All previous material is at
http://www.garykleppe.org/comics.html. All feedback is welcomed and
appreciated; public response is preferred, but private is fine too.



                            HEARTS AND MINDS
                                PART SIX

                       Ranma 1/2 manga fanfiction
                             by Gary Kleppe

	The characters of Ranma 1/2 are the creation of and rightful
property of Rumiko Takahashi. They are used here without permission.
This story may be freely redistributed, but it should not be altered
substantially or used for profit in any way.

	I'd like to thank all of the prereaders who replied to this
chapter. Unfortunately, none of them did. ^_^;;;  So I'll thank the good
people of One Hour Challenge group 1, in which a good portion of this
was written and previewed.

                                 ______


	"Whoa, Akane. Slow down." Nabiki's voice was faint and distant;
Akane had to press the phone against her ear to hear it. "What
happened?"

	"We-- we don't know." She took a breath before continuing.
"There was some sort of loud crash that woke all of us up." *Well, most
of us,* she amended mentally, but now wasn't the time to discuss her
husband's sleeping habits. "When we looked, there was nothing there. Mu
Si -- he was supposed to be on guard -- was gone, and Kasumi was nowhere
to be seen either."

	"And that's it?" Nabiki said incredulously. "Two people
disappeared overnight, without leaving a trace?"

	"No, they did leave something." Akane held out her hand, and
Ryoga passed her the piece of paper they had found. "A hand-drawn map.
It shows a route going north along a river, ending up someplace called
Noyan. It's signed with kanji that Dr. Tofu says spell 'Zhen Biaozi' in
Mandarin. I think it's to lead us to the place where they took Kasumi
and Mu Si."

	"I think it's to lead you into a trap."

	"I don't doubt it," Akane said. "But how else are we going to
get Kasumi back? What I don't understand is how they found us. Mu Si
swore up and down that no one would expect us to be using this route.
Yet they must have known exactly where we were."

	"Yeah, well-- just a minute." Loud voices clamored at the other
end of the line. "There's some sort of trouble here."

	"Trouble? The soldiers are back?"

	"No, I don't think it's that. Look, Akane... find Kasumi and
rescue her. But keep your head down. They'll be expecting you. I won't
tell Dad that she's missing. He'd blow a gasket if he found out."

	"All right, Nabiki. We'll call again as soon as we can." She
hung up the phone. Ranma, Tofu, and Genma popped up from where they had
been watching, crouched behind a rusty abandoned truck. No one had
ambushed Akane during her telephone call. As far as they could tell,
this village was as deserted as it looked.

	"What do we do now?" Ryoga asked.

	"Follow the map, I suppose." Ranma let out a loud breath. "They
obviously know we're coming, and Kasumi and Mu Si might be someplace
completely different for all we know, but what choice have we got?"

	"It seems to be our only lead," Tofu agreed, his voice cracking
slightly. Akane knew how the he felt about Kasumi; he was obviously
fighting back some pretty intense emotions to stay in control of
himself.

	And the doctor wasn't the only one. *Damn it,* she thought,
hands tightening into fists, *those people had better not do anything to
hurt my sister, or I'll... I'll....* But she couldn't come up with a
threat that was convincing, not even to herself. Ranma was right; Kasumi
could be anywhere in Mongolia, or even out of it. The map was leading
them into a trap, or maybe just on a wild goose chase.

	She fell alongside Ranma as they walked away from the abandoned
village back toward the river, feeling a large emptiness settle at the
bottom of her stomach. This was all getting more and more out of
control. They were trying to sneak into the dragon's lair; a task that
seems so easy, until the dragon turns its head and breathes and suddenly
two of your teammates are a pile of charred bones. And there was nothing
to do except plunge head first straight into that gaping mouth.

                                 ______


	The wrinkled, white-haired figure rested in Elder Lan's arms,
floating in twice-again too large clothes of pink silk.

	"It's... Ke Lun?"

	"No, Nabiki," Lan said. "This is Shan Pu. I wouldn't believe it
myself had I not seen her change with my own eyes."

	Nabiki blinked. "Change?"

	"Someone set up a trap for her. Transformation water, poured
down on her when she tripped a wire."

	"Is she...." Nabiki gripped the unconscious old woman's wrist; a
pulse throbbed faintly within.

	"Shan Pu is indeed strong in body and spirit," Lan said. "I
doubt there are many who could survive in that form."

	"Why? I mean, this water, or whatever spring it's from, must
have been created back when Ke Lun was still alive, right?"

	"Alive, yes-- but well over a hundred years old. Elder Ke spent
a lifetime perfecting disciplines of mind over body. That training is
all that let her function normally in a worn-out husk that otherwise
would have perished years earlier."

	"I... see," Nabiki said, her mind scrambling to sort all of this
out. Who would've wanted Shan Pu turned into a duplicate of her
great-grandmother? Did they -- whoever they were -- do it knowing that
it might kill her? "Still," she said aloud, "if it was Jusenkyo water
that did this, it should be easy to fix."

	As if on cue, another of the senior Amazons entered. Elder Bi,
Nabiki remembered, was how Lan had addressed her. "I hope this is still
hot enough," she said, lifting up a kettle.

	Nabiki probed it with a quick finger jab. "Yes, that should be
fine. I've done this for Ranma dozens of times." Anything hotter might
burn, which might kill Shan Pu before she went back to normal, she
thought, and decided there was no need to mention it.

	The perpetually sour-faced Bi tipped the kettle, and water
poured out. Nabiki stared intently, waiting for any change in Shan Pu.

	"What?!" Lan gaped incredulously, running her fingers through
the water. "It's warm, so why isn't she changing back?"

	Nabiki took a step back, trying to puzzle this out. Either this
wasn't really Shan Pu -- which meant that Lan had been fooled, or was
lying -- or.... "Did you recover the container that the water was in? I
remember that the Musk own a bucket that once locked Ranma in his cursed
form...."

	"The Zhishuitong?" Lan shook her head, and held up a small
ceramic pot. "No, the water was in this, an ordinary gravy dish. Taken
from Shan Pu's own cupboard, it appears."

	For a moment, the three women stood silently, heads lowered in
thought.

	"There's one thing we can still do," Lan said, carefully passing
the transformed Shan Pu to her fellow Elder. "Take her to the healers;
let them do whatever they can for her." She motioned to Nabiki. "Come
with me."

	Bi eyed them cautiously. "You intend to visit the vault?"

	Lan nodded. "I can think of no other solution. Indeed, this was
the very reason for which the vault was created."

	"You know as well as I that Shan Pu failed to carry out a kiss
of death," Bi said. "By law, her curse may not be removed." Nabiki felt
her anger beginning to rise. Shan Pu had had her youth stolen, and could
die, and all this woman could do was to argue legal technicalities?

	"Her cat curse," Lan answered neutrally. "This additional
transformation was unlawfully inflicted on her, and she is thusly
entitled to a cure. Such, at least, is my decision as Chief Elder.
Should you choose to contest it in the Council, then that of course is
your prerogative."

	"I do not contest the decision," Bi said. The two women gazed at
one another for a moment, as if some sort of unspoken understanding were
passing between them. Then Lan turned and stepped to the exit. Nabiki
followed, wondering why on Earth she'd ever let herself get mixed up in
all of this.

                                 ______


	"You are leaving?" Elder Ban asked.

	"I am." Tatewaki stepped cautiously forward. His abdominal wound
stung a bit as he moved, but the sensation was far from intolerable. "I
shall return when I have dealt out justice to this foul miscreant."

	"To which miscreant do you refer?" The aged healer's aspect held
no accusation or challenge, only curiosity.

	Tatewaki's fist squeezed, as if to tighten his grip on a
non-existent weapon. He would need to retrieve one of his bokkens after
leaving here. Though he was prepared to take the assailant's life with
his bare hands if necessary. "I mean, of course, the fiend who
perpetrated such a craven ambush on the fair and noble Shan Pu."

	"We Elders do not as yet know who was responsible for that
attack. Nor do you, I take it?"

	"It matters not," he replied. "Do not seek to disincline me from
the course of action honor does demand." Her expression was neutral,
unreadable. He respected the healer, as he did all the Elders, and had
no desire to oppose any of them, yet he would be forced to if they tried
to get in his way.

	"Have you learned nothing at all in your years here?" The
Elder's voice drooped with exhaustion. "Very well." She scanned the wall
shelf and picked up a vial of blue liquid. "If you insist upon leaving,
then take this first."

	"What is it?"

	"A potion. Drink it now, and it will reduce the risk of your
wounds re-opening."

	"Very well." Tatewaki hurriedly gulped down the liquid, then
handed its container back to the healer with a nod of appreciation. Now
there was no time to lose. He had to... had to...

	Conscious thought evaporated from his mind into an ethereal
mist. Ideas and sensations circled him, out of reach, dancing, taunting.
He had to... had to do something. Images flashed, choppy and jumbled,
like a poorly-edited film. Somewhere, a song from a child's game dimly
sounded: *When does the bird inside the cage come out? Who is in front
of the back where....*

	Tatewaki pitched forward, falling into the arms of Elder Ban.
She grunted with exertion as she pushed the young man's limp body onto
his bed.

                                 ______


	"Sorry I'm late." With a nod of acknowledgement to the guards,
Bob Michaels stepped into the small conference room, pulling the door
closed behind him. "I was on the phone with Washington."

	"Quite all right. You are not late," replied the base's
commanding colonel, whose name Biaozi couldn't even remember. She'd met
so many military types in recent months that they had all begun to blend
together in her mind. "The General will be on line momentarily." His
English was badly accented but completely understandable.

	"Your superiors?" Biaozi asked idly, lowering her voice to a
whisper, as Michaels took the empty seat next to her.

	"My wife." Michaels gave a wry smile. "Two of the teachers from
our oldest's school called her this morning. Seems he's been bullying
the other kids. Naturally, he still insists that they're making all this
up because they hate him."

	Biaozi chuckled. "Ah, children are such delights. A
five-year-old granddaughter of mine cried because we didn't allow her to
fight using actual weapons. Of course, by the time she actually was old
enough for combat training, she was nonplussed."

	Michaels nodded obligatorily, obviously not believing a word of
it. To him it was impossible that a woman who was obviously not yet past
her twenties could have had grandchildren. For a man whose job was to
recruit and train paranormals, he understood little of the capabilities
of the supernatural.

	Ha Bu's voice came over the speaker phone in the center of the
room. "Your report, Colonel?"

	"Yes, sir. We've taken the two prisoners as planned. Their
status is secure. We expect the others to need twenty-four to thirty-six
hours to travel here, and preparations are already under way to deal
with them once they've arrived."

	"What measures have you taken to prevent your current charges
from escaping their confines?"

	The colonel glanced down to a clipboard on the table in front of
him. "The woman seems to possess the ability to influence those around
her into being friendly to her. Therefore we have equpiied her cell with
an electromagnetic lock that can only be opened remotely. Even if she
convinces someone to let her out, he will be unable to do so. The man,
we have placed in a triple-reinforced, fully sealed room. At Ms. Zhen's
suggestion, we have also confiscated his clothing and all of his
possessions."

	"Including his glasses, which have been destroyed," Biaozi
added. Even if that buffoon did manage to escape, he'd be unable to
accomplish anything effectual before blundering back into captivity.
"Presently, I'll be returning to the Amazon village, and I'll take great
delight in crushing whatever spare pairs he keeps stored there."

	"I like not this change of plans, Zhen Biaozi," Ha Bu said. "My
understanding was that you were to remain to personally engineer the
capture of the remaining foes."

	"Yes, and I've already done so. The prisoners I've taken make it
inevitable that their friends will show up here. The residue one of them
carries will provide ample advance notice for your soldiers and Mr.
Michaels' agents, who should have no trouble setting up an ambush for
them, and if need be they can use the hostages to force their surrender.
I, meanwhile, will be taking back the Amazon village, as was also part
of our agreement."

	The speaker phone fell silent. Ha Bu was obviously considering
Biaozi's argument.

	"You, of all people, know how disastrous it could be for me to
be seen here, like this." She turned to Michaels. "You've been briefed
on the known capabilities of Saotome Ranma and his group. Given the
circumstances, will your agents be able to capture them?"

	"I think so," he answered predictably. "From what information we
have, I think my team is up to the task." Biaozi knew how skeptical most
of Michaels' colleagues were of his project. It wasn't only that they
didn't believe in the paranormal -- most of them didn't, but it wasn't
hard to provide them with enough of a demonstration to convince that
there was *something* there that needed to be exploited; the real
problem was that he was in the unenviable position of having to recruit
his people based on their paranormal abilities, with other
considerations such as loyalty or general competence being secondary at
best. Now, finally, here was the chance for his group to justify its
existence, to prove that his paranormals could defeat other paranormals
where conventional means had failed. He had no choice but to accept.

	When it came down to it, Michaels was a family man. Bringing
them home a paycheck every month was his responsibility, and if a
village of Amazons or a handful of Japanese teenagers got in the way
then, well, that was too bad for them. It was an attitude not too far
removed from her own, Biaozi supposed. The Amazons were her family, and
the fact that they now considered her a renegade reduced not in the
least her determination to save them from their own foolishness.

	When had she finally understood, after so many decades of
blindly following her sisters' path, that it was leading them all to
destruction? Perhaps it had been at the funeral of the Chief Elder.
Speech after pretentious speech had extolled the accomplishments of Ke
Lun, almost as if all written by the same hand. But for all of this
glorification of the past, there had been no discussion of the future.
Elder Lan, Ke Lun's successor, who as teacher had praised the virtue of
questions, would not even consider the one on Biaozi's mind: When the
great warriors had all passed away, who would defend the Amazons?

	With no one willing to listen to her concerns -- and having
years prior been denied a seat on the Council, for reasons she could
still only guess at, Biaozi had left the village. If possible, she would
one day return to dissuade her lemming sisters from their course to the
sea, if any remained by then. But in any case, she would not follow such
a path herself. And she would not go to her death as Chief Elder Ke Lun
had willingly and peacefully done. If nothing else, she had earned the
right to survive.

	Now, finally, that dream was to become a reality. While the name
of Zhen Biaozi would be forever reviled in Amazon history, she herself
would be leader, unquestioned. Such a delicious irony.

	"Very well," Ha Bu said. "I wish you success, Mr. Michaels. But
should you fail, it is of no real consequence. Saotome Ranma will no
doubt come after me, and I shall deal with him when he does."

	Probably correct, Biaozi thought. But even if not, Ranma's group
would return to the Amazons, thinking themselves among friends. Either
way, she would win.

	"So then.... One moment." Muted voices rustled in the
background. "Our agent in the Amazon village has reported news that I
think you might find interesting, Zhen Biaozi. My aide is faxing it to
you now."

	The colonel stepped over to a desktop telephone, from whose base
a sheet of paper scrolled out. He handed it to Biaozi. She scanned the
contents. Her jaw dropped.

	"How--" She paused to regain her carefully controlled composure.
"Who knows about this?"

	"At the moment, only the Council. Though a few villagers did see
an unconscious Shan Pu being carried to the healer, and rumors are
reportedly beginning to spread."

	True, Biaozi had deliberately led Ranma's group toward a
functioning telephone. She'd wanted Kasumi and Mu Si's capture to reach
the village. There was a loose cannon who had beheaded one of the
Japanese youths, still at large, presumably still in the village; she'd
wanted to see how this unknown would react to the news, in hopes that it
would give a clue to his or her identity. But this... this made no sense
at all. The means to cause such a transformation would have been in the
hands of Ke Lun herself, and passed upon her death to... Shan Pu.

	"I know of this Amazon's special role in your plans. Will this
necessitate any changes?" Ha Bu's tone seemed to carry the barest trace
of smugness.

	Biaozi considered for a moment. "No," she answered. "Shan Pu is
an Amazon warrior. Lan will have the means to bring her back to normal,
and given the current climate in the village, she'll have no choice but
to use it." Though that only made it more bewildering that someone had
chosen this manner in which to assault Shan Pu. Perhaps the attackers
hadn't known that there was a cure, but then how could they possibly
have known about Elder Ke's water in the first place? No matter. She
would go back to the village as planned. She needed answers, and that
was the best place to get them.

                                 ______


	The room had walls of stone, unfinished yet perfectly level and
rectangular. Its low ceiling forced Nabiki to stoop uncomfortably as she
panned the beam of her flashlight from one side to the other. Rows of
tall ceramic jars filled most of the area, with an open space after
every second row allowing access.

	She wondered if she hadn't just blundered into a trap. The most
obvious reason for hot water not changing Shan Pu back was that Elder
Lan had lied about it being her in the first place, was covering up
after having killed her in order to hang onto the village chiefdom.
Funny that this possibility hadn't occurred to her *before* she'd
followed Lan down into some gods-forsaken tunnel where no one ever went.
Hilarious, even. Such a wonderful thing was hindsight; proof positive
that you *are* as smart as you think you are, but only after it's too
late for it to do any good. Had Lan invited her down here to eliminate a
possible troublemaker, a smart-mouth outsider who wasn't bound by
village traditions into not asking the wrong questions? *This is where
I've buried Shan Pu, Nabiki. She won't ever be leaving here. And now,
neither will you.*

	With a shiver against the cold, damp air, Nabiki forced her full
attention back to the present, the real. There was no point in letting
her imagination run away with her. Besides, she had to admit that her
theory didn't make much sense. If Lan wanted to get away with killing
her, then letting everybody see them together beforehand had been a
rather stupid thing to do, and Lan didn't strike her as the stupid type.

	No, she thought as she waddled forward, not much sense at all.
It was Shan Pu who was in danger of dying, and if something down here
might help her, then Nabiki needed to stop wasting time worrying and
bring it back as quickly as possible.

	Half-illuminated by the candle she carried, Lan stood in one of
the open rows, her eyes scanning across the containers.

	"Anything I can help with?" Nabiki offered.

	"As soon as I find the particular one of these that I'm looking
for, yes."

	She aimed her flashlight beam across the row of jars. "Mind
clueing me in as to the reason for this little spelunking expedition,
now that we're here and all?"

	"Not at all. We've come because Shan Pu is down here."

	"Ah heh." Nabiki involuntarily stepped back, and stopped as she
bumped into something. She glanced behind her. The ceramic container
she'd struck wobbled a bit, but was fortunately intact. "I beg your
pardon?"

	"Ah. Here she is." Lan's gaze settled on one of the jars, and
she motioned Nabiki forward.

	Nabiki hesitated for a moment, then approached. Lan pointed
toward the jar's cover, on which were scrawled a pair of characters:
SHAN PU. Cautiously, she lifted it by the handle and peered inside the
container. At first it seemed empty, and then she could barely make out
the surface of some clear liquid that filled its interior, not quite
reaching the top. "Water?"

	Lan handed her a narrow, lidded bowl akin to a gravy boat. "I
suggest you carefully avoid touching any of it as you fill this."

	"If you say so." Holding the vessel by its large curved handle,
Nabiki dipped it into the liquid and pulled it back out filled. "But
what's so dangerous about...."

	"About water?" Lan smiled. "What do you think?"

	Okay, Nabiki thought, so it *was* a stupid question. Just ask
Ranma -- or Shan Pu, for that matter. But why would the Amazons be
storing *that* kind of water in their basement?

	"There is a secret initiation ritual that an Amazon must undergo
before being admitted to the ranks of our warriors," Lan said as if in
answer. "The Amazon in question is sealed up inside a box filled with
water, and must remain there as long as she is able to endure. Most
believe this to be simply a test of endurance. No one save the Elders
know its true purpose."

	But Nabiki now knew. It was obvious. "The water in the box is
actually the transforming kind, isn't it. And after you're done, you
quietly stash it down here."

	Lan nodded as the two of them moved back toward the exit. "Long
ago, our Elders foresaw the possibility that a foe would use Jusenkyo
water as a weapon against us. The only reliable, permanent cure for such
a curse is to use water perviously seeded, if you will, by the victim
herself."

	"Makes sense." Nabiki certainly understood the value of staying
a step ahead of one's opposition. "Except for one thing."

	"And what is that?"

	"This vault of yours is so secret that even most of your Amazons
don't know about it. And yet you've just taken me, an outsider if ever
there was one, down here where I could see the whole thing, and you've
even explained the point of it to me. Why do that?"

	"Why do you think I did it?" Lan asked.

	"Oh, I can think of a number of reasons. But I'd rather hear the
real ones from you than play guessing games," Nabiki answered, feeling
as though this were a tennis match and she'd just returned Lan's serve.

	Lan said nothing as she slipped out of the small room, ascending
the narrow, steeply sloped passageway with no visible effort. Nabiki
paused to take a breath and then followed, the bowl of Shan Pu water
held high and at arm's length. *Don't spill any,* she reminded herself,
*especially on me. That could positively ruin my entire day.*

	Of course, her being affected by nearly-drowned-Amazon water
might be exactly what Lan had in mind. But if that was why she had shown
the vault to Nabiki, then, well, she was in for a disappointment.
Sneaking back down here and turning herself into an Amazon just wasn't
Nabiki's style, and she was hard-pressed to see how that would do any
good anyhow.

	If that wasn't Lan's reason, then what was? Did she expect
Nabiki to turn this basement of hers into a business? Surely no end of
people would jump at the chance to mail-order themselves young, athletic
new bodies. But she doubted that Lan would want that to happen. Maybe
the Elders just wanted someone to be able to tell the whole story in the
end, and saw her as someone likely to survive. *Thanks for the vote of
confidence, ladies,* she thought with a certain amount of weariness.

	Reaching the top of the passageway, Lan spoke the same
combination of Chinese syllables that she had used from the other side,
and just as before, the wall slid open. Nabiki pushed up the incline and
followed the Elder out into the wider room. The water she carried
sloshed around as she climbed but thankfully remained in its vessel. The
door closed after her, once again indistinguishable from any other stone
wall. It was a relief to be able to stand up straight again.

	A short flight of wooden steps led out into daylight, and Lan
wasted no time in heading toward the healer's. Groups of locals stared
curiously at the container Nabiki held in her fully outstretched arm.
"It's a gin and tonic. Kuno-chan insisted on getting it," she said with
a feeble grin. The villagers responded with confused looks, and Nabiki
realized that she'd spoken in Japanese. Oh well. Given the quality of
the quip, she was probably better off.

	"So do you think whoever attacked Shan Pu got the water from
down there?" she said to Lan as they approached the healer's. "Is it
possible that someone else could've gotten into that room?"

	"Someone could conceivably manage to get in," Lan answered, "but
the water used on Shan Pu could not have come from there. When one is
made an Elder, her water is removed from storage. She herself is then
responsible for its safety."

	"Oh." The room was silent as the two entered. Nabiki bent over
the sleeping Shan Pu-turned-Ke Lun, and watered her as she might a
houseplant, watching her intently for any reaction. Any moment now she
would grow, her wrinkled skin would smooth and tighten, her hair of
white string would transform into lush black silk.

	But it didn't.

	Nabiki resisted the urge to throw her half-filled pot of water
to the ground in frustration. Now what? Had Shan Pu's unknown attacker
discovered some way of locking the change? Or gotten to the vault ahead
of time and replaced Shan Pu's water with the ordinary kind? Or was this
person in front of her not really her at all?

	Too many questions and no answers. Only one thing was clear:
Nabiki wasn't the only one who understood the value of staying a step
ahead.

                                 ______


	The long-haired prisoner screamed something as his naked body
slammed into the door of his cell. Just as with his last three attempts,
the steel door didn't budge or even shake noticeably.

	"What the hell's he saying?" asked Carl Jorgenson.

	Jim Wesley couldn't understand the man's language, but as
always, emotions swept him up as if he were a twig in a hurricane, and
he felt exactly what the Chinese man was feeling: Righteous outrage over
being locked up. An undercurrent of shame and embarrassment -- over
being used to lure his friends into a trap, Wesley guessed -- dragged
down by fear of appearing weak, of displaying vulnerability. A growing,
gnawing despair that he might not be able to escape and fear of what
might happen to him.

	"I-- I think he's demanding that we let him go," Wesley said.

	"Hah." Jorgenson sneered at the prisoner, seeming as if about to
spit. "Fat chance, idiot." His cold contempt collided with the
prisoner's seething rage, and a hailstorm of wildly conflicting emotions
raged in Wesley's mind. The empath ignored it as best he could -- this
was nothing he wasn't used to, after all -- and forced his attention
back to the real world.

	"From what I've heard, these people are brainwashed pretty early
on," offered Chuck Crandall, the third member of the team. He turned to
Mr. Michaels and the Mongolian colonel. "There's no chance of him
breaking out, is there?"

	"According to our intelligence, Mr. Mu is an expert in
hand-to-hand weaponry," Michaels answered. "He's been stripped of
everything that he might be able to use, even the clothes at his back."

	"Also," the colonel added, "at Ms. Zhen's suggestion, we not
only relieved him of his eyeglasses, but have destroyed each and every
pair of them. Should he somehow manage to free himself, he will be
unable to distinguish friend from foe."

	He paused, like a tour guide giving his customers a moment to
examine the exibit he'd just described, and then led the group over to
the next adjacent cell.

	"Now with the other prisoner, we've had to be a bit more
cautious. She may not appear dangerous, but our reports suggest that
underestimating her might prove a great mistake."

	Wesley glanced through the transparent polymer of the
observation window into the cell, and found himself staring into the
sun.

	From all appearances, the captive was an ordinary young Japanese
woman. Her face was dirty, her hair disheveled; her eyes held the
far-away stare of one who desperately wanted to be somewhere, anywhere
else. Yet she *radiated,* with a light that was beyond physical;
brightening, warming, thawing. storm clouds dissipating under its
brilliance.

	"The young lady, as far as we know, has no combat skills," the
colonel said. "Her ability seems to be to influence others against
harming her, and possibly beyond that. Thus, her window is a one-way
mirror, through which she cannot see out. Additionally, her door uses an
electromagnetic lock, the power for which is externally controlled and
may only be shut off remotely. Even if she should persuade someone in
this area to let her out, he would be incapable of doing so."

	"The three of you will be stationed here until further notice,"
Mr. Michaels said. "If the Japanese paranormals do manage to get past
base security, which seems pretty likely, then they'll show up here to
free the prisoners. Mr. Wesley, Ms. Zhen has given you a means to detect
their presence, has she not?"

	"Yes, sir." The stone she'd showed him gave off an aura that to
his empathetic senses was quite distinct. According to her, one member
of the group carried a residue of the same aura, which she had followed
to find and ambush the group; it would be much reduced by now, she had
said, but still noticeable at close range.

	"Good. When they're nearby, I want you to sound an alarm." He
turned slightly to address the team as a whole. "In any case, when they
reach this room, you're to capture them -- alive, if possible."

	"Yes, sir," Wesley repeated. His two teammates nodded in
agreement.

	"One other thing. Another reason you're here is to keep an eye
on these prisoners. If an escape attempt is made, I expect you to do
whatever is necessary to keep it from succeeding. Even if that means
shooting to kill."

	Unexpectedly, a deep pang of sorrow dug into Wesley. Kill the
woman who shone like the sun?

	He shrugged. *Whose emotion was that?* he briefly wondered.

	"Yes, sir," he said once more, and pulled back to consider
tactics to use against the Japanese paranormals.

                                 ______


	Consciousness returned slowly to Kuno Tatewaki. With eyes shut,
he lay snuggled into the comfortable embrace of a half-waking,
half-dreaming state. Though he had just slept, he still felt tired, like
a child's toy whose batteries were empty and required recharging.

	Yielding to inevitability, he wrenched himself back to full
awareness, with an effort akin to tearing off one's own arm. Across the
ward, Healer Ban conversed with an aged man, one of the few patients who
had not yet been discharged. Sunlight burned brightly in the window
behind them, indicating that the time was late afternoon, and tongues of
shadow from the gentleman's bed stuck out at Tatewaki as if making some
juvenile taunt.

	The healer stepped over to Tatewaki. "Ah, you're awake. How do
you feel?"

	Tatewaki dragged himself up to a half-sitting position.
"Adequate." The response was uselessly vague, but the only one that came
to his mind. Perhaps "embarrassed" might have been more honest --
embarrassed at the fool he'd made of himself earlier -- but that likely
wasn't the sort of answer she sought.

	"Good." Her chilly fingers slipped under his shirt and began
gently probing his chest.

	That she avoided mentioning the earlier incident struck him as
curious. Then again, what would be the purpose if she did? To apologize
for having drugged him, which was obviously what had happened? Hardly,
for it was well within an Elder's authority to deal harshly with
troublesome children. To berate him for his stupidity? That too was not
the way of the Elders, a fact for which Tatewaki found himself
particularly grateful.

	*Have you learned nothing at all?* she had asked him earlier,
and before now he'd have thought the answer obvious. The Amazons had
taught him that the determination to fight for a righteous cause, while
not by any means a bad thing, needed to be tempered by discretion and
guided by an understanding of the conflicts in question. Yet it seemed
that when put to the test, Tatewaki's understanding of that lesson
proved shallow at best.

	Healer Ban scribbled notes on a sheet of paper. "You're doing
quite well. I can think of no reason you shouldn't be released in a day
or two."

	"I see." Strangely, the idea of leaving his hospital bed wasn't
the joyous prospect that Tatewaki had thought it would be.

	"By the way, I have two items of news that you will probably be
interested to hear. In the course of our investigation, we discovered a
hiding place that was likely used by Shan Pu's attacker. An abandoned
house in which food had been stored, and bedding had been set up and
recently used. Two Elders are currently watching this residence to see
if anyone returns to it; so far, no one has."

	"The attacker was an outsider, then? An enemy who escaped
capture, and is by now likely long gone?" Tatewaki pondered. "Though
this evidence may be false, planted in order to mislead."

	"Yes, that's true," the healer said, with the carefully
sympathetic tones of one attempting to soften the effect of bad news.
The implication was clear: as yet, the Elders had no real idea as to the
attacker's identity. "The second piece of news is both good and bad.
Shan Pu's condition has stabilized, and her life is no longer in danger.
I expect her to regain consciousness sometime tomorrow morning. You can
be with her when she does, if you wish."

	"Thank you," he said with a great deal of relief -- not only to
the healer, but to the deities, both Amazon goddesses and Japanese kami,
to whom he had prayed for Shan Pu's safe recovery. Then dread sank in as
he waited to hear the rest of what Elder Ban had to tell him.

	"Unfortunately, this transformation has quite mysteriously
resisted any attempts on our part to reverse it. Unless a solution that
we missed presents itself, it appears that Shan Pu will have to remain
locked in her current state."

	"I... see. Thank you," he said, his voice a good deal colder
than he'd intended. The healer nodded, then turned and exited the room.
Tatewaki turned to lay on his side, facing the wall, and squeezed his
eyes tightly shut. He should have been happy that Shan Pu would recover.
Yet the idea of going to see her filled him with an unease that he
couldn't idenfity.

	Over the past few years, he'd become convinced that Shan Pu was
his chosen life-partner. She was what he'd always wanted: a warrior of
noble spirit who could be both fierce and gentle. She was fire,
delivering a soothing warmth to her friends, a burning death to her
enemies, and -- he speculated -- even hotter flames to those few with
whom she chooses to share her romantic passions. Since his youth, he'd
always envisioned the same qualities in his mate. Only the specific
person to whom he looked had changed. First there was Tendo Akane, then
the Pig-Tailed--

	(ranma the pigtailed girl to whom you pledged your love was
ranma)

	--Akane, then Ranma, whose curse Tatewaki had failed to
understand. An unfortunate but perfectly understandable--

	(imbecile)

	There was no way he could have known--

	(of course you could have known everybody else knew imbecile
imbecile imbecile)

	Be SILENT! Be silent or I shall--

	Drawing a heavy breath, Tatewaki sat up in bed. Streams of
perspiration dribbled down the back of his hair, dripping onto the
pillow, as he glanced around the room. Thankfully, he had not spoken
aloud, but the momentary loss of self-control was nevertheless
disconcerting. He had accepted his error in not identifying the curse,
so why did the thought of it trigger such...panic? And why did the
thought of going to see Shan Pu in her current condition make him feel
much the same?

	He had pledged his eternal love to Shan Pu. Would he now recant
that, for the simple reason that she was no longer young and beautiful?
Would he have done the same had she been disfigured in battle? Was he
that shallow?

	Tatewaki lay on his back, waiting. But sleep refused to take
him, leaving him with only a festering disgust.


                                 ______


	Okay, thought Gosunkugi Hikaru to himself, let's just try to
work this one out rationally.

	*If you've got a problem, you do something about it.* The
principal of Tekido Middle School had told him that, when he'd
complained about an upperclassman who'd been bullying him. Most likely,
the principal had only intended to wash his own hands of the matter, but
Hikaru had taken the advice to heart. He had spoken to his father, who
had responded by arranging to have him transferred to another school.
He'd left the bully behind, as well as all of his friends from Tekido,
who he'd never seen again after that.

	And now he had a problem, but he wasn't entirely sure what it
was, much less what to do about it. He'd been jealous of a dead man --
one who died protecting the village that Hikaru had supposedly come to
defend, but had only cowered in the background as Ranma and the others
did the real work -- and that made him feel like slime. He still wanted
Ti Pi to...to like him, but he couldn't think of any reason *why* she
should, anything worthwhile that he had to offer her in return.

	He leaned against the wall of the home he'd come to photograph,
smiling uncomfortably at the occasional passers-by, as he waited for Ti
Pi to show up. Today they would finish the last of the houses in their
survey. And then what? He could leave. Go back to Japan, and get on with
his life. It would mean a long walk back to where transportation was
available, but that would be the case even if he did wait for Ranma's
group to return.

	But somehow he didn't think that leaving would solve his
problem.

	*Do something about it.* Okay, well, if Ti Pi had no use for
him, then it couldn't be helped. But maybe he could do something for the
old lady's son, whose name he hadn't even learned. The Mongols had gone,
but they'd be back. Hikaru wasn't a martial artist like Ranma or Kuno,
but he did have the techniques that Happosai had taught him. Sooner or
later, he'd get the chance to help protect the home that this guy had
died guarding.

	"Sorry I'm late." Ti Pi emerged from around a corner. "I had to
speak with the Chief Elder."

	Her sharply punctuated tone led Hikaru to guess that she was
frustrated about something. "Is there, um, anything I could help with?"

	"Probably not." She sighed. "I tell you before about
Linghungbao?"

	It took Hikaru a moment to realize that she was waiting for a
confirmation from him. "Er, yeah, I think so. You and Shan Pu did. I
mean, you said it was some really powerful magic item. I dunno what it
does or what it looks like or anything."

	"*Nobody* know that!" She threw up her arms. "Nobody except
Elder Lan and Shan Pu. Shan Pu is too sick to leave healer's, so I ask
to talk to her, think maybe she tell me how to find Linghungbao. But
Elder not even let me see her. Mongols could attack again tomorrow, and
item that could defeat them is sitting in closet somewhere because she
too stubborn!"

	"This thing is really that powerful?" *Of course it is, dimwit.
Why else would she be this worried about it?* "Uh, maybe somebody else
knows where it's hidden?"

	Ti Pi shook her head. "Only one person ever know that. Secret is
passed on only right before death. Stupid tradition."

	"So Shan Pu would've gotten it from Ke-- from Elder Ke Lun."
Before the latter had passed away, which was right after Ranma and
Akane's wedding. Hikaru had visited the Cat Cafe that day to pay his
respects. Right after....

		He stashed his small receiver unit and tape recorder
	behind a garbage can, with the tape still running. For now,
	Cologne was dying. He had only met her a couple of times while
	eating at her restaurant. Nevertheless he felt he ought to say
	goodbye. It was all he could do. Maybe he would listen to the
	tape when he returned. Maybe not.

	No. Just... no. Okay, he *had* bugged Ke Lun's room and taped
some of what was said there. But that had been what, six years ago? Even
if it *had* recorded the secret, by now the tape was probably...

	...was sitting in a box on the upper shelf of his bedroom closet
at home. He'd stashed a whole pile of high school stuff there before
heading off to college, intending to sort through it someday but never
getting around to it.

	But what if it *was* still there? He could call his parents and
get them to play him that tape, but no way would that do him any good by
himself, what with his little problem of not being able to understand
Chinese. Not to mention that he might not be able to figure out what to
do with this Ling-thingy even if he *did* get his hands on it.

	No, he'd have to tell Ti Pi about it. And then what? He knew
enough about Amazon law to figure that invading the privacy of an Elder
had to be the equivalent of kicking the Emperor in the balls. It
certainly wasn't something that would make Ti Pi like him. More
probably, she'd be demanding his head on the end of a bonbori, and so
would the rest of the village.

	No, the sensible thing to do would be to forget all about that
tape. Nobody else knew about it, anyway. Even if worst came to worst, if
the village were to fall to the invaders, no one would blame him.

	*No one will blame me,* he repeated to himself, and he knew it
was a lie. At least one person would.

	"I think, um, there might be a way." His voice was weak,
distant, as if he were listening to himself on tape.

	"No way," Ti Pi said. "We need wait for Shan Pu to get better."

	"That might be too late. You said so yourself. Let's go borrow
Nabiki's phone."

	"Why?"

	"I'll explain as we go," he said, knowing that she was the one
person in the world who would *never* forget such a promise. *You're in
for it now, Gos, old buddy,* he thought to himself as he followed her
down the dirt path. He only hoped that it would be worth it, that this
would keep the Amazons alive. Because it looked like his head would be
on the shopping block either way.

                                 ______


	For Tatewaki, childhood was largely a jumbled haze of vaguely
recalled words and images; nevertheless, a few memories still stood
clear in his mind. At one time, he had come into his father's study in
search of candy. His father turned in his chair as he entered, flashing
him a two-fingered greeting.

	"Peace, man."

	Tatewaki took one look at the beads around his neck and the wig
that reached down to his waist, and a giggling fit ensued. The
six-year-old had no idea why his father liked to dress up in such silly
clothes; years later, he would conclude that they were probably an
attempt to annoy Mother, for the crime of taking everything far too
seriously, but at the time young Tatewaki thought of his father as funny
and no more about it.

	"Hey, man, you look like a brother who could use a little
treat." He swiveled around to reveal his desktop, on which several
individually wrapped nuggets of hard candy rested. "You know how this
works. How many have we got?"

	Tatewaki counted. "Six."

	"You got it, little brother." Father stood a cardboard screen to
shield the candy from view, and his hands moved behind it. "Now, I'm
putting them into two piles with the same number of pieces. How many of
them are in each pile?"

	That wasn't how it worked last time, Tatewaki noticed, but he
could still figure it out. Was it two? No, that would leave some left
over. "Four?"

	Father lifted the screen. "Oh wow," he said, as Tatewaki stared
and tried to puzzle out how he'd gotten it wrong. "Major bummer." He
tossed a piece of candy at Tatewaki. "But you get one anyway, just for
playing."

	Tatewaki greedily unwrapped the treat and popped it into his
mouth. "You changed the rules," he said with amusement. Though happy to
get the candy, he couldn't resist the chance to play one parent against
the other. "Mom says that not doing what you said you were gonna do is
dis-- dishon--"

	"Listen to me, Tatchi." Father took off his glasses, and his
expression took on a rare seriousness. "That honor business is nothing
but junk. Understand me? They want to make you into what they think you
should be, not what you are. You listen, and it'll eat you away from the
inside."

	Tatewaki giggled. The words meant little to him at the time, but
he knew how repeating them to his mother would make her cringe. "You're
funny, Daddy."

	Father slipped the glasses back on. "Far out, man."

	The next day, at the grocery store, Tatewaki's mother reacted
very much as he'd expected.

	"It is *not* 'junk,' Tatewaki," she said, her voice almost
scolding. "It's what separates us from the lower animals. Honestly, I'll
never understand how your father could be born into a family as noble as
the Kunos and think so little of it."

	Baby Kodachi reached out from the cradle of her mother's arms
toward a pile of cucumbers. With an indignant huff, Mother jerked her
away from her intended target, and she began crying. Tatewaki wondered
whether he hadn't gone too far.

	"I just think Dad's funny, that's all." In reality, Mother's
worries that Tatewaki might grow up to emulate Father were quite
groundless. It was she whom he respected, to whom he looked to as the
source of truth. "I'm gonna be a samurai warrior. Samurai *have* to be
honorable."

	"No, Tatewaki."

	"They don't?"

	She hefted a sack of rice into her shopping basket, then set a
bottle of soy sauce into the smaller one that Tatewaki carried for her.
"A fish does not swim because it *has* to. It does so because that is
what fishes *do.* Likewise, honor is not a requirement for a samurai; it
is the heart of what a true samurai *is.*"

	The words resonated deep in Tatewaki's core, for he knew them to
be absolutely true. His faith in them did not waver over the years that
followed, even when his mother had deserted the family. For was a truth
any less of one if its speaker did not truly appreciate it?

	Tatewaki had begun reminiscing over his childhood expecting to
blame his parents for his current situation. But now he could see little
value in so doing. For who truly bore responsibility for his present
choices, save he himself? And what was more, his recollections had
yielded the answer to his current dilemma in the words of both parents.
He would find the right course of action by looking not to what was
expected of him, but to his own fundamental nature -- to what he was.
And he would allow no one else to decide that.

                                 ______

	The Amazon's consciousness floated, hovering in the twilight
between dream and awareness. The young Amazon dreaming of being an old
Amazon. The old Amazon dreaming of having been a young Amazon.
Untethered by memory and context, she drifted through half-formed
thoughts and images.

	A great cheer resounded, and she was on a galley ship. A drum
beat steadily amidst the roaring of the water. Mighty Amazon arms (her
sisters') pushed on gigantic oars in time with the drumming, and the
boat flew forward, forward past ever-darkening skies. The course they
followed led to the eternal dark, the void, she knew that, but to them
she was the infallible leader, greatest among the elders. They had to
follow her, she had to lead them somewhere, even if she could take them
to no other destination save destruction.

	Somewhere in the darkness, a cat howled. It was the cat who had
stolen from the Amazon, stolen her very SELF and left her in a
clawed-up, shattered husk of a body. She had thought she'd tamed the
cat, brought it under her control, stupid stupid STUPID Amazon, and to
show her what a fool she was it clawed away her body and consumed it, or
dragged it to its lair to devour later, for wasn't that what cats often
did with their prey?

	The drum beats quickened, and the boat's motion seemed to
accelerate along with it. The drum beat louder, ever louder. She could
FEEL the sharp wooden rod striking against the fragile, taut skin. Soon
the skin would wear through, and break, and the universe would end.

	Droplets of water blew onto her face as the ship sped into the
darkness. But where darkness should have been was light, beams of
brilliant yellow and orange that were physically painful to the touch,
fingers of light that jabbed into her eye. No longer on a boat, she
could vaguely feel that she was lying on a bed, but the world around her
continued to pitch and shake as the ship had.

	A face came into view. Its appearance was sudden, almost like a
jump cut in a movie, but it was not frightening, for the eyes held no
malice, only kindness. A hand, strong and large, wrapped itself around
the frazzled tentacle that had been her own appendage, holding firmly
but gently.

	A name came to the edge of her mind... Tat-- Tate--  She
remembered that there had been questions, questions about the name,
about the man that she'd needed the answer to. And she no longer
remembered what the questions were, but knew that they were answered.

	The Amazon squeezed her hand into the larger one as the world
faded around her. And she was floating again, but in a small rowboat, on
a placid river meandering through tall oaks, and the drumbeats continued
steadily but with a slower, more relaxed rhythm.

                                 ______


	Kasumi forced air in and out of her lungs in a slow, steady
rhythm. The floor under her crossed legs was metal, cold, hard.
Impersonal. She hadn't seen a living person since she'd woken; even her
meals had arrived via a mechanical conveyor, a compartment in the wall
opening just long enough to let them through. There were no people, at
least not that she could see, and that somehow frightened her far more
than simply being held prisoner.

	Noticing her heart racing, she drew a deep breath to steady it.
The shell of self-consciousness fell away. The physical world faded as
her awareness attuned to the spiritual one. Hot, dry winds blew into her
face across a vast expanse. A desert? She'd read about them in Mongolia,
but... this was different. This was a psychic wasteland, a dessication
of the spirit.

	"Hello?" she called. "Is anyone here?" The only responses were
barely audible sounds, like animals skittering away from humans.
Disappointment clouded over her. She had hoped to tap into the local
spirits, as she had the Amazons' back in China. But they seemed
unwilling to even make contact with her. Without their help, she had no
chance of escaping.

	Unless....

	Kasumi straightened, crossing her arms over her chest. Then, as
if she had stepped out of an airplane, she plunged straight down,
passing through the desert sands as if they were water, falling deeper
and deeper, until there was only darkness, no longer any sense of
movement or place.

	Somewhere in the vast nothingness, a presence appeared. Then
another. And another.

	Kasumi opened her mouth to speak, and no words came out, but
somehow she knew that her silent plea for help had been understood.
Thoughts and memories flowed between her and the spirits, too quickly to
be captured in words. They had been put to death. For opposing the new
order, for speaking out against the General's right to rule, the regime
had silenced them permanently.

	*Avenge us.*

	Energy built to a crescendo around Kasumi, charging like a bolt
of lightning ready to fire. Unfulfilled resentments gave off a stench
like rotting corpses, and she felt the urge to gag.

	*AVENGE US.*

	*I can't.* Her voice was tiny, feeble. It was all she could do
to hang onto who she was, a leaf floating in a tidal wave of emotion. *I
can't... but there is one nearby who can.*

                                 ______


	"I think this is it." Ranma's eyes darted back and forth between
the landscape and the map in his hands. "This is where we're supposed to
quit followin' the river."

	Akane glanced at the map, then flipped on a flashlight to see
it. "I think you're right. From here, it's just another fifteen
kilometers due east, according to the directions." She sighed. "But I
suppose we'll have to wait until daybreak."

	"How come?" Ranma asked, but it was obvious. "Crap. We don't
know which way *is* east, do we." Without the sun, they'd have to guess.
Maybe they'd get to where they were going, and maybe they'd wander off
and not even be able to find the river again.

	He'd heard that you could navigate by the stars, but there
weren't any; the sky was a solid mass of darkening gray. What was it Mu
Si had said? Some kind of contamination in the air left over from the
fighting?

	"Damn it!" Ranma pounded his fist into his other palm. "Bet they
planned it this way, too. They don't just know where we're coming from,.
but they know *when* we're coming." Which gave them a snowball's chance
in hell of getting in and out alive, never mind rescuing Kasumi and Mu
Si.

	A wave of sleepiness washed over Ranma; he closed his eyes for a
moment, shaking his head quickly to try to wake himself up. "Are you
okay?" he heard Akane ask in a lowered voice. "You look half dead."

	"Yeah, sure, 'course," he answered on reflex. "I dunno. I've
been up for longer than this before and it wasn't that big a deal. I
hope it's not the flu or somethin' like that. This would sure be a dumb
time to get sick."

	Ryoga and Tofu came out from the tree they'd stepped behind.
"So, what now?" Tofu asked. "Do we go on, or make camp here for the
night?"

	"I think we're gonna have to wait here until it gets light, Doc.
But don't worry, we're almost there."

	"If we're almost there, why not keep going?" Ryoga asked, in a
tone that to Ranma sounded accusatory. "Shouldn't we get to Kasumi and
Mu Si as soon as we can?"

	"Because none of us had the brains to bring a compass on this
trip, that's why." *You jerk,* Ranma restrained himself from adding.
*Like I was too stupid to have thought of that myself.* "So we're kinda
stuck here until morning, unless you can tell us which way is east." He
felt a certain satisfaction in bringing up Ryoga's direction handicap.
Okay, so it was kind of a low blow, but Ryoga had it coming. Well, maybe
he did. Whatever. Ranma was too tired to argue with himself about it.

	Ryoga paused for a moment, then closed his eyes, turned slowly,
and pointed. "Japan is that way."

	"How the heck do you know that?!"

	Ryoga's eyes flipped open. "Because Akari is in Japan, that's
why."

	"Oh yeah, I remember! You got that... that thing. With the
bandanna." Excitement sliced through Ranma's exhaustion. They could do
it. They had a chance to hit those people when they wouldn't be
expecting it.

	"That's right," Ryoga said proudly as he pointed again. "So I
can tell you for a fact that Japan is in this direction."

	"Just a minute," Ranma said. "That ain't the same direction you
were pointing a minute ago."

	Ryoga blinked.  "Oh. Right." He closed his eyes for a moment and
turned slightly. "*This* direction."

	*Just great,* Ranma thought as the group started off. The blind
leading the blind. And which of those did that make him? *Damn it.*
Normally, he could handle just about any trouble that people like Ryoga
could get him into. But now... he just didn't feel like himself. At
least not like *all* of himself. Was it the flu? It had come on so
suddenly that he could almost pinpoint. It was right around when they'd
left the Amazon village. Right after--

	He shut that thought right out of his mind, not wanting to even
consider it. How could *that* have had anything to do with it? No way.

	The words Akane had said minutes ago poked out of his memory:
*You look....*

	He followed quietly through the darkness, hoping very much that
he had the flu.

                                 ______


	He stood, silently facing the wall, pausing with head lowered as
if in a gesture of respect to a human opponent. And the energy began to
build. It was a feeling he couldn't understand, but unquestionably real,
as if his bicycle of a body had just been fitted with a jet propulsion
engine. Slowly, patiently, Mu Si shifted his weight onto one leg,
bringing the other up into position.

	With a giant thud, his kick struck the wall. The metal, the
hardened steel or whatever it was that he'd spent the whole morning
pounding on and not dented, rended and folded like paper. Mu Si raised a
fist in the air, shaking it defiantly. Take *that,* Mongols, or whoever
you are!

	Abruptly, the fire of his euphoria burned itself out. What the
hell was he *doing?* Okay, somehow he'd managed to break through the
wall. But there were surely going to be all kinds of guards around,
guards with guns who were going to be showing up in a minute or two in
response to the noise, and he had nothing to help him fight them off,
not even a scrap of clothing. And though his kick had been worthy of
Superman, that didn't mean he'd be able to bounce bullets off his chest.

	Doors slammed. Voices shouted. Footsteps approached. Mu Si
figured he had maybe half a minute to do something.

                                 ______


	"What in the...."

	The two soldiers warily approached the cell, assault rifles
first. "Sarge, the prisoner must'a blowed himself up. There ain't no
trace of him left."

	"I think there 'ain't no trace' left because he ran off. Hit the
alarm, and then follow me. He didn't run past us, so there's only one
way he could've gone, down the corridor."

	Bells began to blare. The two soldiers pushed ahead, one in
front, the other covering him from behind. And, shielded from view by a
hastily replaced ventilation cover, a duck breathed a quiet gasp of
relief.

                                 ______

	Somewhere else, the driver of a Mongol military transport
slammed on his brakes and steered hard to the right. The covered pickup
truck bounced as it swerved off the gravel road and into the ditch that
ran beside it.

	"What the--"

	"Sarge, there's a *bear* on the road! I saw it! A fucking
*bear!*"

	"Damn it, man, didn't you read the dispatch? Get us moving again
before--"

	The soldiers heard the sound of glass shattering, then felt
impossibly strong fingers clamp around their necks. The soldiers
remembered the stories they'd heard, and prayed to any deity who might
be listening that they'd be able to get away before the terrorists
killed them.

	Voices spoke in foreign languages, conversing back and forth in
incomprehensible syllables. Finally, one of them spoke to the soldiers.
"You are stationed at Noyan Army Base, yes?"

	The soldiers squeaked noises of assent.

	"Two prisoners were taken to there within the past two days."
The dashboard light reflected off the man's glasses, hiding his eyes
from view. "Tell us where we can find them."

	"We-- we don't know," the sergeant gasped.

	Another voice -- a female's -- spoke, and the soldier's
interrogator answered it. "Is there a part of your base which is under
particularly heavy guard right now?"

	The soldiers assented. "But we wouldn't be able to get you into
there," the sergeant said. "Authorized personnel only. Which we aren't."

	More conversing. "But you could get us into the base?"

	Steel-hard fingers pressed on the soldiers' collarbones. "Yeah,
probably," they answered.

	[soldiers sound too undisciplined]

                                 ______

	Just before dawn, the silence at Noyan was broken.

	"Halt!"

	The truck careened forward toward the gate, ignoring the guard's
challenge.

	"Halt, or I'll--"

	With a crunch, the gate tore off its hinges as the car smashed
through. The guard fired a round through the windshield, then another,
and it kept going.

	All across the base, alarms rang out.

	From all sides, gun shells burst through the truck's metal skin.
A tire popped, flailing around on its axle like a lone sock in a washing
machine. The truck skidded forward, slamming into the concrete and steel
walls of the security building; its hood crumpled, water spouting up
from its radiator like a geyser. Bullets strafed the vehicle from all
sides, again and again, hitting through every possible square inch of
possible cover that the occupants might be using. The huge crowd of
soldiers paused, hesitantly ready to approach it.

	For a few minutes, no one spoke. "Shoot it again!" came the
voice of the watch commander.

	And they did, until the barking of bullets was replaced by the
clicking of empty chambers.

	Another order was barked out. "You four take the point! Check
for survivors." A laugh from the crowd was quickly muffled. As if anyone
could have survived that.

	A quartet of soldiers inched forward from the crowd, cautiously
moving up to the vehicle. Carefully, one of them pulled away the remains
of the passenger side door, quickly swiveling his gun inside. "Holy--
Cap'n! There's nobody!"

	"Of course there is," said the Captain, striding forward with
newfound self-assurity. "No one could have--"

	"No, sir! I mean, that's not what I mean!" The point man pointed
inside, where a concrete block rested on the now-destroyed accelerator
pedal.

	Everyone looked from side to side, then turned around.

                                 ______

	Fists and feet tore through a section of wall. Aware that
pursuit would likely arrive in minutes, the group hurriedly slipped
inside and surveyed the building's rather sparse contents. "Either this
is the wrong building, or they must be down that," Ryoga said, pointing
towards a ladder that protruded from a hatchway in the floor. "There's
nowhere else to go."

	Ranma took a step closer to the hatchway, and paused. "Don'tcha
think this is just a little too obvious?"

	"Huh?" Ryoga blinked. "If Kasumi and Mu Si are down there--"

	"--then let's skip the stairs, and take the express elevator."
He motioned to the floor, and Ryoga's eyes narrowed in understanding.
"Want to do the honors?" Ranma asked, backing away slightly to give
Ryoga enough space. *After all,* he thought, *down is one direction that
even you can get right,* but he decided it wasn't worth saying out loud.
He just wanted to get this whole thing over with.

	Ryoga's arm swung down. For a moment, the five martial artists
fell through darkness. Then, abruptly, a light switched on.

	In the small room below, three cots stood against a wall, amidst
haphazardly-strewn suitcases and duffle bags. Three men looked up from
the cots, pointed, and spoke in a language Ranma couldn't understand.
The largest of the men shouted something hostile at Genma, who in his
panda form was leading the charge downward; the large, bearded man's
eyes narrowed, and suddenly Genma burst into flame.

	"Growowowowowowfff!" Genma squealed as he hit the ground, and he
began rolling on the floor. *What the hell?* Ranma wondered? Who were
these people? What kind of place had they barged into now?

	The four physically human members of the team landed. Ryoga, the
nearest to the bearded man, reached out and flung him across the room
where he crashed into the far wall. Ranma winced, That had to hurt. Were
these people martial artists? They didn't look it. Their stances, their
reactions, everything about them just said that they were just Joe
Averages. Except the fact that one of them had just toasted his pop.

	"Now, look, you guys," Ranma said, "we don't want any--"

	Some instinct made him move back. A loud *zing* sounded, along
with a quick rush of air, and Ranma looked down to see a missing chunk
of floor where he had been standing. *Huh?* Looking up to the hole
through which they had entered, he could barely make out the shape of a
gun barrel pointed down. Several gun barrels.

	*Oh, shit.* Without a second thought, he sprang upwards. He had
to take out those gunmen before....



	The blond-haired Westerner offered little resistance as Ryoga
yanked his arm bahind his back. "Don't try anything, or I'll...." He let
the threat trail off, unsure how to finish it. He had no qualms about
injuring or killing an opponent in a fair fight, but these people didn't
seem to be armed, nor had they shown any real fighting ability. "I got
this one!" Ryoga called to his teammates. "Somebody grab the other!"

	"Right, I... AAAA!" Akane screamed as Tofu suddenly grabbed her
from behind. "Doctor?! What are you--"

	"What have you done with Kasumi?!" the doctor shouted. "Where is
she?!"

	"Let Akane go!" Ryoga said, but the doctor didn't seem to hear
him. The Westerner in his arms offered no resistance, continuing to
stare quietly in Tofu's direction, and as Ryoga looked he could barely
make out an almost invisible nimbus of light connecting the two of them.

	A half-second away from slugging his captive into
unconsciousness, Ryoga suddenly felt the presence of the third Westerner
enter his mind. And then he felt... nothing at all. Purpose and
motivation evaporated, and he collapsed to the floor like a punctured
balloon. Ranma and Akane had once described an energy-draining attack
used by the teacher Ms. Hinako. Was this what it was like to experience
it?

	*We're going to lose this fight,* Ryoga thought dimly, but he
couldn't bring himself to care. He no longer cared about anything.




	A soldier, about to fire his rifle, doubled over as a fist
jabbed into his nerve cluster. Ranma rushed desperately around the
interior of the ring of soldiers. A gun barked out, and he adjusted his
trajectory an instant before the shot blasted past, impacting into
another of the Mongols. Probably dead, Ranma thought as his feet slammed
into an adjacent pair of heads, but that couldn't even be a
consideration right now.

	A glancing blow sent one gunman's weapon flying. Another one
down, but there were far too many left to go. With luck, a few more of
them would pick each other off, but sooner or later, their superior
numbers and his own exhaustion would catch up with him. And he could
almost hear Kodachi laughing at him from beyond the grave. *Where are
your sanctimonious scruples about killing now, Ranma darling?*

	Then everything went dark.

                                 ______


As silent as a ghost, she moved through the early morning darkness. The
narrow beam of her flashlight probed ahead, dimly illuminating the sign
near the front door of the edifice. *Ucchan's Okonomiyaki.* With a
supreme effort of will, she resisted the urge to laugh, though she could
not identify what it was that struck her with such amusement.

A whispered instruction, and one of her little pets slithered its way
under the door. The lock clicked. The door swung silently open, and she
entered, closing and locking it behind her.

Her light panned around the room. This was the restaurant area. A
curtained doorway stood in the back. No doubt it led to her host's place
of residence, where at the moment she would be slumbering in her warm
blanket of blissful ignorance.

It would be as good a place of any for a little surprise. A length of
heavy-duty cord unrolled from its container. The guest attached
fasteners to each side of the wall, and stretched the cord taut across,
only a centimeter or two above the floor. Another fastener, this one
higher up, and then the surprise itself poured from its thermos bottle.
Its container wobbled slightly as she let it go, satisfying herself that
it would remain in position. Until the rope was stepped on, of course,
she thought, and she had to clamp her lips against one another to keep
silent. No laughing. Not yet.

The visitor stepped back into the shadows and waited. The nearby window
began to illuminate. It was nearly daybreak. When the sun came up, she
would have to leave, of course, as she preferred not to be discovered.
She hoped that the trap would be sprung before that happened.

In the darkness, the cord twanged. Water splashed. A feral yelp sounded,
lasting only a moment before becoming a muffled choking and then dying
off completely. The guest waited for several minutes, listening for any
sound, hearing only the dull hum of a refrigerator. In the shadowy
pre-dawn light, she could barely make out a form, sprawled supine across
the floor.

She stepped to the foot of the stairs. The hair was white, the skin
covered in wrinkes, just as before. She pushed her fingers into the
body's wrists, and then its chest, checking for a pulse. There was none.
She had wondered whether Ms. Kuonji would survive the transformation,
after Shan Pu had, but it seemed that the okomiyaki chef was not so
fortunate.

>From the bottom of the stairwell, Kodachi Kuno's laughter rang out
without restraint.


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