corners of her eyes. Numbers Two,
Five and Seven. Always numbers. She knew their names, but within the
Council they were always supposed to think of each other as the numbers.
Why was that? It made it harder to work with people, it depersonalised
everyone ... maybe that was the point, though. The Master didn't much
care for personalities.
The floor under her bare feet was cold. The air on her naked skin made
her shiver.
They took an elevator down to the basement. It was colder down here.
The lights were spaced a little too far apart, so that the corridors
became a bewildering, semi-dark maze. Twelve was shivering constantly.
She kept tripping over obstacles that weren't there.
Down another interminable passage, and into a cramped changing room that
was filled with racks of heavy clothing. Two, Three and Five dressed
warmly, pulling on thick leather boots. They did not offer Twelve the
chance to dress.
Finally they left the changing room, and stepped into another room,
small and empty. It was like stepping into a freezer. There were
actual patches of ice on the walls. Twelve wrapped her arms around
herself, shuddering and trying to keep her teeth from chattering.
At the rear of the room was a massive steel door, set in an otherwise
blank wall. Its surface was coated with frost. The door, in some
indefinable way, seemed to be the centre of the cold; it radiated a
deep, bone-numbing frigidity.
The chairman stepped forward as they entered. He was dressed as warmly
as the others accompanying Twelve. He nodded briefly when he saw her,
but his expression never changed. As the group approached, he held one
gloved hand up toward the door. It swung open ponderously, with a faint
tinkling of ice crystals.
Beyond it lay a dark, narrow tunnel. Its walls, roof and floor had a
curiously smooth, polished appearance, as if it had been melted out of
the solid rock. It led sharply downward.
Twelve was trembling constantly, but not from the cold. Her legs did
not want to support her. She felt like throwing up ... if only she
had anything _to_ throw up.
She closed her eyes and drew a deep, shuddering breath. When she opened
them again she saw the chairman watching her quizzically. She took
another breath and said, as calmly as she could, "Let's get on with it
... Fukuda-san."
His lips quirked in a half-smile. "As you wish ... Araki-san."
Her momentary bravado vanished as soon as she stepped into the tunnel.
The stone felt like ice; she felt her toes clenching, uselessly, against
the fierce cold. She gasped in pain, and tried to step back. But there
were hands behind her, forcing her onward, and she had no choice but to
continue. She gritted her teeth, clenched her fists, and took another
step. And another.
She heard the chairman stepping into the tunnel behind her. Then the
door boomed shut. Instantly all light was gone. She was alone with the
darkness and the cold ... and the man who had put her here.
The tunnel went down a long, long way. She'd been here once before, of
course; but the last time, she'd been warmly dressed, and she hadn't
been starving. This time, the journey seemed at least ten times as far.
She knew she would remember it in her nightmares. If she ever had
any nightmares again.
In this icy blackness, she could easily believe that she would have
nothing but nightmares. Forever.
It was completely dark, and she had to feel her way. The air was dead,
tasteless. The stone under her feet was smooth and slippery, and she
fell repeatedly. Each time, she found it harder to rise; after four
days without food, she tired rapidly. It was tempting to simply give
up, to lie down and not move again. But that would not help, she knew.
If she tried it, the Master would take control, moving her limbs for
her; and whatever pain she was in now, that would be worse.
On, and on, and on, further than she would have believed possible. At
last, though, the descent came to an end. She saw a faint glow,
somewhere far ahead -- and then she rounded one last bend, and stepped
out of the tunnel, into a cave far below the surface of Third Tokyo ...
and into the presence of the Master.
This was the very heart of the cold. This place seemed to draw in all
energy, draining all heat, all life, leaving only a glacial deadness.
The air was painful to breathe. The cave was lit with a pale, dead,
frigid glow, pulsing slowly as if to a monstrous heartbeat.
When she looked down at herself, she saw that the skin of her hands and
feet were turning a mottled blue-black with frostbite.
The chairman emerged from the tunnel behind her, took three steps
forward, and bowed. Twelve followed suit a moment later. She felt the
Master's contemptuous amusement rolling over her, like a wave of thick,
cloying mist.
A command formed in her mind. Her eyes widened and she stepped back
involuntarily, her lips shaping a soundless denial.
The command was repeated. There was no compulsion to it; it was only an
order. But it would not be given a third time, she was warned silently.
If she did not obey now, she would be given no option. And she would be
punished.
A quick vision of the chairman's gloved hands swam in her mind.
Her head was swimming, her hands shaking with dread. The Master, the
Master was everywhere, everything, suffocating her. She was weeping in
horror and despair, but the tears froze almost instantly on her cheeks.
She could not seem to breathe. Behind her, she heard the chairman turn
and leave her to her fate.
She raised her hands and stepped forward, and the Master claimed her.
--**--
Two, Five and Seven waited patiently outside the open door. Seven paced
up and down, clapping his hands to keep the circulation going and
occasionally complaining about the cold. Two and Five stood silently,
never moving.
At last Seven stopped his pacing, blew out a breath in a cloud of mist,
and said, "It's been three hours! How much longer is this going to
take?"
There was no answer for a moment. Then Two sighed and said, "Stop
complaining. You know how far down it is. They may not even have
gotten to the bottom yet."
>From his expression, Seven knew that perfectly well, but was not
inclined to admit it. "What are we doing here, then?" he demanded.
"She can't escape, we all know that. What good are we doing up here,
freezing our a-- our butts off?"
Two shrugged. "We're here because we were ordered to be. What else
do you need to know?"
"Oh, don't go getting sanctimonious with me. All I want is to --"
He stopped suddenly as Five stirred. "We're here as a reception
committee," she said quietly.
The two men stared at her. "Reception committee?" said Two. "For
what?"
"As a precaution." She shrugged. "It seems that it's possible the
Master might decide to try a very ... traditional approach to the
Senshi problem."
Seven glared at her. "What the hell does that mean?"
She repeated the shrug. "The chairman didn't say. But the Master
hasn't been this awake in centuries, from what I hear. The Senshi are
appearing again at last. Once the last one shows her face --"
"When the last one shows her face," said a cold voice, "it will be time
to finish what began seven hundred years ago."
They looked around sharply. Just beyond the steel door, there was a
sudden stirring in the air, a rippling. A patch of space seemed to
twist, distort. A human form shimmered into view. A woman stared
down at them in haughty derision.
Number Twelve had changed.
She was floating a few centimetres off the floor, for one thing. She
was clad in a deep blue bodysuit, with boots of a slightly darker shade
of blue. There were silver bracers on her wrists, and a thin silver
belt was clasped around her waist. The metal glittered unnaturally in
the light that came from her forehead. Her forehead --
There was a crystal the size of a walnut, embedded in her forehead. It
burned with an icy, pale light.
"Number Twelve?" whispered Two.
She rotated in mid-air, and stared down at him. Her eyes were cold and
dead. "'Number Twelve'?" she said. "How prosaic. It might be more
appropriate if you were to call me ... Argentite."
Two swallowed with difficulty. "A--Argen--?" he said, stumbling.
She laughed contemptuously, a horrid, grating sound. "Perhaps not.
'Number Twelve' will do well enough, after all."
She made an impatient gesture. "When your chairman reaches the surface
again, tell him that matters are in hand." With that, she blurred and
vanished.
The three stared at each other for a few moments. At last, Seven gave
a shaky laugh and said, "'Traditional approach.'"
Two shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. "I don't
know if the Senshi are in trouble ... or if we are," he said.
Five bit her lip. "I think," she said slowly, "both."
****************
[Part B follows]
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Angus MacSpon Allen Gainsford
http://shell.ihug.co.nz/~macspon/ http://shell.ihug.co.nz/~macspon/