I'm postiong it to the ml, sory, but I think there are enough people who
want it to make a new mailing list^_^. I simply _can't_ send so many big
e-mails, only yesterday I sent them over 20! Everyone who want it, do
itashimashite.
Takaya Nuriko

This work doesn't belond go me, but to Eric Halstrom. I'm just postion it.



Waiigh. Remember me? No, didn't think so.

The months of February and March have turned out to be entirely more awful
than I feel was strictly warrented. Nonetheless. Despite funerals, expenses,
disarangment, hard-drive destruction and Mires of Despond, I have
persevered.

Sort of.

But not entirely. I haven't been able to take the time to read my mail for
the last month. Two weeks of which may or may not be salvagable from a
trashed piece-of-@@##$ Micropolis HDD I used to have. So, if you've written
to me, and I haven't written back, this is why.

This is RAALS part 5A ... 1 of 2.

2 of 2 will take a little longer. Next week I go out of town on Spring
Break, like it or not. And I don't. We shall see if this gives me enough
free time to finish part 2 of 2, or not.

In other news, I have revamped my homepage at Mindspring:

http://www.mindspring.com/~hallcon/

and added a new one at XOOM:

http://members.xoom.com/RandA_ALS/

You may ask: why?

The answer is: MP3s.

Yes, folks, now, and possibly for a limited time only, you too can download
the _actual music_ that I write this stuff to.:)

See, I _told_ you I was stranger than you thought.

It's all 96 kbps MP3 format, and there are megs of it. I've got 128 kbps
format at home, here, but I'm not going to upload. Ask if you want me to
mail you a copy, and prepare for a _full_ mailbox.

As always, C&C is lived, died, begged, and written for.

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

Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on the
monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found them and
please don't feed the Troll.

*Summer Lightning* and "Thanksgiving Eve" are copyrighted by Garnet Rogers;
if you haven't encountered him before go out and buy his CDs, he sings lots
better than I write.

"The Haughs of Cromdale" is a Traditional Scottish Melody.

This story is archived at http://www.mindspring.com/~hallcon/R&A-ALS.htm and
at http://members.xoom.com/RandA_ALS/R&A-ALS.htm See these sites to find
links to MP3's of these, and other relevant songs as well.

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

Ranma and Akane: A Love Story Chapter 5: The End of the Beginning Part A: An
Unexpected Party

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

There are certain ways that things are supposed to go. Take, for instance,
the case of waking up in someone else's bed. This is _supposed_ to involve
long drowsy dalliances and breakfast in situ, served by dedicated servants.
Or, alternatively, a sense of romantic melodrama may easily be obtained by
hasty dressing and tearful, secretive goodbyes.

When, on the other hand, the other whose bed you are waking up in is an
Other whom no-one, including the other, may be allowed to suspect _is_ the
Other then things are supposed to be managed for maximum embarrassment for
all involved. (Yes, it _is_ a complex sentence. Read it through a couple
times, it means what it says.) Fortunately for Ranma, the sensation of Akane
breathing into her ear woke her alone and unobserved.

This precipitated what should have been the type of convulsive jerk that
knocks over the bed, wakes the bed-mate, calls the attention of the house,
and otherwise results in complete higgelty-piggelty. Alas for the devotees
of the Right and Proper Order of Things, however, Ranma's well-honed
reflexes and hard-wired skills were in full working order; and she removed
herself from complete (if, sadly, clothed) entanglement in Akane's embrace
to a position standing upright in the middle of the room without much more
than a mild heart attack.

This should not, however, be construed as to mean that the forces of
Dramatic Righteousness were entirely cheated of their due. The human body is
a complex collection of muscles, bone, nerves, joints, ligaments, and other
such items. Ranma's collection chose that moment to send her a wide array of
bitterly-complaining messages, relaying their utter dissatisfaction with her
current state and accusing her of criminal incompetence at the top. She also
noted the pounding pain of a massive migraine headache, foretelling an
impressive hang-over.

Action was clearly called for, and she exerted her trained will and
knowledge of Magic and martial lore, pushing back the pain and stiffness,
and adjusting a wide range of inner balances. A long soak in a hot bath and
some serious reconstructive meditation was clearly called for. It would be a
good idea to wake Akane, however. Particularly since, unless she was
seriously mistaken, Akane's lingering effects of the day's adventures would
be even more extreme than her own.

Ranma felt a renewed pang of grief shoot through her as she took in Akane's
profile, following the new lines of scars that spread out in a web around
her left eye, easily visible as she lay on her right side. She locked the
sensation deeply inside, however; even if revealing the extent of her sorrow
were not far too dangerous to the carefully constructed masquerade she must
now live, it was horribly disrespectful to Akane. She had, after all,
followed along of her own free will, and must be regarded as a warrior
capable of knowing her own honour and what it demanded.

Honourable action required what it required, after all, and cost what it
cost. Had she, herself, not born up under wounds as great? To rail against
the necessary costs of one's actions was to cheapen them, and to cheapen
Akane was a thing which she could never do.

Akane's slumber proved more than a match for Ranma's somewhat lessened
resources, and Ranma finally decided simply to let her sleep. Summoning her
ferocious will and inexhaustible endurance, she strode out the door and down
the stairs towards the furo and a long, hot soak with all the grace and
power of an octogenarian tortoise.

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

Nabiki was of the opinion that a long soak could only improve an issue, and
had indulged in one to the fullest extent possible after informing Kasumi
and Soun of events. After finishing her bath, she was inclined to talk over
a few things with Kasumi, just to make sure that they were both on the same
page as regards her dear little sister's idiocy and its probable cause. A
moment's hesitation alerted her to an approaching spectacle however, and she
silently slipped around a corner to await it.

The spectacle in question did not disappoint. Ranma, jacket-less, unscarved
and carrying her shirt in her hand, limped vaguely down the stairs and into
the furo. Briefly, Nabiki exerted her control and forbade herself to make
any noise. She had heard from her rumor sources that Ranma was scarred
beneath her usual enveloping clothes, but she had not expected.... And
_some_ of those scars were not old; were not fine, white lines but rather
angry, red welts.

Nabiki felt her eyes fill, briefly, with tears. She would have to remember
this sight, she thought, whenever she doubted her sister's lover. Ranma
might be overly heroic and possessed of something resembling a death-wish,
but there could be no doubt that she knew the cost of the actions she took.
In some ways, she mused, Ranma must be very like herself; must, at all
times, have one eye on the cost. Shaking her head she turned from the
closing door and went to talk to Kasumi.

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

She woke up. This, she decided, was her first mistake. She was not
immediately sure what had awakened her, but she _was_ immediately sure that
she wished it hadn't bothered. Her hair hurt. And that was not even
considering the mad kamikaze air molecules that were attempting to flay her
skin off. Now that she whimpered it, how _had_ those tribes of mad,
jack-hammer wielding dwarves gotten inside her skull, anyway? And what had
she done to piss them off so badly? Couldn't they have written her a, a
letter or something? She'd have apologized, really.

Also, she really had to talk to someone about putting dead rats in her
mouth. It just wasn't civilized, and whoever had done it ought to have known
better. She tried to summon up a sense of righteous outage, but all she
could manage was a dull throb, and it immediately got lost in all the other
aches and pains.

Attempting to discern where, exactly, she was, she opened her eyes. Mistake
number two, instantly taken advantage of by the roving hordes of photon
nomadic warriors, which used the opening in her defenses to invade down her
optic nerves in a howling wave and set her brain on fire.

Attempting to quench the flames, she curled into a foetal ball and threw her
arms around her head. Mistake number three. It was really fascinating, she
thought distantly, that a sufficient amount of adverse sensory stimuli could
not only induce unconsciousness, but could immediately negate it. Well, she
had obviously screwed up _somewhere_, big-time. Now the question was: where
was Ranchan when you really needed her?

Ranma. Didn't she have a vague memory of Ranma saying something? Something
... about ... about ... getting up? ... and going ... to the furo. Or she'd
stiffen up.... Ah.... So that was it. Well, she could see that the rest of
the day promised to be unpleasant. Yep. But she had a plan to outwit it.
Just as soon as she took her bath and got a little control back, she was
going to die. Yep. That'd show it. You bet.

Now all she had to do was, get to the furo. Which involved ... taking off
her clothes ... and going ... all the way down the stairs. Oh dear.

Shortly, a shambling figure tackled the complex challenge of walking down a
flight of stairs without toppling over. It's progress was not eased by its
apparent difficulty with the dim hallway light, which was causing it to move
in a series of flinches. Exerting supreme self-control, it avoided a lunging
attempt to descend the stairs and achieve the door of the furo in a single
moment, outracing light itself. Which was a good thing, really, because the
photons hanging around were already sufficiently annoyed, and the figure was
in enough trouble as it was.

Stumbling down the last stair risers and shuffling down the hall, the figure
had nearly attained its hoped-for sanctuary when fate cruelly intervened. A
firm, decisive footstep was heard, and Tendo Soun rounded the corner of the
hall and came face-to-face with his daughter. And, for a brief moment,
nothing happened. Then Akane feebly attempted to placate the looming
disaster by waving her hands at her father, and whimpering. Alas, in vain;
slowly started but rapidly rising then came the vessel of ultimate horror
(at least to anyone with a killing hangover), a full, all-out Soun Tendo
Wail. (#2516: My daughter went to Hell and lost her eye, now she'll never
get a husband and I'll be alone in my old age, aiieeee!)

The noise went through Akane's already shot nerves like a buzzsaw and she
collapsed to the floor in a foetal ball. Naked and dripping from the tub,
Ranma was at her side two seconds later. Knelling at Akane's side, Ranma
gently coaxed her out of her curled up misery, leveling a glare at Soun that
sent that worthy backwards in a dead faint.

Nabiki, drawn by the *thud* of Akane impacting the floor, managed a gasp
before Ranma cut her off. "Nabiki-san, please ask Kasumi-san to get Acchan a
glass of hangover cure, I believe that she knows one or two." Smoothly,
Ranma picked Akane up and took her into the furo. Nabiki gaped briefly at
the closing door before running back to fetch Kasumi.

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

Timidly, Kasumi knocked on the door to the bath. "Ranma-san, may I come in?"

"Please do."

Kasumi carried the large glass into the furo, and likewise restrained a
gasp. It was bad enough to see such extensive scars on Ranma-san, reminding
her of the cost demanded of those who walk Bushido. But to see such scars in
turn on the smooth flesh of her younger sister; that was almost more than
she could stand. Akane was huddled against the edge of the tub, with her
face turned down and her eyes shut as Ranma gently probed her acupuncture
and shiatsu spots from behind. At Kasumi's approach, Ranma leaned back in
the tub, and Akane turned around, looking up at Kasumi in thankfulness and
reaching out for the glass she was carrying.

Seeing the new web of faint scars around her sister's eye and the changed
nature of the orb itself caused Kasumi to fall to her knees, extending the
glass with shaking hand. Akane almost snatched the glass away from her, and
drained it with a single, long pull before putting it to the side and coming
up partially out of the tub to gather Kasumi into her arms and hug her
fiercely.

"Kasumi! Kasumi-oneechan, it's all right. It _looks_ awful but the eye still
works just fine."

Ranma raised an eyebrow and dryly said, "I say again, it looks _rakish_. Not
awful, _rakish_."

Kasumi made a mighty effort and came back on balance. "I don't want to
contradict you, Ranma-san, but I'm afraid it does look awful. Just a
little."

Akane released her hug and turned back toward Ranma, sticking out her
tongue, "See? I _told_ you so!"

Ranma settled back in the tub and spread her arms along the rim, "Acchan,
look this way. Now raise your left eyebrow. No, a little higher. Yeah, like
that. Now show Kasumi-san." A short pause. "See? Rakish."

Akane sighed and stood up, saying, "Please excuse me, Neechan, I have to
kill ..." as she reached her full height she paused, her eyes going wide in
shock as an alarming cracking sound made itself known, "... er, that is. I
have to get right back in the tub here and have Ranchan do some more shiatsu
on me. Yeah, that's it."

Ranma sighed, "Doesn't listen. Overexerts. Rushes in where angels fear to
tread. Domineering. And now she wants shiatsu, too. Oh dear. What a pity.
Never mind." Winking at Kasumi's mildly alarmed look, Ranma slid forward in
the tub to kneel behind Akane.

Akane looked up, alarmed, "Ranchan! I need ... ooooh!" As Ranma's hand
reached the first shiatsu spot, Akane's eyes slitted in relief, the left
flashing a solid gold.

Kasumi smiled slightly and silently slipped out.

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

"Ranma-san! I will not permit you to run off without dinner. It is getting
late and you _must_ be tired, you should eat with us and sleep in the guest
room tonight."

Ranma blinked, backing away from Kasumi and frantically waving her hands,
"Ahhh ... of course, Kasumi-san, whatever you say. I'll just go into the
Dojo and, ahh, maintain my equipment, yes?" Grabbing a confused and
yakuta-clad Akane by the shoulder, Ranma hastily retreated from the main
house to the Dojo.

"Geeze! Your sister is _scary_ when she's like that!" Ranma peeked
cautiously around the edge of the Dojo door. "Anyway, I'm serious, Acchan,
you need to go get your stuff and get it back in order right now, before you
forget and then don't have it next time."

Akane nodded muzzily and wandered out of the Dojo and back upstairs. Ranma
occupied herself with seeing to the good condition of her weapons, being
occupied with cleaning the barrel of the Desert Eagle when Akane timidly
reappeared, holding a sword in an ill-fitting scabbard away from her body
with obvious reluctance. "Ranchan?"

Ranma looked up and raised an eyebrow. "This sword," Akane continued, "it's
not my sword. And I don't have _any_ of the other stuff and I've never seen
this sword before ... I don't even know what _kind_ of sword it is ...."

Ranma stood up and gingerly took the sword away, laying it flat on the
portable table she was using to hold her cleaning gear. "Taiken. It's a
taiken." She withdrew the sword from its scabbard and turned it over and
around in her hands. It was slightly longer than a katana, straight bladed
and double-edged, but still chisel-pointed. It was made of a dull, gray
steel, better polished in the middle of the blade, which sank into a
blood-groove accented by the yakiba-mon, the wavy pattern that indicates the
different steel composition used in the edge of a blade.

It was elaborately hilted in black, non-reflective steel, a two-handed,
wire-wrapped grip rising from a heavy thorn pommel to a wide crossbar that
flared out into hilt-loops to protect its wielder's fingers as they might be
looped over the hilt. The side-bars of the hilt flared out into an
almost-basket that provided a fair amount of protection to the upper hand of
a wielder, and even a casual inspection woke amazement at the magnificent
balance and liveliness of the cold, gray steel. "It's a _good_ taiken."

Ranma withdrew a small tool from jacket-space and placed the blade on the
table, beginning to disassemble its hilt. "These are usually tang-marked ...
like ... so ...." her voice faded off into a long whistle. Akane drew closer
and leaned forward to see, but could not read the strange, curling letters.
Ranma held the blade up to the light and read something off the tang in a
language that Akane likewise did not know. Indicating this with a slant of
her eyebrow, Akane caused Ranma to flush briefly and then translate aloud
into Japanese, "'Forged was I, of iron heaven born. Ulean made me. I am
Isileth.'"

"How, ah... how did you manage to pick this up, anyway, Acchan? I saw you
waving it around when you, ah, came to get me, but ..." Ranma slowly and
coolly put the hilt back together.

Akane stammered something inane about how she had needed a sword and it had
just been lying there and she'd just put her hand on it, and...

Ranma shook her head sadly. "Outnumbered. Injured. Back to the wall. And you
'just happen' to put your hand onto Isileth Widow-maker. Give it up, girl.
You are _so_ doomed." Then, suddenly, she grinned, "But at least being
around you won't be _boring_. I hate _boring_," she winked.

Akane grinned weakly and blushed. Then she indicated the sword still lying
on the table. "Ummm ... you seem to know it ... her? What's the story?"

"It starts a couple millennia back and about a dozen universes ... _that_
way. The land is called Alba and it has a number of similarities to Tokugawa
era Japan. For samurai say 'kailin-eir', for katana say 'taiken'. I had
heard a rumor that there was an Art called Taiken-ulleth involving 'perfect
swordsmanship', and that there was a master left living in Alba. So I used
the amulet to go look about a year or so back, but I never found him. Along
the way I picked up a fair bit of kailinin lore, one bit of which was the
story of the 'most perfect sword', Isileth.

"Made from 'star-metal' from a fallen meteorite, refolded three hundred
times, too tough to bend, too strong to break, an edge that was sharpened
once and hasn't dulled since, quenched in blood, polished by fire and water.
Used by heroes and villains for two thousand years or more. Rumored to be
evil black as the pit of night, rumored to be good bright as the sun itself.
Rumored to be neither one, but nothing more than, simply, a sword. What she
was doing on a slope just outside of Hell I've no idea. Here," she handed
the sword-hilt to Akane, "do a kata or two and get to know her. Maybe she'll
tell you."

Akane took the sword silently and stood, momentarily at a loss, as Ranma
took up the ill-fitting scabbard and began preparations to modify it to
properly receive its new resident. After a minute or so she shook her head
dazedly and turned back to the center of the Dojo, moving with a slight
wince for abused muscles and joints and focusing inward, preparing a
pain-blocking mantra to aid her concentration. Then she pressed the sword's
blade to her forehead in salute and sank into the slight trance she used to
invoke Othersight. Instead of focusing it on anything, she deliberately
defocused it and began a basic sword kata, extending a welcome to any
insights the blade might offer.

>From behind her as she danced her kata she heard Ranma begin to sing lowly
and distractedly as she worked on the scabbard. And as the song continued,
low and dark and couched in some dialect of English that she could barely
even determine _was_ English, her defocused Sight began to gather sounds and
images. Images of blood.

As I came in by Auchindoun, a little wee bit frae the toun,
When to the Highlands I was bound, to view the haughs of Cromdale,
I met a man in tartan trews, I speir'd at him what was the news;
Quo' he the Highland army rues, that e'er we came to Cromdale.

Right hand highest on the hilt (a voice whispered, "One hand only girl,
until you apply force to the cut, keep your other hand free. And put a
finger over the hilt, it increases control, and the hilt-loops will guard
it."), arm rising for jodan-no-kame morote uchi kiri otashi kudashi, the
most basic of strikes, the two-handed vertical downward blow to cleave head
and chest together ("the pearsplitter ..." the voice whispered). And her
mind sank into a receptive blankness and she stopped the cut at the level of
the lower chest and transmuted its force into a bouncing return to guard,
left hand dropping away and right hand blurring in withdrawal to hasso
hidari gamae, left foot leading as she cocked the sword by the side of her
head in preparation for ...

We were in bed, sir, every man, when the English host upon us came,
A bloody battle then began upon the haughs of Cromdale.
The English horse they were so rude, they bath'd their hooves in Highland
blood,
But our brave clans, they boldly stood upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... jodan-no-yoho giri kudashi, the high horizontal cut, right to left as
the body uncoils and the left hand comes around to grip the hilt and put the
whole force of that uncoiling behind the decapitation stroke ("... to the
cross, inverted ..." the whisper said), and the left hand let go again as
the body whirled around into right-advance guard and the right sank the
blade into chudan-no-kame, middle guard, and the blade sank into darkness
until only a gleaming tracery of blue-silver fire marked its edge and her
body faded away ...

But, alas! We could no longer stay, and o'er the hills we came away,
And sore we do lament the day, that e'er we came to Cromdale.
Thus the great Montrose did say, Highlan' men show me the way,
For I will o'er the hills this day, to view the haughs of Cromdale.

... and the blade angled left and thrust up and forward, left hand
flickering forward to propel the body of the blade in a thrusting cut to the
back and side of the neck of the dark, faceless figure that attacked from
that side and, still faceless, faded as it fell and left only the great
spray of blood from its severed carotid and jugular, bright red and wet as
it fanned out from the massive slash and her left hand fell away again ...

They were at dinner, every man, when great Montrose upon them came,
A second battle then began, upon the haughs of Cromdale.
The Grant, Mackenzie and MacKay, soon as Montrose they did espy,
O then, they fought most valiantly! upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... and her right hand brought the blade down a foot and began the
mirror-image thrust-and-slash to the right and her left hand floated up (so
fast) and she thrust right and past the target and her body twisted back as
her left hand pushed forward and her right drew back and the back edge of
the blade cut through the target's throat in the strike Ranma had taught her
earlier in the week ('This move was designed for a two-edged blade,' she
thought) and the fan of blood arced out wide and scarlet as she completed
kongou-no-souseii (and the whisper said, "... twin-thunderbolts ...") and
the blood-sprays blew past and behind her view and the fallen bodies faded
like mist and ...

The MacDonalds they returned again, the Camerons did their standard join,
MacIntosh play'd a bloody game, upon the haughs of Cromdale.
The MacGregors fought like lions bold, MacPhersons, none could them control,
MacLaughlins fought, like loyal souls, upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... she faced an opponent across ten feet of open ground and the circle of
watchers were tense as the Marshall dropped the wand to begin the duel and
she advanced chudan and feinted outside and knocked his sword off-line
*scrape* along the top of the opponent's blade, shock of heavy resistance as
she cut through the neck and her horse kicked into a gallop as she put up
the great bow and the sword was in her hand and she extended it forward,
wrist cocked as the point turned a little down, making a small lance as they
galloped toward the enemy in his array and the heavy, wet shock as the blade
went home ran up her arm and she galloped across the field cutting down her
foes and they faded into mist, gray and fading except for the bright scarlet
of the spraying, running, dripping blood and the blood sprayed back and
forth but none of it clung to her or to the blade but it seemed to spray off
a figure hanging in front of her in the heavy air and she ran through the
dark stone halls striking target (only targets, gray, fading and gone) left
and right and the flowing blood outlined and then filled in another opponent
...

MacLeans, MacDougals, and MacNeils, so boldly as they took the field,
And make their enemies to yield, upon the haughs of Cromdale.
The Gordons boldly did advance, the Frasers fought with sword and lance,
The Grahams they made the heads to dance, upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... tall and massive, armored in an alien style in full plate-and-chain like
and yet unlike a samurai in its blood-red armor and taiken like her own and
she fought with it back and forth across a hearth a field a forest clearing
and she brought the blade around kasumi kiri age, arms crossed right hand
sliding out low to join the left hand and come up hard and diagonally to the
left across the body, and her opponent opened out along the line of the cut
and there was nothing inside but blood and it sprayed out and covered her
but there was no smell of blood, no remembered iron tang but only a stale,
sweet, sad hint of roses and the blood hanging in the air turned black and
fell like rain, and she met and destroyed another gray warrior and another
and another but their blood did not spray out bright wet scarlet but black
and heavy and it fell back upon them and they twisted and where a man had
stood a black rose now hung in midair and the air was full, overpowered by
the smell and something small and bright and blue fell out of the sky and
the gem hung before her, glowing and she swung the sword kiri otashi kudashi
again and it flared with blue fire so intense that it blinded her and the
rose was burned away and where the jewel had been crouched a figure twisted
and huddled over, almost invisible except for the crippled, twisted claw
that was its right hand and her hands went back for the stroke but then she
brought the blade down and grasped it with both hands and _snapped_ it and
it was whole again and the twisted figure faded and she stepped past it and
the blade flared brighter and higher and she attacked the alien, horrible
form that rose above her, slobbering, and she cut it across and it divided
in half and fell away and she dropped the blade, casting it aside and the
dust covered it and her eye flared with pain and she fell and twisted as she
rolled in the dust and she grasped the hilt and came upright ...

The loyal Stewarts with Montrose, so boldly set upon their foes,
And brought them down with Highland blows, upon the haughs of Cromdale.
Of twenty thousand Cromwell's men, five hundred fled to Aberdeen
The rest of them lie on the plain, upon the haughs of Cromdale.

... and settled into perfect chudan-no-kame as the kata ended and she
saluted the Dojo and flicked the sword around. And she turned back to Ranma
where she knelt near the Dojo wall and asked, "Does the name Talvalin mean
anything to you?"

"Not a thing," Ranma said cheerfully and handed her the remade scabbard and
she sheathed the sword.

And from the main house Kasumi called, "Ranma-san, Akane-chan, dinner!"

And they went in to see.

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

Akane's room was dark and still in night's embrace. Akane, however, was not.
Shadowy dreams of loss and pain lurked just beyond the border of the waking
world, and a pit of darkness vast enough to suck her down forever awaited
her least little lowering of defense. This she knew. What she did not know
was how to fight the encroaching dark. If she could only find a target,
something to hit with her fist or her sword. If it were only an external
threat that she could face head on. If it were only an obvious weakness,
something even in herself, but something she could come to grips with. But
what could she do with dreams in the dark?

Lost in her silent, failing struggle, she did not hear the quiet opening of
the door, nor did she note the form that ghosted across her room until it
actually sat upon her bed; and by then, of course, it was too late. Ranma
had already heard her faint whimper, already seen her toss and turn. Numbly
she turned her head to look at Ranma, and was again surprised by the serene
concern in her friend's sapphire eyes.

In some sense, Akane had always lived her life in a continual state of
insecurity, always convinced that the next day, the next challenge would
prove her painfully gathered skills inadequate, would leave her bereft and
lacking in worth. It was not that she did not appreciate her own skills as a
martial artist; indeed, in some ways those skills were themselves the source
of the problem. She was good at martial arts, but, she felt, _only_ at
martial arts.

For all of her girlhood, Kasumi had been the perfect female figure. When
their mother had died, she had stepped into the role of alpha female with
barely a hitch. Nabiki had become skilled in manipulation, using her mind
and her skills at sneakiness to get things accomplished; for the benefit of
the Dojo itself, mostly, it was true. Denied primacy in these areas, Akane
had specialized in the Art, taking up the family school that neither of her
sisters had expressed an interest in, and in that pursuit she had
established a primacy of her own.

What she had not established was that her primacy was real. Always, in the
back of her mind, came the thought that her sisters had _allowed_ her that
primacy, because it did not matter. That no-one contested her in it, because
no-one cared. That all that her effort had bought her was ... nothing. In
the bright light of day she could look around herself and see her strengths.
In the light it looked like she had made of herself a warrior who could
overcome any challenge she attempted. In the light it looked like the paths
she had turned aside from offered little in the way of real challenge. In
the light it looked as though _she_ had taken the harder path, the path of
greatest growth, and that the necessary parts (Oh, not _all_ the parts, no.
But you don't need _all_ the parts to get by.) of the others would be ...
easy. Mostly. In the light.

But things do have a tendency to look differently in the dark. And if you
were lying on your back looking up at the ceiling, and if you were somehow
to relax the guards you normally hold that keep you from thinking unpleasant
thoughts like that, then, having thought one unpleasantness, you might go on
to think others. You might begin to think that the path that you had chosen,
far from being the path of greatest growth, was instead the path of least
result. You might begin to think that you had traded the ability to make
cookies for the ability to nearly get the woman you have just realized you
love killed.

Or, you might begin to question just how much all this practice you have
been doing in your chosen field has actually bought you. You might begin to
compare the things you had learned on your own to the things that, let's
say, Someone had taught you, and conclude that you had learned nothing of
value yourself at all. You might begin to think that you were .. lesser, ...
second rate. And you might begin to wonder what use you, yourself, actually
were. A second rater moreover, you might begin to think, who has had the
great idiocy to fall for a first rater in the same field.

And you might begin to wonder just what use there is in saying, for example,
"Ranma and Akane". "Ranma and Kasumi", you might think, makes some sense;
"Kasumi" can cook ... and clean ... and ... and be Kasumi. "Ranma and
Nabiki" allows "Nabiki" to be sneaky and make money. But if all "Akane" is
good for is fighting, and if "Ranma" already has the fighting part of "Ranma
and Akane" covered, then what use in "Ranma and Akane" is ... "Akane"? And
if "Ranma and Akane" is a thing that you are coming to believe is the thing
that makes being "Akane" worthwhile, but there is no use in "Ranma and
Akane" for "Akane", then what use _is_ "Akane"? Or ... _is_ there any use
for "Akane" ... at all?

And these are the sorts of thoughts that have a tendency to cause
theoretical thinkers Deep Distress, and, on that count, to be relegated to
the far background and never allowed out into the conscious portion of the
brain. And this in itself can cause certain problems.

For instance, when confronted with the aforesaid "Someone first rate in the
same field", and the occasion to meditate on silken scarlet hair and
sea-deep sapphire eyes, and the opportunity to ask the question "Is there
room in 'Ranma and Akane' for 'Akane'? Or, indeed, is there any reason to
entertain the concept of 'Ranma and Akane' at all?", then thoughts like
these might cause you to wimp out. And, for another instance, even if you
_are_ the "Someone, etc." and even if you _know_ that there is indeed very
good reason to entertain the concept of "Ranma and Akane", and furthermore
what role "Akane" should play in it, it does not necessarily follow that you
_also_ know whether there is any reason to consider the concept of "Akane
and Ranma". And in this case similar thoughts can not only cause you to wimp
out, but also to pay less attention to subtleties of interpersonal
conversation than might otherwise be the case.

To summarize the summary of the summary: people are a problem.

And this goes a long way towards explaining why, when Ranma said,
"Problems?" Akane did _not_ say, "Yes! I'm tired, I'm sick, I hurt and I'm
so confused and overwhelmed that I can't think. I need to bury my face in
your hair for several years to clear my head. Make love to me 'til I pass
out!" but rather (in a much smaller voice), "Can't think. Too much." And why
Ranma did not, quite, hear what she meant, but only what she said.

And also why, when Ranma knelt on the bed and drew Akane up into a reverse
embrace, so that Akane was sitting in front of Ranma with Ranma's arms
folded beneath her breasts and the top of her head beneath Ranma's chin, and
said, "Maybe I can teach you a technique to help. Do you trust me?" Akane
just said "Yes," instead of "With my honor, my life and my soul. And,
incidentally, if you wanted to move your hands up a bit I'd be perfectly
happy to trust you with my body, too." And Ranma, of course, missed that, as
well.

Even world class martial artists, gifted with the perception to track
another person's motives and intentions in the heat of mortal combat have
their occasional off days. Which is a shame, it's true. But it just isn't
time for this story to go lemon yet.

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

"Okay, Acchan," Ranma murmured, "this is called 'the Rainbow', because the
way you begin requires you to picture one in your mind. What I am going to
ask you to do is to close your eyes, and then to impress upon yourself a
vision of each of the colors of the rainbow, one by one. As you visualize
each color, you will attach to it all of your tensions, unhappiness or pain
and imbalance in a specific area. Then, when you release the visualization
of the color, you will also release all the negative chi that you have just
collected.

"The order and rhythm of the colors will allow you to completely rid
yourself of negative energy and to achieve a focused and receptive mental
state. Then, when you have passed through all the colors, you will find
yourself standing on a darkened landscape, where you will encounter a
stairway leading down.

"If you choose to descend the stairway, you will then encounter a
well-built, solid door, to which, you will find, you hold the only key.
Behind the door, if you choose to open it, you will find your Library, or
Study, the metaphorical center of your intellect.

"This technique employs a mixture of focused meditation and self- hypnosis,
and I repeat that you may _choose_ to descend the stairway, and you may
_choose_ to open the door to impress upon you that it is _your_ door and
_your_ stairway, and that _you_ may and must decide when, and whether, to
proceed in each and every case. I will be here to guard you, this first
time, and I will show you the way, but it is your will that must impel
events. If you decide to reverse the exercise, all you need do, _at any
time_, is open your eyes. Okay?"

Akane nodded, silently.

"Then begin with the first color of the rainbow," Ranma said, quietly,
"think about red, soft, warm red ..." Ranma kept her voice in a soothing,
lulling murmur, just loud enough to hear at close range, and began to enter
into the rhythms and pauses of a hieratic chant.

"All there is is red ... red is the color of physical relaxation ... let the
red fill every corner of your body, let it pick up all the pain and fatigue
and tension and then let it flow away ... red flows away and is followed by
orange ..."

Ranma's low contralto voice flowed over Akane's weary mind and soothed her
deeper and deeper into a trance state, taking her through the colors of the
rainbow, and also through all the stages of release of care and tension,
"... violet is the color of union with the Tao, the Tao is everything and
nothing, become part of the color and let the color become part of you ...
drift down with the color as it gets darker and darker .. closer and closer
to the dark ... less and less color ... less and less of everything ...
everything going away until you are alone with yourself and the Tao ...
don't be afraid ... I'll be just out here ... nothing will get by me to harm
you ... tell me when you are ready to go on."

Akane seemed to drift down, through a slowly fading violet haze, down to a
gentle landing on her feet. All around her she sensed a darkened, empty
plain stretching far away. Though in looking around she could not see any
sign of Ranma, her presence still nestled close about her, warm and
comforting. "Okay," she said, "now what?"

"Turn around," Ranma replied, "Do you see the stairway?"

"Uh-huh. Should I go down?"

"Whenever you're ready."

Akane slowly walked down the stairway, feeling very secure, as though she
were following an old, familiar pathway, to a well-beloved destination. At
the bottom of the stairs, she came to a small landing, seemingly cut out of
the living rock. It was filled with a sourceless illumination, and could be
exited in only two ways: the stairway up, and a large, forbidding door made
of iron-banded oak. The door did not open to a touch, and the keyhole exuded
a definite impression of unpickability. "Ranchan? I'm at the bottom, but I
can't get the door open."

"Look in your pocket. You're carrying the key."

"I don't remember any key that looked like that ... hey! You're right
Ranchan!" Akane unlocked the door, and opened it upon wonder. "Ranchan! It's
a library alright! Wow! There must be _millions_ of books and things,
there's Mangas all over the place, all my favorites ..." Ranma assumed a
pained look, "... the paintings on the walls, they're beautiful ... Kamis!
Look at that desk! Thing's big enough for planes to land on ... ooohh! Nice,
comfy chair too! Ahhh! This is really nice, Ranchan. Are you sure it's
mine?"

"All yours, Acchan," Ranma chirped, "Let me give you a present?"

"Ummm, sure. What is it?"

"Look on the desk, it may be under something. It's a small book, leather
binding, thin pages ...."

"I see it! Ranchan! It's really expensive .... are you sure you can afford
to give it to _me_?"

"Trust me. Now if you open the book, you will see that I've written a word
on the first several pages, right? The first page says 'Akane', the second
says 'study', the third says 'focus', the fourth says 'sleep', the fifth
says 'dream' and the sixth says 'return' right? And the rest are blank."

"Yep. So?"

"So if you pick up the book and concentrate on 'Akane' you will then
concentrate on who you are and why. This will let you more fully integrate
new skills and experiences into your Tao. Likewise 'study' will focus your
subconscious on making sense whatever the last things you have just learned
are, 'focus' will let you concentrate on one specific thing that you are
thinking of, 'sleep' will let you do just that, 'dream' will give you the
ability to direct and explore your dreams, and 'return' will bring you back.
You can do more than one thing at once, and if you open your eyes without
concentrating on 'return' part of you will keep, for instance, studying
everything you have been learning that day; even while you are asleep, or
eating dinner, or whatever."

"Gotcha. Pretty cool."

"Glad you like it. Now concentrate on 'return' ...."

Akane opened her eyes and looked around, blinking. She noticed that Ranma
had somehow moved from behind her, holding her up, to sitting on the foot of
the bed. 'Awwwww.' "Ohayo, Ranchan, what now?"

"Do me a favour."

"Okay."

"Go back under and hit 'Akane' and 'sleep'. I'll see you in the morning."

"Spoilsport."

"Slacker."

Akane stretched and yawned, laying back into her covers before Ranma's
folded arms stance as colors whirled around her. Soon, the beautiful walls
of her Library opened around her. Walking over to her desk she picked up the
book Ranma had given her and thumbed through it. For a few moments she
stopped on the first blank page and stared at it intensely, then she picked
a fine quill pen off the desk and dipped it in the ink sitting in the small
inkstone. Poising the pen over the page she used the best calligraphy she
could muster to write the word 'Ranma' on it.

Holding the book open in her hands, she sank down into the chair and got
comfortable. Then she focused her will on the pages 'Ranma', 'Akane',
'sleep' and 'dream'. On the last word she closed the book and put it down on
the desk, letting her arms out wide in an enormous stretch and cracking all
her vertebrae, before settling backwards to go to sleep.

Outside the library, Ranma looked down fondly on Akane's sleeping form and
ghosted out the door and back to the guest room.

And had there been anyone around that night who was able to see the rising
ghosts of dreams on the night air, that someone might have spied the columns
of such rising strongly and fully from two separate rooms of the big old
house, remarked on how similar to each other they were, and been astonished.
But there wasn't, and so, no-one did.

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

Akane woke up happy. This was a moderately rare event for her, but she
noticed that it had been becoming more frequent since the imposition on her
life of a certain red-haired girl. Regardless of the source of her new-found
contentment, however, she would normally _not_ have expected this morning to
be a good one. Too much fear and pain the day before, too much expected
stress today.

Somehow, though, she had managed to navigate the dark rapids of the night
and emerge in the hush of early dawn rested, loose-limbed and, somehow,
entirely content.

Quickly dressing, she picked Isileth from the stand on her dresser and
slipped her in her jacket. Passing silently out her door and down the hall
to the top of the stairs she stood silently for a moment, listening to the
silence of the house. Just below the normal limits of audibility she could
discern Kasumi's ministrations in the kitchen and someone singing quietly in
the garden.

It's so easy to dream of days gone by,
So hard to think of times to come.
And the grace to accept every moment as a gift
Is a gift that is given to some.

Nabiki woke up discontented. She had pinned some hopes on the night before,
but her surveillance activities had come up empty. She was _sure_ that Ranma
and her sister were lovers, but she had not achieved her lofty reputation as
a manipulator of events by acting ahead of _certain_ knowledge. The remedy
for the lack of which had seemed simple, too; lovers will tend to cling to
one another in times of stress, and yesterday's activities _should_ have
provided _plenty_ of stress, which _should_ have expressed themselves nicely
last night.

But except for Ranma doing some sort of meditation thingy to help Akane
sleep, _nothing had happened_. It was annoying, was what it was.

Worse yet, from her viewpoint, she had theorized that they might, perhaps,
simply have been too tired the night before; and had woken up at an
entirely-too-early time in the morning to continue her oversight, and not
only had Ranma already been up, but Akane had woken early too, and _again_
they hadn't done anything. Not even a kiss!

Ah well, maybe one of them was more aware than she had thought. She would
simply have to get more subtle. It would be a good challenge. Or, she might
just strangle the gibbering pair of _early-morning_ songsters.

Blearily and grumpily, Nabiki sat down in the dining room and snarled at
merrily cheeping birds and cheery sunrise alike.

What can you do with your days,
But work and hope?
Let your dreams bind your work to your play.
What can you do with each moment of your life,
But live til you've lived it away?
Live til you've lived it away.

Soun awoke unsettled. This was hardly unusual, of course. Still, he thought,
this was even worse than normal. For all the griefs he normally felt, for
all the power of the terrors and regrets that he normally struggled with,
they were just that: _normal_, the common structure of his days. The changes
that young Ranma seemed to have brought into his family and his life might
or might not be terrible, but he felt their abnormality keenly nonetheless.

Yet alongside this additional weight lurked an additional variable, neither
necessarily negative nor positive. With change comes the possibility of
change for the better. Yet if that possibility is not fulfilled is it not
more terrible than if no such possibility had existed? At the bottom of
every Pandora's Box lurks shining Hope. And whether that was a good or an
evil thing Tendo Soun could not for the life of him decide.

There are sorrows enough for the whole world's end,
There are no guarantees but the grave.

But this life that we live, and the times that we spend,
Are treasures to precious to save.

Kasumi had probably awoken with the same serenity which she always showed
the world. It's always difficult to tell, with Kasumi.

What can you do with your days,
But work and hope?
Let your dreams bind your work to your play.

What can you do with each moment of your life,
But live til you've lived it away?
Live til you've lived it away.

Kodachi and Sayuri woke early, each separately deciding that they hated
hospitals. But we won't get back to them until a little later.

What can you do with your days,
But work and hope?
Let your dreams bind your work to your play.

What can you do with each moment of your life,
But live til you've lived it away?
Live til you've lived it away.

And a new day in Nerima began, as Kasumi called her, slightly enlarged,
family to breakfast.

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

The thing that Akane was most aware of as breakfast continued was hunger; a
great, growing void in her stomach that the food Kasumi had brought to
table, double-sized though it was, barely dented. Ranma, however, put a
surreptitious hand on her shoulder when she would have asked Kasumi for more
food, indicating that she should keep silence.

Once outside the Dojo on the road to Furinkan, Ranma led Akane and Nabiki to
a small side-street off the Nerima Ginza, wherein they found what Nabiki
immediately dubbed "the perfect hole-in-the-wall dive". It was a very small
restaurant, without even a window onto the street. The door itself hardly
advertised it's status as a place of business; much more resembling a
service entrance for some greater establishment, except for the small sign
whereon resided the single word, "Gally's".

The inside of the restaurant was clean and neat, if small and dark. It was
dominated by the enormous grill that swept across the back wall and left
only a little space into which a counter with ten stools and half a dozen
small tables had been crammed. There were no customers, and the only
occupant, who was evidently the cook, looked up at them with an expression
of professional cheer that lasted only a few seconds.

"Hi! Welcome to Gally's. What I fix may for you today ... _Ranma_?"

"Hiya, Gally-kun, we need eight mega-burgers to go, please."

"Eight ...? Right, eight Megas, to go, coming up."

Gally, if it were she, was a short, elfin girl with straight black hair that
barely reached her shoulders. She possessed the grace of a martial artist in
full measure and was almost superhumanly fast and deft. Her only unusual
features were the black lines beneath her eyes, but both Akane and Nabiki
received a clear impression of hidden depths, as though beneath her unmarked
arms and perfect skin a whole collection of scars lurked unseen, yet not
unfelt.

Akane, however, quickly found herself distracted from questions of deeper
reality by her stomach's reaction to the _enormous_ piles of savory ground
beef, bacon and onions being constructed at lightning speed before her eyes.
She had, of course, _been_ to a McDonald's before, and she had even ordered
a burger there, so she _was_ aware of the concept involved. But the idea of
'burger' that she had previously been aware of did not really seem to have
much to do with the things that were taking shape before her eyes.

"So, Ranma-kun," Gally said over her shoulder, "what doing were you that
touched off an eight-Mega hunger? I mean 'What were you doing?'"

"Aaaactually ... it's closer to a three-Mega hunger, Gally-kun. But Acchan
here will probably need a little more."

"She's in the same, errr, 'business', Ranma-kun?"

Ranma smiled quietly, "I've taken her as a student."

Gally whipped around and stared at Ranma for a moment, big-eyed. Ranma
blushed slightly and mumbled, "She shows great promise."

One of the burgers chose that moment to expel some of its grease onto the
grill, hissing and spitting. Gally gave a small shriek and whipped into a
cooking frenzy, getting the burgers back under control. "Well, I'm glad that
it's just normal ..." she trailed off.

Ranma raised an eyebrow at her back and asked, "Yes?"

"It's just that I ... well, yesterday I suddenly got um... it was like I
suddenly got the idea that you were a lot of trouble in. Silly, huh? Hugo
told me that he had a bad feeling about mid-morning, too. Said it was like
'A goose had walked across his grave.' Honestly, know where he comes up with
these things I don't."

Ranma sweat-dropped briefly. "Ahh, yeah. Silly. How _is_ Hugo-kun, anyway?
And Ido-sensei?"

"Ohh, Hugo's _just_ fine. He and Ido are both doing things at Nekomi Tech,
you know. Techy stuff." She grinned briefly, and fairly lit up the room.
"It's entirely too geekly for me to be interested in, but it makes them _so_
happy...."

"Yee-es," Ranma drawled, "I _do_ seem to recall you being more on the side
of, mmmm, _practical implementation_, shall we say?"

"Be nice, Ranma-kun. So I like moving fast and blowing things up good. Is
that any reason for you to be mean to me?" Ranma smirked. "Oh! That reminds
me," Gally continued, "Hugo and Ido have joined a motor club at NIT. Would
you come out to the races with us?"

"If nothing, mmm, _serious_ intervenes, sure. When and where?"

Gally finished the first burger and whipped it in front of a nearly drooling
Akane, who launched into it with vigor. "I'll get word to you when I know
when the next race will be held." She put together a smaller burger that she
had somehow hidden amongst the others and wrapped rice paper around it,
handing it to Nabiki. "First hit's free," she winked.

On the way out the door, loaded down with a _huge_ fast-food sack, Ranma
turned back briefly, "... soon, Gally-kun. For some reason I think that
we're about to suffer from an enormous addiction to ground beef," and winked
in turn.

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

Nabiki was somewhat amazed at herself, but exceedingly amazed at her
companions. The burgers were as good as anything Kasumi could have made, and
the relatively smallish one she had eaten was still larger than anything
that she, an experienced consumer of munchies, would have believed she could
have found room for so soon after breakfast. Yet it was less than a third
the size of the _eight_ that the slight chef had made for Ranma and her
sister, and Nabiki was not sure whether to be more amazed that Ranma had
finished _two_ of them, that her _sister_ had finished two of them, that
Akane had eaten them with such ... voraciousness, that Ranma had put _three_
of them back for later in the school day, or that she was still carrying one
of them in her hand, perhaps to use on the walk _to_ school.

But what Nabiki was being _really_ amazed at was that Akane could pack away
a major Kasumi-style breakfast, follow it with _two_ piles of meat, cheese,
vegetables and bread that must have tipped the scales at a pound and a half
each, and _still_ have the energy to jump about like a moderately demented
ping-pong ball while "attacking" Ranma.

At least Ranma was being sensible and remaining serene in her manner. Though
it was a sobering exhibition of just how good she truly was to note that she
was facing down a sword with a folding fan. And kicking Akane's butt without
breaking a sweat.

Nabiki stole a moment from admiring the martial arts exhibition to take
another searching look at the fan. Nabiki harbored suspicions about that
fan. Normal fans, after all, do not deflect sword-blades, nor can they be
used as leverage to flip an opponent fifty feet into the air.

The thing was, though, that it couldn't be a gunsen at all. It was plainly
visible to anyone's sight: a simple, folding bamboo frame, covered with
plain rice paper that had never even been died or patterned. To Nabiki's eye
it seemed to be a well-used three or four years old, and the only thing on
it was a small calligraphed phrase that appeared to be an autograph or
similar running along one edge.

"Umm, Ranma-san?" Akane slid forward along the fence, Isileth at mid- guard.
Ranma looked down towards Nabiki's upturned face and flicked down beside her
as Akane slide-stepped forward along the fence-top.

"Yes, Nabiki-kun?" Ranma lightly rapped Akane's ankles, sending her forward
another dozen paces as she struggled to control herself.

"I was just wondering where you'd gotten that fan from?" Nabiki indicated
the fan in question with a gesture as Akane regained control by jumping up
and high into the air.

"Well, I bought it for Sensei, once ..." Ranma gestured widely with the
folded implement.

"Haaaah!" Akane came down in a falling pear-splitter. *whsssh* Which Ranma
dodged, gently guiding the blade past with the fan before *whrt* flicking
her high into the air again. "Whooaaa!"

"... and when, later, I left his school, so to ..." Ranma flowed around to
Nabiki's outer side with respect to the street as Akane flipped in mid-air
and came back down.

"Not that ..." she began to snarl *hfff* as Ranma guided to sword-blade past
herself again. Akane evaded a fan twist and lunged, perfectly in control.
There was a *klng* as Ranma blocked the blow close and a rapid- fire
*klk-klak-klik* as they fenced for fractions of a second before *whf*
another blow went past and Akane's ".. eas.." trailed of behind another
*whrt* "... eeeeee!" *THUD*

"... speak, he gave it back. It's just a keepsake, really." Ranma hid her
face behind the fan in a moderately provocative manner as Akane thumped into
a telephone pole down the street.

"But you're blocking a _sword_ with it! _And_ flipping my little sister
umpty-dozen feet in the air. Why doesn't it break?" Nabiki asked plaintively
as Akane pushed herself away from the pole.

"Neat trick, ne?" Ranma winked.

Akane put Isileth away and threw her arms out in a great, wrenching yawn as
Ranma and Nabiki came level with her. "Ahhhh! Ranchan, I don't think I'm
going to get that one easily on my own. It ought to be easier; just what are
you doing, anyway?"

Nabiki tuned the explanation out, thinking furiously. She had gotten several
blurred glimpses of the calligraphy as Ranma had gestured with it, and she
thought that she had seen that hand before somewhere. Common wisdom argued
that any artist's hand is completely unique, and so if she could recognize
the style it should be as good as actually seeing what it said. Then she
shook her head; no, it couldn't be. But she remembered where that hand had
leapt out at her before: on a set of scrolls in a museum.... Which was
patently impossible of course, even for Ranma, but....

Her attention was distracted by a loud growl next to her. Looking around,
she saw that Akane was paper-white and holding her stomach with both hands.
"Ranchan ...," she whispered panic-stricken, but Ranma had already unwrapped
the burger she had been holding and put into her hand. Akane looked at it in
shock for a moment before all but falling on it slavering.

Nabiki looked on with concern as her sister ravened her way through her
(effectively) fifth full breakfast of the morning. She would have been far
more concerned of course, had Ranma herself not so obviously anticipated it,
but still ....

Akane herself was no little concerned. "Ranchan, what's happening to me?"

"You used up a _whole_ bunch of resources yesterday, Acchan. In fact, I
would estimate that you used up about twice what you had available. So you ,
we, had to borrow some more, so to speak. This is just the pay-back. Well,
and the interest too, of course."

"Me and my big ideas," Akane muttered.

"So you'll stay behind, next time?," Ranma asked hopefully.

Akane's glare required no translation. "You _did_ say that you _did_ need me
along, _right_?" she purred.

Ranma sweat-dropped and blushed, grinning sicklily, "Errr. Yeah."

"So there."

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

The room was mostly dark, if you didn't count the TV. Normally, Sayuri was
as capable of vegging out as any teenager, but that was when she had a
choice whether to do so or not. Of course, she could have turned the lights
up ... then she could have spent whole ... seconds cataloging the flowers
and plants. As of the last time she had done so, fifteen minutes ago, there
had been 35.

Or, she could read. The signs on the wall, for instance. Why, there must be
... twenty of them. That had been thirty minutes ago. Of course, looked at
objectively, it was sufficient of a miracle that she was alive for the sheer
lack of anything to do to drive her crazy in the first place. She certainly
shouldn't complain that her family had been too distracted by her miraculous
recovery to remember to leave her any books. Or even homework.

Or, she could review her suspicions about the source of that 'miracle' for
the ... twenty-third ... time. Or, she could get right up and wander about
in the _lovely_ hospital, wearing the _lovely_ hospital gown that was
actually _more_ embarrassing than if they'd left her naked. At least there
weren't any IVs left. Although there wouldn't be anyone out there to talk to
except patients she didn't know and who certainly had worse problems than
her and staff members who certainly wouldn't have time to amuse one teenage
girl.

It was certainly a better policy to wait quietly until someone came to visit
her. If she avoided straining anything, they might let her go home, she
supposed, sometime next week.

Sayuri leaned back in her bed and watched the television's flickering glow
for a few moments, then slung her feet over the edge of the bed and found a
spare gown. This she put on over her original gown, but backwards, and
topped off with a towel from the bathroom. Then she opened the door and went
out into the corridors. It was either that, or another dubbed episode of
Wheel of Fortune.

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

Kodachi lay back in her bed with the TV off, and gathered her strength. Her
leg was still very weak, in her estimation, and her face ached in a pattern
that suggested to her that she might well end up with a permanent scar. Her
eyes were closed in concentration, because she was attempting something that
she had only heard stories about.

She was trying to visualize all of the relevant acupuncture points for legs
and arms and to connect them in a chi circulation circuit. It didn't help
that she had never actually even felt her chi per se, of course, but it was
something to do to pass the time until her torturer/therapist showed up. And
keeping her eyes closed to concentrate on her visualization meant that she
didn't have to look at her room. Which didn't have anything in it to look at
but the flowers that Ranma-sensei and Akane-san had left. And she knew what
they looked like.

Unfortunately, neither self-hypnosis nor even meditation had ever been among
the skills she had mastered, and the necessary distance from the red dust of
earth would not come to her, try though she might. Thus, the unexpected
opening of her door came as something of a relief. It _was_ a little odd,
since Ranma and Akane should be in school and no-one else was likely to come
by to visit, and it was outside the nurse's and therapist's schedules as
well; and she sat up in bed and raised her lights.

The appearance of a small, long-haired girl in two hospital gowns and a
towel was somewhat unexpected.

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

The school-yard before first bell was a hotbed of rumor and speculation. The
only sure information was that Sayuri had come out of her coma at last and
that Ranma had had something to do with it. Persistent rumor whispered
Akane's name as well; said that she had died curing Sayuri's illness; said
that _Ranma_ had died curing Sayuri's illness; said that Ranma and Akane had
died _together_, and in each other's arms; said that the "in each other's
arms" part was right but that they were still quite alive, thank you (nudge,
nudge, wink, wink, etc.); denied all of the above for the thought that
Sayuri's "illness" had been induced by The Forces Of Darkness, who had
finally been defeated by Magical Girl Ranma and her apprentice; and threw
around other thoughts, some of which were very strange and inaccurate
indeed. The absence of Furinkan's normal source of rumors and hearsay, Tendo
Nabiki, did nothing but add fuel to the fire.

Yuka had originally been besieged, but since she had been otherwise occupied
worrying about Sayuri she had little data to give. This had caused the crowd
to fragment and so she had had to latch on to Daisuke and Hiroshi in order
to have someone to speculate with. Nonetheless, she was the first to hear
the distant voices, silver and gold.

I was riding west, through Ontake Mountains.
The hills were heavy with new-fallen snow,
And the sun-bright hills were dappled like a pony,
I was riding hard, I had miles to go.

And a magpie flew, 'cross the mountain highway,
It flashed and tumbled, through the golden trees,
And I thought of you, and my heart was lifted,
And floated with that magpie, on the morning breeze.

Hiroshi and Daisuke noticed her silence and then, moments later, the reason
for it. Caught up between going to hear the voices better and gaining height
so they could see better, the Average Pair settled for trying to shush
people instead.

We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.

We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end only love remains.

Across the Furinkan schoolyard ripples of silence spread, as the spell of
leaping flame and swirling wind touched briefly here and there and then
passed on.

Tonight the Harvest Moon hangs over the valley,
I see the hills shine, in its silvery light.
It's the same old Moon, that shines down upon me,
And'll light my way, till I'm by your side.

For where I go, You go with me,
Though the miles keep us apart.
Your kisses on my lips, and your arms around me,
And your gentle hands, always on my heart.

Some heard in the song confirmations of theories. Some did not.

We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.

We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end only love remains.

Nabiki, walking just behind Ranma and Akane, marveled. She had always known
that her little sister was good at martial arts, but who would have thought
that _this_ was hiding under there, too.

Well who scattered these diamonds, through the vault of Heaven?
Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing?
Who shaped your face, and what made you love me?
Where is the heart of every living thing?

Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either.
I know you love me, how could it not be?
And I am your's, now and forever,
'Till my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see.

Somewhere in the back of her mind words like 'Idol' and 'Agent' were
flashing, surrounded by scads of beautiful yen signs, but for the moment
even Nabiki was lost in the song.

We are brief Summer lightning,
We are swift as swallows' flight.
We are sparks that spiral upwards,
In the darkness of the night.

We are frost upon the window,
We won't pass this way again,
In the end Dear, only love remains.

Ranma and Akane entered the schoolyard to a wall of stunned silence. Akane
almost blushed, but Ranma smiled broadly and spread her arms wide and the
walls of Furinkan picked up her shouted "Good Morning, Furinkan!" and
blurred it back into a roaring cheer.

Yuka hurtled from her position by the doors with a cry of "Ranma-san,
Akane-san!" Like a hyperactive heat-seeking missile she hurled herself into
Ranma's arms shouting "Thank you! Thank you for saving Sayuri-chan!"
Slipping free from a slightly staggered Ranma she turned on Akane, and froze
with a wail of shock.

Yuka's wailed "Akane-san! What happened?!" pretty well silenced the cheering
and when Yuka gently grasped Akane's blushing face by the chin and turned
her head everyone could see the scars; and see, also, the flaming red and
swirling gold of the eye beneath them.

The stunned silence lasted for several seconds as Akane's blush achieved
near nuclear proportions but the blush faded instantly when Yuka broke the
silence ... by bursting into tears.

Akane swept Yuka into her arms and hugged her hard. "Shh, Yuka-chan. It's
all right. I'm not hurt, it's just a scar, like; the eye still works."

"But ... *snff* ... I mean, are you sure Akane-san? It looks like ..."

Akane blushed again, but rallied, "I'm _sure_, believe me. It looks weird as
hell, but everything works just fine."

"But _how_?" Yuka said.

"Oh, well," Ranma said, dryly, "she _is_ a hero, you know."

"But then why don't _you_ have one, Ranma-san?" someone called.

Ranma ran a possessive hand over her flaming hair and said, "Each to their
own."

A small wave of chuckles was broken by another cry from the rear ranks,
"Three cheers for Ranma and Akane!"

"Banzai!!" Ranma smirked and covered her mouth with her fan as Akane's blush
went beyond Mega-Nuclear to Don't Point That At My Planet.

"_Banzai!!_" Akane resolved to kill the person who had spoken, afterwards.
Still, no-one had ever cheered _her_ specifically before. When you came down
to it, it was kind of nice.

"BANZAI!!" And the left eye in her thrown back face flamed, briefly, a solid
gold.

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

After: It's only part one of 5A, folks. Part two coming up, hopefully going
on Spring Break next week will give me the time.

--

Sublett said it was the Devil's work. Rydell said it was a Tokyo franchise
operation. Gunhead said: "Multiple homicide, hostage-taking in progress, may
involve subscriber's minor children. Benedict Canyon. You have IntenSecure
authorization to employ deadly, repeat, deadly force." And the dash lit up
like an old-time video arcade.

-William Gibson, Virtual Light

-Eric Hallstrom, yr. vr. hmbl. and obt. svt., etc.

Eric Hallstrom hallcon@mindspring.com