The Legend of Ranma Saotome

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any of these characters. I'm 
just fusing them together. Ranma 1/2 belongs to the Rumiko Takahashi 
and Legend of the Duelist belongs to Rutledge Etheridge.

Chapter 2

  "We're finished now," she said, stripping of her lyex gloves with a 
snapping sound. "You'll stay here until we touch down. I won't see 
you again."
  The transite gravity began to ease off, giving him the sickening 
sensation of rising, then falling, against the straps. It would help 
if she'd remove the bandage from his eyes, but he knew better than to 
ask. Why was the ship slowing its rotation? They were preparing to 
dock! He coughed and cleared his throat of a foul taste.
  "Ranma," the woman said hesitantly. "Do you believe in the Kamis?"
  "This would be a good time to start, wouldn't it? Why do you want 
to know?" he asked. If she wanted to pray for him, he would accept it 
as a human kindness and not object, even if it was a futile exercise.
  She placed a hand on his upper arm. "I believe it was the will of 
God that pulled you safely from Shinar. I believe there was a reason 
for that."
  "Of course there was," he said bitterly. "So the rest of my life 
can be wasted in a prison."
  "Ridiculous. You were saved when everyone else on that ship died. 
Your life is not to be wasted. Definitely not."
  "There's no way out of the Gulag," he said, his voice rising. "They 
don't even ship the bodies home. What do they do, use them for--" 
<Stop that! Take control!> He continued in a calm voice, "The only 
way out for me is if UTIC retracts the lies that are putting me in 
prison. And you know how likely that is." He forced a lightness into 
his voice that he certainly didn't feel. "Besides, if there's is a 
Kami, do you really think he's stronger than UTIC?"
  She answer at length, but Ranma wasn't listening. He was feeling 
the full, crushing weight of reality. Ceres, Mercator, and Hermes--
the Gulag--circled together in an isolated orbit between the Asteroid 
Belt and Jupiter. At irregular intervals ships--not like this one, 
because this was a special charter, carrying only one passenger--
docked at the space station called Central to deposit supplies and 
new inmates. On the three asteroids of the Gulag itself there were no 
jailers, and no staff. And no programmed release. A prisoner stayed 
there until he or she was dead. Rarely, an inmate was bought free by 
a family with great wealth and influence. That meant nothing to Ranma 
Saotome; he had no one.
  The woman was speaking as if from a distance. He focused again on 
his words, searching for a way to suppress, if only for a while, the 
dread that filled him.
  "... that everything serves a purpose," she was 
saying. "Everything, and everyone. The challenge is to find that 
purpose, and to serve it willingly. Remember, it was impossible for 
anyone to survive what happened to Shinar. But you did! You--"
  "I did not sabotage that ship!"
  "I know that, Ranma," She said, sighing. "None of us believes 
anymore that you wrecked Shinar. But that doesn't free you of all 
responsibility, does it?"
  "What do you mean? I told the truth in court. UTIC lied. About me, 
and about Shinar.
  "UTIC had no other explanation to offer."
  "What about negligence? Stupidity? Second-rate equipment? Flawed 
designs? Inferior materials? Inadequate training? Stifling 
regulations? Political watchdogs in place of necessary crew?" He'd 
listened, spellbound, to the things they said about him. Even more 
shocking were the "safeguards" and "contingency preparations" that 
the representatives of UTIC had described to a sympathetic UN Court. 
Oh yes, they said, Shinar was the product of the best minds from 
every nation of Earth. It was the essence of the great unity bought 
with the blood of our forebears. A marvel! A bridge to the 
Universe! "LIARS!" he'd shouted, sealed in a glassite booth. "You 
didn't build a bridge, you built a political compromise!" He'd 
pounded on the transparent walls of the cubicle, vainly demanding 
that they hear him. "Isn't there one engineering-literate judge here? 
Are you all so stupid? And the crew you sent ou! You called 
them 'international'? You're right! All they did was argue about 
political justice on a world they hadn't even seen yet! The only 
thing that kept them from outright mutiny was that half of them 
couldn't understand what the other half was saying! Don't any of you 
understand? Can't you see what UTIC did? Shinar was a suicide ship! 
And you'd better recheck their terraforming procedures, because you 
can be sure that they're as fraudulent as that ship was!"
  But they hadn't heard him. Even with mis microphone switched on, 
they would not have heard him. Only UTIC was heard, along with the 
bereaved husbands and wives, and the children, of the dead crew. The 
thousands who'd packed the auditorium for the three-day circus wept 
and nodded solemnly at every word, and would have killed Ranma 
Saotome right there on the floor of the General Assembly, had 
not "justice" ruled the proceedings.
  Now, wounded and about to enter prison for the rest of his life, 
Ranma Saotome said angrily, "UTIC used me to avoid any blame to 
itself. And then it convinced the United Nations to subsidize the 
loss. And triple its investment. The bastards are probably grateful 
that Shinar died."
  "Perhaps they are, privately," the woman said. "But remember that 
you gave them that opportunity. You were there illegally. And you 
survived."
  "Yes," he said. Of course she was right. Blind luck had saved his 
life, but it was his own actions that had placed him there to begin 
with. So yes, he was to blame for whatever happened to him. That was 
easy enough to accept. But it wouldn't end with him. "UTIC and the UN 
murdered that crew. And the same thing will happen again."
  "That's beyond your control, and mine. I said before that life has 
a special purpose for you. You survived Shinar, and you can survive a 
prison. That's what I want you to think about. Now goodbye, Ranma. Go 
where you're led and begin the work you were born to do. I'll 
remember you."
  "Thank you," he said, wishing that her vacuous sermonizing would go 
on for just a while longer. It was annoying and childish, but it was 
better than silence. He was close to tears and couldn't understand 
why. What as prison? Nothing! If he died, he died. Everyone did, 
sooner or later. "I'd like to know your name."
  "It's Alicia. Alica DurNow."
  "Goodbye, Alicia. I'll remember you."
  The door shut quitely behind the old woman, and he was alone.
  
  He was sleeping--after a long battle with the fear, which he'd won--
when they came for him. The Instant the door opened he was awake, 
although his eyes remained shut beneath the bandage and he kept his 
breathing carefully slow. There were two of them approaching the bed.
  "Gig him, Captain Hartner?" a male voice said.
  "Yes." This was a woman, much heavier-sounding than the man. One of 
her boots clicked against the deck, as she circled the bed to stand 
opposite the man, on Ranma's right side. "Go ahead. Make it hurt."
  Ranma winced inwardly, wondering where the blow would land. A full 
minute passed, and nothing happened. Then he heard the man giggling.
  "Your heart-rate monitor's going crazy, boy," the captain 
said. "Other than that it's a good performance. Now stop the charade 
and state your number."
  "I'm Ranma Saotome," he said immediately. "I don't--" The rod came 
down hard on his left thigh, just inches below his groin.
  "She asked your number, garbage," said the man. "And the next word 
out of your mouth better be 'Captain.' Understand?" To punctuate the 
command he touched a button on the rod's handle. Ranma arched upward 
in a spasm of agony as the current shot through him.
  "Captain!" he said through clenched teeth. "Captain, Captain, 
Captain! All right?" The charged rod bit into him again.
  "Your number!" the man demanded.
  "I don't have a number! I went straight from the UN to a shuttle 
and right up to this ship, and all the numbers on this ship are 
stored in a safe and guarded by wild dogs that yap like you do so I 
didn't get one, do you understand? Captain!" He drew in a deep breath 
and waited for the jolt. It was far worse than the first two. When it 
ended he'd bitten his tongue bloody and he was gasping for breath. 
But not a sound had passed his lips.
  "Yes," the captain said mildly. "I understand. You're undesignated, 
which means that I will send you to whichever unit seems most 
appropriate. Which would you prefer? Ceres, Hermes? Or--" She 
paused. "Mercator?"
  The man giggled again and moved the rod upward until it pushed into 
his groin.
  Ranma squared his jaw firmly and said nothing. The rod jerked to 
life, going on and on until he lost control and screamed, cursing 
them both until his breath was gone.
  "What was that again, little boy?"
  "Captain," he said hoarsely when he could speak. "Kindly go to 
hell. And take your dog with you." He spit the blood from his mouth 
in her direction and emptied his mind. With any luck they'd kill him. 
Now.
  "Very well," the captain said. "You've chosen." Her clenched fist 
drove straight down into his stomach with tremendous force. Then 
twice more.
  Consciousness slipped away as he heard her voice, strangely soft. 
It sounded almost like compassione. "That's the best you're going to 
feel for the rest of your life, Ranma Saotome. I'm sending you to 
Mercator."
  
(to be continued)

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