[FFML] [Fanfic][Ranma / X-COM] The Road to Cydonia Chapter 22

[Justin Wagner]

---notes---

Author's note: I don't think I ever sent Chapter 21 "Twilight of the
Amazons Part 3" to the FFML.
Oh well - it can be easily found on FFN or my TRTC archive.

Previous chapters of TRTC can be found on FFN
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2314624/1/The_Road_to_Cydonia

or on my site (which also hosts a UFOpedia and Character Info)
http://www.wagnergrp.com/JBW_Website/Fanfiction/TRTC.htm

---/notes---

For six years, mankind has waged a Secret War against an enemy from
Beyond the Stars. The UNETCO timetable moves ever forward, but a new
complication has arisen as the alien forces in the Far East surge out in
unexpected numbers and with surprising fury. India and Juliet Squads
have taken the Procyon, a cargo ship operated by the alien enthralled
Sirius Group, and uncovered the existence of a terrible chemical weapon
based on Chryssalid Venom. But already the Amazon Village has been made
a martyr - the first field test of a weapon the Sirius Group hopes to
use against the city of Singapore. With the battle for the Amazon
Village over, it is finally time to settle accounts.

-----

Hong Kong

Wang Goufu ran like his life depended on it. Rounding the corner, he
bumped into an elderly man, pushed him roughly out of the way, and tried
desperately to keep his stride. Looming between and above the smaller
buildings that lined both sides of the road he could see the towering
capitalist monuments on Hong Kong Island and the central districts. He
thought, not for the first time, about heading for one of the rail
lines, but he had no idea what the train schedule was like, and the idea
of standing around waiting for a subway car filled him with dread.

Shoving his way through the crowded street, he weaved around pedestrians
going about their business on the busy market street. A vendor and a
young woman cursed him in stereo as he ran by; knocking newly purchased
waxpaper-wrapped food out of the latter's hands. Wang's heart was still
racing, and he ignored them, pushing on down the street. Taking
advantage of a group of people making a street crossing, he ran by in
parallel, daring a glance behind to look for any pursuers.

He slowed only a moment, took stock of where he was near a street sign,
and took off again as fast as his tired legs could manage. He made a
right turn onto another busy street, and stuck to the overhangs that
jutted out from the buildings, providing much needed shade to passersby.
He paused again, looked up, and then back. Nothing seemed out of the
ordinary, aside from the glares he was receiving from one or two people
he'd bumped into.

Ducking into an alley, he tested the door to an adjacent restaurant.
Someone had recently taken out the trash, and the door was open. He
thanked the gods for his luck, and snuck in. He tried to act casual, but
after a few seconds, he threw aside most of his caution and ran through
the kitchen and out the back, enduring more cursing from restaurant
staff, one of whom threatened to call the police.

'You do that!' Wang thought, as he came out the back entrance, noted the
parked bikes there, and headed off in another direction. He wasn't
exactly afraid of the police. Hell, under circumstances like this, he'd
almost have welcomed them!

He was in the back alleys now, and for a minute, he lost his bearings.
Finding a main street, he quickly realized where he was, took a deep
breath, and headed across the road, waiting for the traffic to calm
enough for him to run across. He was growing more confident now, and
tried to blend in with a large crowd of shoppers. He even hung out near
the front of one of the stores, though his anxious behavior - looking
back and forth and behind - surely must have seemed unusual to those
nearby and inside. His breathing slowed, and he caught his breath as he
walked only a little too fast down the street.

It was just a little further ahead...

Hastily heading down another street, Wang Goufu began to laugh
nervously. He was just a speck, just a dot, just one more person on the
streets of the most crowded piece of land on Earth. It wasn't hard to
disappear in a sea of people here in Kwun Tong. The safe house had a
decorative facade that filled Wang with familiar relief. They wouldn't
turn him away, not him, and not in his time of need. He'd be safe here
from that psycho.

Expressing his hurry in words, he made his way past the front desk, and
then past the guards who blocked public entrance to the upper levels of
the establishment. He saw few familiar faces, but many who were his
brothers and compatriots. Occasional friendly glances filled him with
palpable solace, and he took a minute to duck into a bathroom and fix
his hair and attire. It wouldn't do to look like some un-presentable and
un-professional street thug!

Splashing his face and quickly drying it off with a paper towel, he
headed up the final flight of stairs to the top level of the building.
Behind a set of well guarded doors, Wang Goufu entered a room clouded
with the taste and smell of smoke. There were six men in the large room,
two were personal bodyguards standing next to the man Wang had come to
see. Two others were sitting at the table in front of that man, playing
cards. The third was at a notebook laptop computer. Two scantily clad
women in thigh revealing dressed hovered nearby with drinks and a tray
of food.

"Boss!" Goufu barked, bowing his head stiffly. "Thank you for seeing me!
I... I..."

The man in charge sat silently at the head of the table.

Wang composed himself, and cleared his throat. "Boss... my
subordinates... they're dead."

"Dead?" the man asked, dark eyes leaving the unfolding card game and
focusing on his nervous deputy. He was an older man with the mannerisms
of a gentleman, and hearing that some of his subordinates had been
killed obviously struck a cord with his sense of Triad honor.

"Who was it?" he asked darkly.

Wang licked his lips. "It was... some crazy bitch vigilante or
something. She killed my boys, she... she said she was after me. That I
had to pay. Hell if I know for what!"

Goufu watched his Boss' face for any sign that he would be punished or,
worse, thrown out on his own. The chick was loony tunes, that was for
sure. She had to have the wrong guy, too - he'd never killed anyone's
family or any shit like that. Maybe he'd helped forge and distribute
some bad passport and residency papers, or maybe this was some angry kid
from an indentured family overseas? Even then, it wasn't the sort of
thing he'd ever expected would lead him to the pointy end of a vendetta.
The Boss' eyes narrowed, the folds of skin behind his glasses crinkling
up.

"A vigilante is it?"

The Boss' expression was hard and unforgiving as he spoke. Wang was
silently relieved; he was safe now, and when the boys got through with
that crazy bitch, they'd...

It was in the middle of that line of thought that the ceiling caved in.

Wang fell back on his ass as the already cloudy room filled with smoke
from smashed drywall and insulation. The beautiful wooden table in the
middle of the room had been smashed in, and so had one of the men
sitting at it. The lights flickered, but no one seemed to recover from
the shock long enough to say anything, save for the two female
attendants who screamed and ran for cover. Instead, a single figure
seemed to glide in from the hole in the roof.

Shan Pu wrenched her twenty four kilogram bonbori mace out of the ruined
remains of one of the mobster's faces. She glared at the man she'd
followed, then to the one near the smashed table, then to the one at the
computer, and then finally the one sitting between two bodyguards. The
men all reached for their guns and knives. Shampoo effortlessly raised
her bloody weapon out to shoulder level and smiled ferally.

They didn't know it at the moment, but all six of them were dead men.

"Nihao."

-----

The Road to Cydonia

Chapter XXII

Justice Machine

-----

Written by:
Capn Chryssalid
jbraveboy at gmail.com

-----

Ukyou stared at Shinzo Abe's signature with a mixture of shock and awe.
She'd never seen what would properly be called a "License to Kill"
before, even though she had had the state sanctioned authority to take
human lives since at least the inception of Operation Winter Triangle.
It was a rather plain looking legal document, Japanese on one side, and
an English translation on the other, stamped with two official looking
seals. One of which, if she was reading it correctly, was the Imperial
Chrysanthemum Seal itself.

A little numbly, she added her own humble signature to a line on the
bottom.

It was just one of a half dozen similarly worded documents. In her hands
and laid out on the table in front of her, were no less than eight
signed executive orders granting her the authority to act with effective
legal immunity in cooperation with federal authorities. It was carte
blanche immunity from prosecution across virtually all of East Asia.

'In the interests of collective national security... of the member
states...' she mused about exactly what that meant. It was like all
these people, these important, powerful people, were all handing her
this authority and responsibility. It was different from before, just
being ordered to fight, or being given permission to engage in a little
corporate and domestic spying. Before her were papers giving her power,
not just over potentially legions of rank and file national security
agencies and "assets" but over life and death itself. These were leaders
who knew she was probably going to enter their country and kill or
detain their citizens, and that she would be using their own people as
help.

What was really unsettling was that, just a few months ago, as a citizen
of Japan, her life could have been signed away just as easily. It was a
lot of power, almost scary once she had thought more about it, but she
really seemed to be the only one hesitating or showing concern. Next to
her, Shampoo and Konatsu had already finished signing their papers.
Ranma was on his last one, gnawing tastefully on his pen as he read
something.

India Squad seemed to have a smaller pile of papers before them; Ukyou
could assume that they'd already been given a License to Kill in at
least a few countries, probably Japan, Korea and China. They had all
finished signing their papers as well, though Mousse had taken to
squinting at some of the fine print on one and comparing it to another.
The naturally nearly blind martial artist elbowed Ryouga, who had been
sitting next to him, and whispered something while pointing at said
document. Kuno was cleaning his nails, and Ryu was calmly drinking a
glass of water. He also seemed to notice Ukyou was staring at him, and
smiled.

She sighed under her breath, and quickly attached her name to the papers
as was necessary. The documents were from South Korea and Laos, Russia
and the Philippines and others. Only her knowledge of English allowed
her some glimpse of what they all meant. Waiting for her (and Ranma) to
finish, Noriko Yasuda sat at the head of the meeting table. She was
angry, not so much with them, but with the situation. Ukyou could tell
she was the type who spoke less when they were enraged, instead of more.

They had only just gotten back to Seiran, having time only for a quick
shower and a change of clothes. They had debriefed - a surprisingly
smooth process when said Commander had video and audio recordings of the
entire mission from everyone's perspective - and been summarily handed a
brown manila folder and a paper clipped set of papers. Apparently, they
wouldn't be relaxing here at the base for long. Ukyou wasn't sour about
that; she was mentally and physically exhausted, but she understood the
situation. Time was of the absolute essence.

Seeing that everyone was done, Yasuda nodded once; she already had
everyone's attention. Even Kuno had stopped fussing with his nails and
faced the head of the table. The atmosphere at Seiran Mountain was
antiseptic and a welcome relief from the chaos and brutality of the
battlefield.

"You can leave the papers here," the Commander began, cupping her hands
in front of her. Her dark brown eyes were virtually amber with pent up
rage. Ukyou reflected on the fact that it was a fairly common emotion
within the organization: most everyone hated not just the aliens, but
anything that aided and abetted them. Most, she could assume, had simply
seen too much to feel any sympathy for the enemy.

"Inside those folders are your new orders," Yasuda said with an icy tone
that belied her true feelings. "You will be working with local law
enforcement and national security organizations. You have permission to
requisition any non-xeno technology, and use all your abilities to their
utmost in the pursuit of your targets. Do whatever it takes. We've let
this problem fester for too long. Domestic and international law
enforcement is already on the job, but we have plans for our own
coordinated strike in roughly twenty eight hours."

"Commander," Ukyou spoke up with a quick question. "How reliable, I mean
cooperative, can we expect... ah... the locals to be?"

Yasuda acknowledged the legitimate concern. "We have worked with all
these security agencies before. You will be paired with proven and
reliable personnel. I recommend you take advantage of their experience."

"What about the media?" Ryu asked, looking up from the papers peeking
out of the top of his manila folder. "Some of this looks like it could
get messy."

Commander Yasuda smirked confidently. "We already have
Counterintelligence working that angle. You will all be issued
Scramblers as well, to take care of cell phones, digital cameras, and
other nuisances."

There was scattered mumbling around the table, but everyone seemed ready
and eager to take the fight to those responsible for the tragedy at the
Amazon Village. Ukyou read over her own mission orders, along with
profiles of the local contacts and officials she would be working with.
As martial artists there were there mostly to make sure nothing got out
of control, and to see that everything went according to plan. The local
agents would be doing most of the actual work.

"Are there any other questions at the moment?" Noriko waited a few
seconds, and when no one spoke up, she nodded shrewdly. "Good. I realize
this is all taking place on short notice, and that you all just came
back from a difficult mission... Hell, two missions. But your expertise
is needed. Rest up and get ready to ship out."

"Yes, sir!" All eight martial artists echoed, stood, and saluted.

Commander Yasuda uncapped her hands and smiled warmly at them.
"Dismissed."

They filed out with stern faces, clutching their orders like shields...
or swords. Ukyou felt angry, too, just thinking about what these people
had done to the Amazons, and what they wanted to do to Singapore. They
would pay, and so would the aliens that they worshipped. She couldn't
imagine a world she wanted to live in that had people like them in it -
but at the same time, there was a little nagging voice in the back of
her mind that was slightly disturbed by how casually UNETCO manhandled
the press and individual human rights, even in the good and noble cause
of 'collective national security.'

None of those nagging misgivings, however, would deter her from her
duty.

Outside the conference room, Juliet Squad instinctively came together.
Ukyou found herself watching Shampoo for any signs of mental fatigue
after the Amazon Village ordeal. Konatsu was amiable as always, smiling
and friendly and eager to please. Ranma seemed to be calm and in
control, and while he usually tried to give off that sort of image of
himself, this time she knew he meant it. He was their leader, and he
knew what to do. Shampoo had a deadly serious expression in contrast,
and by the way she clenched and unclenched her free hand, Ukyou could
tell she was physically and emotionally tense.

"No training today, guys," Ranma addressed them, not at their friend or
fiance (former fiance, Ukyou had to remind herself), but as Special
Lieutenant Saotome. "We'll meet up again tonight at... eighteen hundred
hours. If you're not sleeping or eating, I want you familiarizing
yourself with your upcoming mission, ok?"

"Yes sir!" Konatsu chirped. The two girls just nodded their compliance.

"Alright then," Ranma concluded, and motioned for Shampoo. "Walk with
me, Shampoo. I'd like to talk about something."

The two headed off, and despite herself, Ukyou found herself feeling
just a little jealous. It was irrational, and she knew it, and after a
few seconds it was gone. Anything Ranma had to talk to Shampoo about on
duty was mission related, and almost certainly nothing personal.
Besides, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ranma wasn't
interested in a relationship with any of them - not the sort of
relationship they had been badgering him about for two years, anyway.

"Miss Ukyou?" Konatsu looked at her with curious eyes.

"Sure," she replied to the unspoken question, and the two of them walked
together through the halls. They didn't really talk, instead just sort
of silently being company for one another. Ukyou took the time to skim
over just what sort of work she would be involved in and where.

"Malaysia?" she wondered aloud. She let out a small laugh. "Well, I
always did sort of want to see the world."

"Philippines," Konatsu said, referring to his assignment. "Subic Bay."

"Never even heard of it," Ukyou admitted.

"It looks like the place where the Procyon picked up those poor people
they tested their poison on," he replied, neatly putting the papers back
into their envelope. "I intend to find out as much as I can before I go.
As for the job itself..."

"Wetwork?"

The ex-ninja nodded, but then shrugged. "Depends."

"Still, it doesn't sound too hard!" Ukyou ribbed him in a friendly
manner. "They've got me searching boats all day with the coast guard."

Konatsu smiled at her, and she almost shook her head at how "bishy" he
was, or so her old female friends back at Furinkan would have called it.
He had that hint of femininity to him that the other martial arts boys
she knew, namely Ranma and Ryouga, Mousse and Ryu and Kuno, lacked.
Those guys never gave the impression of a carefully groomed appearance
(even Kuno), and despite being called it by girls behind their backs,
Ukyou would never really put them into the category of 'beautiful man.'
Konatsu was, and she had always found it more than a little off putting.

Men were supposed to be rough: more like coal than polished diamond.
That was the impression she had gotten from her father at least, and her
admittedly less than normal upbringing. A man couldn't be spineless or
vacillating; he had to be dominant and overpowering and distinctly un-
feminine. Ukyou had thought many times about telling Konatsu just that,
but a part of her didn't want him to try and make him into something he
wasn't. She had dressed like a boy and denied who and what she was for
years, but for all his... queer tastes in clothes and mannerisms,
Konatsu was still a boy. He had never renounced his masculinity; he just
needed to find someone who would accept him despite his quirks.

'Or better yet, get him to beat Shampoo in a fight...'

"Miss Ukyou..." he began to say, and hesitated.

So she gave him a little nudge. "What's up?"

"I just... I've been thinking, you know, ever since our fight." He made
a soft sigh, demurely hiding his lips behind his hand.

'Like a girl,' Ukyou couldn't help but think. 'Does he really feel
comfortable acting like that, or is it just his engrained kunoichi
training?'

"You've gotten much stronger, Miss Ukyou. So much stronger, but you're
still kind and determined and..." he shook his head, and frowned. When
he did that, at least, his features became sharper and most distinctly
male. "And you know."

She did.

"Konatsu..."

"But," he interrupted her. "But as much as I wish it... I don't we can
walk the same path for much longer."

That caught her by surprise. She turned around, took a few steps back,
took a good look at him. He seemed to be totally serious. Realizing
that, she felt a conflicting mixture of relief and disappointment. Even
if it was unreciprocated, it felt good to know that someone... felt that
way about you, especially when the person you loved didn't seem to feel
the same way. As the saying went: 'misery loves company.'

"I don't think..." he closed his eyes and turned away, partly hiding his
face. "I don't think we knew the real Ukyou and Konatsu. All this...
after all this, it's made me realize something: I was using you. I was
using you as an excuse to not go home; as a crutch not to go back to
being what I used to be. As long as I told myself I was working for you
and being with you, then I didn't have to actually go anywhere. It
was... it was..."

"It was like being with my step-sisters," he confessed, and Ukyou could
see the admission pained him. "And I was happy, because you were kinder
than they were, and you never made me... do objectionable things. I
never thought I could do anything good, anything worthwhile, with my
talents... I didn't want to be put into any sort of situation where I
would have to fight."

"But our fight... opened my eyes..." He looked at her, dark eyes moist.
"Your passion for the Art enhances your lifestyle. I want that, too, but
I don't think I can unless I finally try out life for myself."

She took his hand in her own, and gave it a firm squeeze. "Believe me: I
understand how you feel. I do."

"I know you do." He squeezed her hand back, but more gently. "That's why
it's so sad. You're still my closest friend, Miss Ukyou."

"Konatsu," she said, and looked into his eyes. "When we fought, I
realized just how amazing my opponent really was. He was a strong, proud
guy who wanted, more than anything, to be accepted for who he was. Do
you know what I thought at the end, when I drew out my ki to attack him?
I thought: how happy I was to fight someone I respected, and someone
who, without pretense, challenged me to be more than I was."

He gave her hand one last embrace, and then they let go.

"Thank you, Miss Ukyou..." He bowed his head slightly. "For taking me in
and... for being a friend when I needed one most."

They hugged, just briefly, but it was more than enough time for the
typical Nerima luck to kick in. The sound of a loud 'crunch!' drew their
attention to a couple doors down, where a man with a rough beard had
just taken a loud bite out of an apple. For a few seconds, the three of
them stood in silence.

"Ahem!" Ukyou and Konatsu quickly parted, and brushed themselves off, as
if the embarrassment were clinging to their clothes instead of simply
saturating the air. The bearded man took another loud bite out of the
red Fuji apple.

"Hmmmm...." He mused, taking another loud bite.

"Don't get any ideas, old man!" Ukyou barked and stomping her foot
impertinently. Kazuo Kuonji's fatherly grin only widened, as if to ask,
'Who? Me?'

"No!" She preemptively scolded him, and walking up to the older man, she
pointed back at her squad mate. "This is Konatsu. We're Friends. Just
friends!"

Said ninja-boy gave a small wave. "Hi."

Kazou took another enigmatic bite out of his apple, saying nothing.
Never the most patient of people, especially with regard to those who
jerked her around, Ukyou fumed, made a loud 'ooooohhh!' like howl, and
disappeared into her room. In her wake, the two men stood and stared.

"Just friends, huh?" Kazuo asked, casually.

"Yes, sir." Konatsu put on his most sunny smile. "Good friends."

Kazuo considered that, and slowly asked, "Aren't you the one who threw
some six hundred or so throwing knives at my daughter?"

"Actually, sir..." Konatsu cleared his throat. "They were shuriken."

"Ooooh?" the older man replied, and took another big bite out of his
apple, reducing it to nearly a core. Chewing slowly, he smiled wanly and
looked to Ukyou's closed door.

"That's good, then," he concluded. "I think she needs friends right now,
not... boyfriends."

Konatsu found himself agreeing, though secretly he'd have really liked
to have kissed her, at least once. You didn't have an infatuating crush
on a girl for almost a year and not think about it, even if the
relationship stopped before it really got started. He was as manly as
any guy when it came to things like that. Konatsu wondered about Ranma,
though, given how many girls threw themselves at his feet.

Kazuo chuckled to himself. "You know, for a second there, I almost
mistook you for that Tsubasa boy."

"Actually," Konatsu helpfully provided, "He left town a few months ago
to become a runway model."

The elder Kuonji raised a slightly disturbed eyebrow.

Konatsu made a disgusted face, too. "Not something I like to think much
about either, sir."

-----

Tsubasa Kurenai pivoted on his heel, allowing the frills of the sexy
black dress to swirl around his ankles. The strobe light flash of
cameras came from all around him, and he flashed a marvelous smile to
all his adoring fans. He'd never felt so beautiful! Sauntering
backstage, he let out a relieved breath, and clutched his hands together
under his chin in an exaggerated cutesy-fashion. To most anyone
watching, he must've seemed like one of the prettiest brunettes they'd
ever seen.

"Oh, Ukyou-sama, soon I'll be a super star!" He laughed to himself in a
distinctly un-feminine fashion. "And we all know women can't resist
famous guys!"

-----

Back in their rooms, Konatsu and Kazou both shivered. Even Ukyou felt a
disturbance in the planet's ki - as if a thousand men and women were
about to cry out in disgust. Then she realized it was probably nothing,
and certainly nothing related to her, and went back to sleep.

Tomorrow was looking to be another... interesting day.

-----

Primorsky Krai, Russia

A light mid day flurry began to fall over the dense woodlands flanking a
single stretch of road. The sky was an ever shifting palette of blue and
creamy white, clouds racing one another across the open air. The trees
were still lightly frosted from the last snowfall, and the newly
swirling flakes of white added a sense of energy and anxious
anticipation to the normally tranquil scenery.

Roman Basilevsky listened intently, as the report from recon came in.

Nearby, a dozen armed men from the FSB (the Federalnaya Sluzhba
Bezopasnosti or Federal Security Service) waited for their quarry.
Hidden among the trees and bushes on a nearby ridge overlooking the road
were yet more men; they were trained snipers and veterans of
counterterrorist actions in the Northern Caucasus. Roman's superiors had
taken this little cooperative operation very seriously, and had
requisitioned substantial manpower towards it.

"Things look good," Roman said, speaking to the one foreigner in their
midst. He was the one they were 'cooperating' with. Luckily, Roman was
proficient in the American brand of English, and he had worked with
Americans before. This was an important mission, and his superiors had
immediately recognized Roman Basilevsky as a good man to entrust it
with.

"You can speak Russian, you know," the man replied, watching the road
with his hands tucked into the pockets of his parka. He tilted his head,
and gave Roman a frown that none-the-less seemed professionally
courteous.

"After all, I went to some trouble to learn it," the man added. "I
wanted to put everyone at ease."

"But I so rarely get to practice my English," Roman complained in that
language, and laughed briskly as a cold breeze blew in. He then switched
back to his mother tongue.

"The motorcade is on our way - three cars at the front, plus the van,
and two trailing about a minute behind with the small pickup truck. We
have identified the package, but not Krhistenko. The windows are all
tinted, and we have not been able to penetrate them with cameras."

"Do you think the armored van is a decoy?"

"Nyet," Roman said the word sharply. "Krhistenko is a man very concerned
with his safety. He will ride in the safest vehicle available."

The American nodded, and Roman got another good look at his face. He
seemed incredibly young for such an important individual, and it was
hard to believe that the American National Security Agency had many
twenty or twenty two year old men on their payroll. He was a specialist
of some sort, but Roman was not sure exactly what that meant.

In Basilevsky's opinion, he looked Asian, or maybe half Asian, since his
eyes were not nearly so squinty as they should have been (though he had
heard some Japanese widened their eyes with surgery). His ID said he was
from the U.S., though, so perhaps he came from California or something
like that? After the operation, Roman would have to ask. He had been
planning a vacation there for a few years now, to go to the beach and
drink with the pretty 'California girls' the Beach Boys sang about.

"Then we wait, and continue as planned," the American said, still coolly
watching the road as it wound between the woods and disappeared into the
mountains. It was not finely paved; their own rough and dumpy trip up
part of its length was testament to that fact, but it was a major road,
and it was the one their target had taken on his way to the coast.

The forest was particularly thick where they had set up this little
roadblock, making it difficult to swerve off the road and go around.
They had parked the driver's end of a commercial truck sideways across
the road, along with two black, unmarked cars behind it. And those were
only the obvious barriers. Their own van was parked a safe distance
away.

The object of their endeavor was one Victor Krhistenko. He was the head
of Gemini Security Systems, a private military contractor based in
Eastern Russia. Apparently, he was wanted in connection with some
terrorism-related activities overseas, and the Russian government had
decided to bring him to heel. Word was that he was a paranoid old man
and an ex-KGB spook, hence why he traveled in an armored van with about
a dozen or more bodyguards. A few people had even talked about the old
man being obsessed with eastern mysticism, and some crazy cult that
could cure his terminal lung cancer.

But Roman didn't put much stock in those rumors.

Most likely, Victor had stepped on some toes that were never meant to be
tread upon, and pissed off someone a little too high on the food chain.
It happened sometimes. They'd been ordered to take the old man in, so it
was possible he'd be put through the ringer but quietly released. PMCs,
like arms dealers, could be seriously problematic if not kept on a short
leash. Not that any of it was Roman's business (at least it wasn't,
until a superior told him to make it his business).

One of the men shouted a warning: vehicle incoming!

The oversized gunmetal grill of a large white car appeared around a bend
in the lonely road. Behind it was a second HMMWV, and behind that could
be seen the bulk of the armored van. Even from a distance, it looked
intimidating. The front was angled, sort of like the face of those
American stealth fighters, with a few driving mirrors stuck out like
insect antennae. It looked almost more like an APC than an armored car.

The armored motorcade continued down the road towards them, and then the
first car started picking up speed. It hit the row of portable
directional tire spikes that had been put down beforehand, but the tires
themselves remained partly inflated. Running and diving out of the way,
the agents near the roadblock moved to get out of the way of the
inevitable crash. Other men opened fire on the second car as it, too,
plowed over the tire spikes.

The American agent, however, took a few suicidal steps into the middle
of the road. Roman didn't even have time to tell for the madman to get
out of the way and duck behind the parked truck. What he saw next was
something he would never forget. The American 'specialist' they'd been
sent to work with took a single step towards the oncoming armored
Hummer, and buried his fist - his fist! - into the heavy grill of the
car. Where he had taken that step, his foot left a jagged crater in the
road, and around his arm, the HMMWV deformed and crumpled as if it had
plowed into a tree.

Before that mind numbing feat had even fully registered, the American
tore his hand out of the twisted wreckage of the front of the car, and
with his left hand, he grabbed the grill and tossed the entire three ton
vehicle off the side of the road. Even as the ruined Hummer rolled away
like a toy kicked by an angry child, the American repeated the feat with
the second speeding vehicle. This time, if anything, he made it look
easier, and as he tossed the car, one handed, off the road, he said
something in ... Japanese?

"Bakusai... tenketsu..."

The car came apart in midair, and by the second roll, it had already
exploded in flame. Smaller secondary type explosions further ripped it
apart as it rolled away from the road, and by the time it hit a tree, it
was a mangled, burning and almost unrecognizable mess. There was no way
anyone inside had survived.

The careening armored van, the one that had seemed more like an APC,
immediately put on the breaks and tried to make a rapid turn rather than
get anywhere near the man in the middle of the road. The American
stomped his foot, just once, as softly as a man tapping out the beats to
a song. The skidding van suddenly found itself falling into a
rectangular hole in the road. The breaks screamed and the wheels turned,
but there was no stopping its momentum, and a second late it fell
sidelong into the pit. Only the rear one third stuck out, tires
frantically spinning but with nowhere to go.

The fourth and final car did skid to a halt just before it would have
crashed into the immobilized armored van. The doors opened, and several
men quickly ducked out and opened fire. The stunned FSB agents only
hesitated a moment before returning it. The men stationed on the ridge
had already began their grim work, and one of the black fatigued men
using the armored door of his car fell away to the side as a sniper
rifle round made bloody borscht out of his skull.

Before the fight was over, though, one of the mercenaries opened fire on
the American. A dozen rounds splattered against the road where the man
had just stood. He had moved fast, amazingly fast, and crouched behind
the upended remains of the armored van, safe from any enemy fire.

'So: he's mortal, at least,' Roman silently wondered. 'Or he just
doesn't want to be shot. But what I just saw... it wasn't human...'

Still, he added his fire to the hailstorm that had descended on the
final car, and in mere moments, the mercenaries were down and their
bullet ridden car silent. The American immediately stood back up, took a
second to inspect the immobile armored van, and hit it with his palm.
When he pulled his hand back, it had left a very clear impression on the
metal: a literal handprint.

"Victor Krhistenko!" The American yelled, and punctuated the name by
making another palm print out of the armored roof. "Get out of the car!"

Only a few moments later, one of the reinforced van doors opened.
Several weapons were tossed visibly into the air: three assault rifles,
and several handguns. Two middle aged men in black and tan combat
fatigues scrambled out of the door, struggling to keep their hands in
the air and get out of the tipped over vehicle at the same time.

Roman immediately directed FSB agents to detain them, and as the
officers swarmed the crashed van, an elderly man slowly emerged. He was
being escorted out by one of his Gemini Security 'Consultants' who had
struck upon the idea that handing over his boss would, maybe, mean he
was less likely to be killed in the next few minutes. Victor Krhistenko
did not seem pleased by the decision or the situation in general.

The American stood by, silent as a statue, as all four were detained.
The driver and a second man were the last to emerge, hands in the air.
FSB agents quickly cuffed the men, and started to hustle them back and
out of the way. Just moments later, the two trailing cars and the pickup
truck rounded the road, and came to an abrupt stop. Armed men flooded
out of the vehicles, and the firefight was joined once more.

The inhuman American aside, there was a chance they could have fought
their way through the FSB blockade, but that already small chance became
slim indeed with the addition of the concealed snipers overlooking their
position. One by one they fell, until, sensing the inevitable, the
remaining four threw down their weapons and surrendered. The American
hadn't even needed to move, instead carefully following the agents who
had taken away Krhistenko. By the way he never let the man out of his
sight, it was almost like the American was afraid of his quarry getting
lost on the way to the extraction point or something.

Roman saw to the last of the mercenaries, and then headed towards where
the American and two Federal agents were loading Krhistenko into a black
car. The old man was frazzled, but unharmed, and before he disappeared
into the backseat of the car, Roman could see that his face was a deadly
pale shade of white. Then he was gone, and a burly FSB man sat down and
closed the door. A second one took the driver's seat, and started up the
car.

Roman gestured to the strange American. "Headed out already?"

The man nodded firmly. "Yes. Sorry, but I have to leave the rest to
you."

"That's not a problem, but..." The ambitious FSB agent couldn't help but
stare at the plain looking American. Nothing about him gave any
impression of being some... some super human monster.

"What was that back there?" Roman asked; he just had to know. "How did
you do that?"

The American paused at the threshold of the passenger side car door.
After a few seconds, he shrugged.

"It was just a little trick I learned," he answered cryptically, and in
a surprisingly soft spoken tone of voice. "Don't look too much into it."

Roman blinked at the strange answer, but nodded. If the Americans had
some kind of super strong soldiers or something, and they were willing
to send them overseas, then he could hope that mother Russia had a
program like that of its own. And if it was 'just a trick' then it was
one Hell of a Slight of Hand, that was for damn sure!

"We're supposed to keep this quiet..." Roman said, and motioned behind
him. "You're only going to take Krhistenko?"

The American nodded grimly.

When he replied, his voice was devoid of warmth, "Loose the rest of
them."

It was an American style euphemism that Roman Basilevsky was familiar
enough with. The mercenaries would disappear. It wouldn't be difficult -
people like that vanished every day. The NSA agent bowed his head as a
parting gesture, and then he, too, slipped into the car. Roman watched
as it backed up, turned around, and sped down the road.

Inside the car, Ryouga Hibiki gently massaged his temples with the same
hands that had, just minutes before, manhandled armored cars. He tried
not to think of the fates of the men who had surrendered back on that
lonely road. Killing someone who had given up, who was defenseless, went
against everything he believed in. Taking the life of someone in a fight
was one thing, but even after everything, it was hard to think about
what he had just been party to.

"Hate me, but don't die blaming me," he whispered, closing his eyes and
leaning back into the passenger side seat. If circumstances had been
different, it was possible that some of those mercenaries could have
been working with UNETCO instead of against it. It was even possible
that any one of their number could have been asked to join the
organization. Instead, they had aligned themselves with enemies of
mankind, and traitors to their own people. Above even his vows of honor,
he had sworn never to show mercy to the aliens or those who aided them.

Never.

"Where are you taking me?" Victor Krhistenko hissed from the back seat.
"I demand you return my cellular phone, and allow me to speak with my
lawyer! I demand it!"

Ryouga slowly turned around to glare over his shoulder at the man.

"Let me explain your rights to you," the lost one spoke evenly, but a
sneer revealed a single overlarge canine on his upper row of teeth. "We
will ask questions and you will answer them. Everything you know, we
will know. There is nothing you can say or do to prevent this."

In the back of the black unmarked car, Victor Krhistenko glared right
back at his captor.

Before he could say anything, Ryouga continued, "Your nation has
abandoned you. There will be no trial. There is no escape. Until you
die... the only thing you can do is cooperate."

"You don't know what you're doing," Krhistenko spoke slowly and with
undisguised condescension. "The aliens cured my cancer... they know
things, they've done things, that people have only dreamed of... They
are our future! Our salvation! Why can't you see that?"

Ryouga closed his eyes and turned back around, facing forward. For a few
seconds, the only sound was the engine of the car and the intermittent
'wsh-wsh' of the windshield wipers. It was cold outside, but getting
warmer and warmer in the car.

"Even if I saw it, Victor Krhistenko... I would reject it. With every
fiber of my being, I would reject it."

-----

"I don't believe it..." Shampoo whispered, staring at the photograph.
Her eyes drew tight, and she had to close them before she embarrassed
herself with tears. It was foolish to be so emotional over what had
happened, but somehow, all that they had done - the fact that they had
brought one of the village elders back alive - made this all the more
tragic. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she gently placed the
picture back on the black plastic table.

Sin Ke was dead.

The last Amazon elder had committed suicide in her hospital room. The
cause of death had been termed as 'human combustion.' She had self
immolated, using the great powers at her disposal to end her own life.
According to the time stamp, it had occurred just around the time she
and the rest of Juliet Squad had arrived back at Seiran Mountain.
Shampoo had never been particularly fond of Sink, but with her gone, all
their efforts to at least try and preserve the Amazons as a people
seemed so... empty.

"I'm sorry, Shampoo." Ranma placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"There's nothing anyone could have done..." Shampoo said softly, looking
over the coroner's report. The fire had set off alarms in the room, and
triggered the sprinklers, but nothing and no one had been able to put
the fire out. Nor could they have. It wasn't just a normal fire, but the
combustion of Sink's mental and spiritual energy itself. The heat had
been so intense that a good portion of the room and its equipment had
melted into slag.

It wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

Shampoo put aside the report, and took stock of several other papers
that had been faxed over just a short while ago. A cover sheet indicated
that Sink had written several pages worth of information down before the
'accident,' and that all of it had been addressed to 'Shan Pu.' With
typical efficiency, it had been passed along as soon as possible.
Timestamps indicated when it had been sent, when security had checked
it, when it had been copied for recordkeeping, and when it had been
printed out.

Ranma stood behind her, purposefully trying to keep from prying into
what was a personal letter. He was a curious guy by nature, but in this
case, he kept himself near the door - close enough to offer comfort, but
far enough not to be hovering. He had led her to one of the unoccupied
briefing rooms for a little privacy, and hung around out of a sense of
concern. She appreciated him being nearby, even though she knew the
affection was purely platonic.

The first paper was a simple suicide note:

We have failed ourselves.

What we were is no longer.

I leave it to you, Shan Pu, to determine the fate of what remains of the
Amazon Nation. For three thousand years, the Oligarchy has endured. Now
you alone must decide if this is truly our end as a people. You were
right to put your trust in the outsiders and the foreigners and to
accept their help. I see that now. You have always been a model Amazon,
Shan Pu. I must atone for my crimes and my failure, but before I do, I
shall give you your due.

As all our other sisters are gone, I, Sin Ke, hereby pass on the title
of Elder.

It is the right of all Elders that now I extend to you.

That woman is still alive. Seek her out if you see fit.

"That woman?" Shampoo wondered aloud. 'Does she mean great grandmother
Khu Lon? Or is it...?'

She caught a glimpse of the next page, and her eyes widened.

'Her!'

She gasped, and noticed Ranma stealing a quick look in her direction.

"Lieutenant," she said, and motioned him to come over and see what she
had found. Ranma took a few small steps until he was standing directly
behind her chair. He looked down at the papers, and puzzled at them.

"What... what is it?" he asked. "Are those characters or really bad
illustrations?"

On the table before them was a sheet of paper with a seemingly
incoherent series of scribbles and strange characters. He clearly
couldn't make heads of tails of it. Shampoo was momentarily disappointed
by that fact, but then she remembered that he was a foreigner (despite
his power and skill), so of course he wouldn't be able to translate
anything written for Amazon eyes.

"It's a sealing technique using pressure points..." Shampoo had
recognized it instantly.

"A sealing technique?" Ranma repeated.

"Yes. The only one that is restricted to members of the Council of
Elders," Shampoo explained, and saw that the second and third sheets of
papers also had coded instructions written on them. "When an Amazon is
exiled from the Tribe, she is branded by this seal. Effectively, it uses
the power of the five Elders to permanently cut off a person's ability
to use their ki."

"Like Happosai's moxibustion?" Ranma asked, referring to the shiatsu
point technique the old master had stolen the scroll for a century ago.
That fire-based pressure point had reduced Ranma's strength to that of a
baby's. It was one of the low points in his life, anyone who knew him
could see as much on his face, and he had been almost insane with relief
when it had been removed.

"It is more complex than that technique, but also more powerful."

Shampoo had never seen it done, herself, but she had heard stories about
it. The one area of martial arts she likely surpassed Ranma and the
others in was shiatsu and the use of pressure points. Sealing or
Branding techniques, like the moxibustion, were also familiar to her.
They were used to permanently damage or block the flow of ki in the body
by obstructing a particular spot. That obstruction then caused a sort of
controlled brain damage. Then problem was that none of this was
particularly useful against inhuman creatures like aliens. She hadn't
even thought about it a long time.

"Even with the moxibustion keeping you weak, you were still fast and you
could still use your ki techniques like the Hiryu Shoten Ha," Shampoo
reminded him, and then clarified exactly what she had meant before.
"This technique, the Five Point Demon Seal, would basically turn you
into someone powerless like that strange voodoo boy, Gos.. Gosun..."

"Gosunkugi," Ranma supplied, and frowned. The thought of not only losing
his great physical strength, but even his ability to use ki... it had to
be a horrifying concept. There was a certain amount of conceit that they
all shared as martial artists, a natural consequence of being a little
more-than-human when it came to their abilities. So the idea of being
normal wasn't just a little frightening, for someone like Ranma, it was
basically a negation of everything he was. He had no real skills besides
martial arts.

Ranma Saotome could have survived the moxibustion, especially now that
he knew so many powerful techniques that didn't rely on physical
strength, but this seal would effectively kill him. Everything he had
ever been would be erased, subsumed, sealed away. Watching his face,
Shampoo could see that Ranma was horrified by the very idea. To someone
like him, death in battle was infinitely preferable.

"That's... that's horrible..." he said it very quietly, almost as if he
was afraid to say more much louder. "Who would do that to someone?"

"As I said," Shampoo repeated herself, turning her attention back to the
papers. "The Council used it on Exiles. It was expected that most of
those who had been sealed would die in the outside world. It would also
prevent anyone from spreading knowledge of Amazon techniques when they
were forced out. And..." she trailed off, biting her lip.

"And...?" Ranma prompted. "What?"

"Also..." she hesitated a second, took a deep breath, and just said it,
"It was used to... restrain... strong males brought into the Tribe. So
they didn't become a threat."

Ranma looked not just horrified, but disgusted, too.

"You mean... You don't mean..." He struggled with just how to ask what
he was clearing thinking. "I...?"

"Does it really matter any more?" Shampoo asked pointedly, focusing on
the papers so she wouldn't have to see the look on his face. And so he
wouldn't see the shame on hers.

Ranma huffed, and crossed his arms defiantly.

"I guess not," he concluded.

"Besides, like most seals and pressure points, it can be reversed.
That's the important thing here..." Shampoo held up one of the papers,
and dared a smile. It wasn't so difficult a technique, actually, either
to perform or reverse. The problem was the sheer volume of ki required.

"Normally," she said, while deciphering some of the peripheral script on
the paper. "It takes the power of five Elders to form and reinforce the
seal, and the ritual itself takes about five minutes. Once in place, it
redirects the energy down the spine and away from the brain."

"Like a surge protector or somethin'?" Ranma guessed, and Shampoo
nodded.

"I think so. The person never really loses their ability, they just
can't focus it," she elaborated, and then pointed at a different looking
seal drawn over a circle. "This is the counterseal, based around a
circle and a triangle bypassing the original barrier. It says here that
it only requires the power of three Elders instead of five."

"Well, it is an interesting, if very disturbing, technique," Ranma
granted her. "But I don't see how it's really that useful right now. I
don't think many of our enemies are gonna just stand there and let us
brand a seal on 'em..."

Shampoo agreed. It wasn't the sort of technique to use in battle.

"The important thing here is the counterseal," she said, arranging the
papers around her on the small table. "Because I can use it on those...
Amazons... exiled by the Council."

He raised an eyebrow at that, just then remembering that she had
mentioned 'exiles' before. He had probably assumed it was academic, but
she had been making a literal reference: more than a few women had been
exiled from the village. Some had been punished for criminal acts,
others for less tangible offenses. She had been conditioned not to even
think of Exiles as Amazons, so saying it, thinking about it, had been
difficult.

But necessary.

"According to her note, Sin Ke knew not only that one of these Exiles
survived, but where she could be found." Shampoo read off three numbers.
"Seven. Zero. Two. An area code?"

Ranma looked a little dubious. "Is this someone important, or...?"

She grinned just enough to show teeth.

"I think so," Shampoo said with some small humor. "I was too young to
remember many details, but this one actually fought back when the Elders
sealed her. She would probably have been on the Council itself someday,
if not for her... problem..."

Ranma tried to imagine someone fighting all five Elders at once. Saffron
could have done it, they both knew, but he was about the only one.

"Problem?" he gingerly asked.

"Her name was Perfume..." Shampoo coughed, and blushed a bit. "She and
her followers were exiled for being... what's the word? 'deviant?'"

"Deviant?"

"Deviant."

Ranma Saotome let out an exaggerated sigh. "...As if we ever go out
looking for normal people...."

-----

South Korea

Ryu Kumon had to admit: he was impressed. He'd heard more than a few
rumors, on and off the 'martial artist grapevine,' about Korea's elite
special forces units. Some even attributed them with the sort of
training regimens that would make him take notice. Not that they
repeatedly hardened the bones in their hands to the point where they
could put their hand through a tree and tear out chunks of frozen bark,
but they were rumored to harden the body through exposure and
depravation. He could see some of that great confidence and practiced
grace in how they moved.

The only real comparison he'd seen were the men and women of XCOM
itself, and they were, after all, the best of the best. In fact, Ryu
hadn't even needed to do anything except stand around and oversee the
operation. The Republic of Korea's Army Special Warfare Command had been
quite willing to cooperate with "Interpol," though from the looks and
subtle hints some of the commandos gave him, Ryu suspected that they
knew he wasn't from that particular organization. If he had to bet on
it, he'd lay odds on them knowing at least something about the alien war
kept secret from most of the world.

Which was fine by Ryu.

It meant there was no pretense about the operation. The 707th were ready
to do whatever was asked of them. They'd assembled significant resources
for the job, and brought them all to Northeastern Gangwon-do Province on
very short notice and utmost secrecy. That couldn't have been easy,
given how crowded South Korea was, and how prevalent the 'camera
culture' was. That last problem, at least, was something Ryu could help
them with.

He drummed his fingers against the top of the tall cylinder next to him.
It resembled one of those "ionic breeze" fans that he'd seen in stores,
with a slightly more complex digital interface on the top. It was UNETCO
technology adapted from alien designs. One of the more annoying and
dangerous abilities of the aliens was their preference for stealth and
their ability to scramble or disrupt electronics. It was the classic UFO
effect - the gravity engines would make compasses spin, but it was the
stealth field that froze or reset digital clocks, interfered with
cameras, phones and computers.

This was a smaller device based on that technology. It didn't do
anything to radar, so it wasn't technically stealthy, but it did
effectively scramble unshielded electronics over a one kilometer radius.
So long as it was running, Youtube wouldn't be getting any interesting
new videos about the day's overt activities. It helped that the enemy
also preferred their solitude, and kept to places removed from normal
public activity. Those targets in more conspicuous environs would be
taken care of by normal police, and arrested under a variety of charges.

The problem here in Korea was a small alien worshipping cult, of the
"Heaven's Gate" variety. There were actually a LOT of alien or UFO
related religious movements around the world, and the majority
(ironically) had no actual connection to the aliens that were visiting
the little blue Planet Earth. This cult, however, was considered
compromised and part of the Sirius Conspiracy. According to UNETCO
datamining and interrogations, this group assisted the conspiracy
financially and by providing recruits.

According to what he'd been briefed on, the cult's favored tactic was to
"miraculously heal" people with terminal illnesses or diseases. In
actuality, they were abducted by aliens, who then did the actual surgery
or healing. The potential cultists were then returned and told that the
Space Gods had saved them. It was true in a way... but then the cult
took the next step, indoctrinating the faithful and eventually giving
them purpose in life: either they aid the conspiracy by opposing the
mortal enemies of the 'Space Gods' or they became gullible and eager
guinea pigs for alien experimentation.

The former was troublesome, as terrorists always were, but the latter
was the most troubling. UNETCO tried to keep a running registry of
people with abduction experiences, especially in cases of Sectoid
experimentation. It was incomplete, but it was important not just in
predicting who the aliens would try and repeat abduct, but also in
determining just what sort of experiments were being performed. The most
benign were a sort of 'catch and release' program tracking human
sociology, behavior, and mating patterns. The less benign experiments...

It was generally best not to dwell too much on those.

Intel had indicated that there was, in their own words, "a high
incidence of encountering hostile Class-D Abductees and a lesser but
still significant incidence of encountering hostile Class-E Abductees."
Ryu supposed that was what he was here for. The idea of people taking
pride or joy in being abducted and experimented on by aliens didn't make
much sense to the Kumon Dojo heir, but he'd seen how devoted monks could
be to their own view of the universe.

He dismissed the whole train of thought before it only started
frustrating him. Religion really just wasn't something he could wrap his
mind around. Fighting, profit, rebuilding the Dojo - these were the
tangible methods and goals in his world. Prayers and aliens sure weren't
going to help any. In the end, as human beings, all anyone could do was
take what he could, and endure what he had to.

Up ahead, smoke rose from the religious compound. Wafts of tear gas
roiled from broken windows and open doors. Curls of it wound around the
tires of an armored car that had been driven right up to the steps of
the main building. The 707th had taken more than a little fire, though
most of the enemy forces had been neutralized in the initial moments of
the pre-dawn raid.

As expected, the cultists had been well armed, and their sentries had
been reasonably alert. But with their electronic security systems fried,
and no warning of the attack forthcoming, the Korean SpecForces had made
mince meat out of them. With the perimeter guards taken care of, they'd
immediately moved to storm the main building. Their orders were to take
as many prisoners as possible, but to use unrestrained force in the
protection of their own lives. The cultists could be useful sources of
information, but they weren't considered critical.

Post-Op, their computers and other personal devices would be confiscated
and investigated. There was no doubt that the cult had data-dumping and
mass deletion protocols in case of an attack, if only to wipe out their
membership rosters and accounting information. It was a sound precaution
to take, and if they had actually used it before the raid itself, then
Command would be quite unhappy trying to restore the disks and drives.
However, with the scrambler active, no amount of cursing and button
pressing would do anything to damage the precious and damning data on
those computers.

"Fox, Rifle 1. Code Delta. Area secure. Over."

"Rifle 1, Fox. Proceed. Over."

"Recon 1, Rifle 1. Status. Over."

"Rifle 1, Recon 1. Tango approaching back door. No shot. Balcony clear.
Over."

"Roger Recon 1. Demo 2, Rifle 1. Frag the door. Rifle 2 clear entry with
me. Over."

"Recon 1, Acknowledged."

"Rifle 2, Acknowledged."

"Demo 2, Acknowledged."

"Go!"

"Contact! Got him!"

"Clear."

"Clear."

"Rifle 1, Fox. Status. Over."

"Fox, Rifle 1. One tango down.... Wait. What's that? Rifle 2...!! What
the fuck?!"

The sound of static and a man screaming were pretty much the same in
every language. Ryu had been following the rapid fire Korean, along with
all the other communications being tossed around through the jamming
field. The 707th had been given UNETCO issue shielded electronics to
replace their own, and this was why. Rifle 1 was part of Team A, and if
they were just now assaulting Code Delta...

"Yare yare..." Ryu cracked his neck back and forth, loosening it up.
Lifting his baklava back up over his face, he quickly identified where -
up ahead - his expertise would be finally put to use. He pushed off the
ground and moved like a blur.

With a single bound, he alighted on the roof of the compound's main
building, built in the semblance of a large western church. Jumping
again, an instant later he was behind a man in black fatigues. The
Special Forces soldier whirled at the sudden motion, trying to bring his
Benelli Super-90 to bear on this new threat. Ryu grabbed the barrel of
the shotgun and pivoted, letting it fire harmlessly off to the side.

"Demo 2, right?" he asked, as if the man hadn't just tried to shoot him
in a panic.

The man nodded numbly.

"Let me take care of this one," Ryu said, letting go of the shotgun and
walking casually towards the door. Inside was dark, and the martial
artist was instantly assaulted by the smell of blood.

'That's always a good sign,' he thought with caustic sarcasm. Flicking
on the tiny flashlight mounted onto his helmet, the darkness inside
parted under the assault of a 12.4 lumen cone of white light.  He saw
Rifle 1 and 2 almost immediately... or what was left of them anyway.

It looked like someone had taken a cheese grater to the two men and gone
completely wild with it. Their fatigues and armor were tattered and
shredded, lying on long curls around their flayed bodies. The walls were
pock marked by bullet holes, as if the two men had been firing randomly
in every direction. From the looks of it, both of them had totally
expended the rounds in their silenced MP5SD3 submachine guns. The walls
had been painted, disturbingly, with the faces of bug-eyed aliens:
Sectoids, and cutesy flying saucers.

Now they were painted with blood.

A low guttural yowl came from deeper in the room, what looked like a
kitchen and a sitting area. Ryu took a few cautious steps and paused. It
felt the sensation in his mind even as the illusions began to take form.
Nightmarish faces seemed to grow out of the walls, clawed hands reaching
for him to tear the flesh from his bones. Blood fountained from their
eyes as they cursed and screamed.

Ryu raised a disinterested eyebrow.

In front of him, his battle aura flared, coming to his instinctive
defense. It flashed again and again, always from his front, cracking to
life at different points in midair. Looking down, he could see small
tears beginning to appear on his combat vest. A second later, a few
small cuts opened up on his arms. He frowned.

"Looks like I've been scratched by a cat," he observed, and then
continued walking towards the living area. The barrage became, if
anything, more intense. His battle aura was now a blistering shield of
crackling mental energy. At his feet, the white tile floor bent and
shaved away. The nightmare strewn walls cried paint. A crayon floated
eerily through the conflagration, slowly unraveling as the tip
sharpened, leaving a long ribbon of pink in its wake. Ryu batted it
contemptuously out of the way.

Then he stopped, and lunged with both hands.

The illusion shattered, followed a moment later by the telekinetic
barrage. In Ryu's hands were two emancipated girls, twins probably, and
probably no older than twelve or thirteen. They had long black hair and
round faces, but what was strangest about them were their eyes. The two
girls clearly weren't human. Their eyes were surrounded in black, with
only vague white pupils. The two glared at their captor with unnervingly
emotionless expressions.

Then Ryu clunked their heads together, knocking them out.

"Sorry. I'm not as gentle as my friends." He dropped them, and turned
towards the kitchen area. There were another, much younger, set of twins
hiding behind the cupboard. He took a few steps towards them, and saw
yet another pair of strange young girls. They were like... clones... As
one, all four raised their hands and pointed at him.

For a moment, a wave of telekinetic force slammed into his battle aura,
causing it to flare bright white. Then the storm subsided, and his aura
faded to red, and then into invisibility. The younger girls seemed to
have the same basic ability as their elder sisters, but with only a
faction of the endurance. Still, it was incredibly high level
telekinesis, to say nothing of the (normally) quite convincing and
terrifying telepathy.

"Impressive, but not on the same level as a proper Giesteslanze," he
said, clapping softly. "Maybe if you had better focus, it would have
worked on me."

'What to do with these brats?' Ryu wondered. He'd expected to fight
altered humans... but adults, not little kids like this. 'They're
dangerous, too. Undoubtedly Class E...'

He kneeled down, pointed his finger at them, and said, "Bang bang bang
bang. I've got you, you're dead. Ok?"

The four creepy little girls stared at him with oversized eyes. Then one
of them fell to the ground. The others quickly did the same, playing
dead. Sighing at how soft he'd become, Ryu Kumon decided to leave the
kids where they were for the moment. He'd have to be careful and
transport them himself; the two older twins were dangerous enough, but
the four little sisters had, between them, more than enough power to
mentally flay a normal person alive.

"Now... where are your parents?" he asked, and two of the girls pointed
at one of the walls. There was an empty book case there, along with a
cork post-it board. Ryu wasn't in the mood to fool around with false
doors - he simply kicked the whole wall in. Just as expected, it led to
yet another room. The walls were done up in bastardized nursery tones,
with prancing cartoon characters on the walls. Except these funny
anthropomorphic animals were all personalized by the cult, with eyes
colored in black.

Looking around, his flashlight round several more bodies. They were all
still and unmoving. Two were alone on small beds, staring upwards. Two
others were on the floor, huddled together. Ryu approached the closest
of the women and checked for a pulse. A crumpled cup was still wrapped
within her loose fingers.

Not surprisingly, there was no pulse. Ryu paused, and gently placed his
hand on the woman's swollen abdomen. After a few seconds of feeling
nothing move under his palm, he moved on and got a good look at her
face. She looked young - much younger than any of the Tendo sisters.
Maybe sixteen, maybe younger. He carefully opened one of her eyes,
pushing back the eyelid.

Her eyes were blue... and human.

"Dragon. D... Demo 2. Status... over?"

"Stay where you are, Demo 2," Ryu responded, keeping his tone
professional and detached. "Do not enter the building."

"Roger Dragon."

He left behind the silent nursery and saw the four little girls still
playing dead where he had left them. He entertained the thought that
there was still some hope, some future for them. He'd heard that UNETCO
had a special facility set up to handle... special children... who were
the result of alien experimentation. He watched the four identical
children for a few seconds. With their eyes closed, they looked human
enough. But... were they?

Ryu sighed.

This mission had ended up being more troublesome than he'd expected.

-----

Socialist Republic of Vietnam

Ranma grimaced, waving away a particularly aggressive and desperately
hungry insect that seemed to be following him around. Vietnam certainly
didn't lack for jungles, that was for sure, and it had all the annoying
tropical pests he had dreaded. This sort of tropical terrain wasn't one
he was familiar with - and he'd trained in pretty much everything else -
but, just his luck, he'd been assigned to what had to be the most
troublesome mission of them all.

To start with, Vietnam wasn't exactly the most cooperative government in
the world when it came to UNETCO. Vietnam (like Laos, Cambodia, and lots
of other countries) wasn't a charter member of the organization; it was
an 'associate member.' What that meant exactly, Ranma didn't know, but
it involved not being able to make much use of the local police or
military forces. At best, they looked the other way and weren't totally
hostile to UNETCO operations. Which still left him wading up shit creek
without a pair of boots.

Well, maybe that wasn't entirely accurate.

Ranma slipped out of the clear (but probably parasite filled) jungle
water, and immediately walked right into a giant spider web (which
probably had some super poisonous spider in it). He swatted like mad,
just to make sure it knew better than to trifle with Ranma Saotome,
Master of Indiscriminate Grappling. Big nasty jungle spiders, oh, Akane
would just love hearing about this fun filled mission!

Luckily he was in another UNETCO stealth suit, just like before, and
thus insulated from the local hostile wildlife by several layers of high
tech fibers... and stuff. As long as it worked, he didn't really care
exactly what was in it, anyway. He'd watched those specials on TV, with
the catfish that swam up into unmentionable areas, and flies that laid
eggs in your skin and shit.

It wasn't as if the aliens had a monopoly on horrible creatures.

The suit was necessary mission gear, and not just because he wasn't here
to make nice with the wildlife, or to generously donate a pint of blood
to the local ecosystem. Despite the unfamiliar terrain, he kept an eye
on his GPS "minimap" overlay, and continued onward towards his target.
There probably weren't any traps scattered around, but Ranma wasn't
going to take the chance. He easily bypassed any potential problems by
taking to the trees.

Nimbly leaping from branch to trunk to canopy he crept along, and in
only a few minutes, he saw the reason why he was out in the middle of
nowhere. Up ahead was Lake #8. Ranma crossed his fingers and hoped.
Taking out a small but otherwise perfectly normal compass, he watched
the needle.

It spun.

'Thank you, God, Jesus, Kami and Buddha!' he thought with true
conviction. 'Finally!'

He flexed his fingers, menacingly popping the knuckles of his hands.
Eight lakes. Eight. He had been skipping around this forsaken jungle for
the better part of the day. Ranma supposed he should have been happy
that the target was at Lake #8 instead of #11, but couldn't it have been
at #1 or #2?

Taking a careful look around, Ranma calmed himself, concentrated, and
slipped into the stealth form of the Umisenken. He moved with extra
caution, mindful that, even when hidden from normal perception, he could
make his presence obvious by disturbing the foliage. The technique made
him invisible, not intangible, after all. His patience and skill were
soon rewarded.

A vaguely humanoid shape emerged from behind a cluster of bushes. It was
purple and slick with water or perspiration (or mud). To some poor lost
villager, it would have probably been identified as a swamp monster, or
a demon or a fish-man or some other local superstition. Even though he
hadn't encountered one in quite some time, Ranma knew exactly what it
was: a Floater.

And at the moment, it was cradling something white in its left hand. It
didn't look like a weapon. In fact, the Floater had its plasma pistol
hanging behind it in a black and green holster. Ranma peered at the
creature, trying to fathom what sort of high tech alien device it was so
interested in... and the Floater picked one of the eggs out of its hand
and plucked it into its toothy mouth.

Ranma felt a sweat drop roll down the side of his head.

The Floater seemed to really like the taste of the egg is had purloined
from some animal's nest, as it quickly devoured another one. It even
licked its fingertips. This was something Ranma knew he just had to take
note of in his mission report when he got back to base. Note to Xeno-
studies: Floaters like crocodile eggs. Or whatever they were. The hungry
alien didn't even notice when Ranma approached fit from behind.

"Goshin Ryu Sei Fu," Ranma whispered, and the alien's vision instantly
turned pitch black. The Self-Protection Falling Star Cloth was a
choking/binding technique, but if necessary, it could be used lethally.
For comparative purposes, it took about 67 pounds of pressure to choke a
human. Ranma exerted, in that instant, 2,645 pounds of pressure along
the wire edge of the Star Cloth by wrapping and then tightening it
across the neck, like a garrote.

The hungry Floater was instantly beheaded.

Ranma danced around the spray of blood, not getting even a drop on him,
even as he picked the alien's pistol right out of its holster. He didn't
intend to start any fire fights on this mission, but at the same time, a
second handgun couldn't hurt. He faded from view a second time, heading
towards the dot that had been illuminated on his HUD minimap by the
suit's motion sensor (mounted on his shoulder, in lieu of putting too
much bulk on his laser pistol).

It was another Floater, this one more alert than his comrade had been.
He died before he even realized the sort of danger he was in. There was
a third perimeter guard, too, this one hanging out by the water. A
chewed on fish nearby indicated that all the Floaters here were probably
snacking on the local wildlife.

Intel had learned from the human conspirators and the records on the
Procyon that an alien ship had landed there and participated in
transporting several shipments of Venom to Southeast Asia. That had been
on the 29th of November, and they were still hanging around. Command was
quite certain that there wasn't an alien base in Vietnam or Laos, which
meant the culprit was a 'free range' or 'skipper' UFO. These classically
kept low to the ground, under the radar, and stopped at bodies of water.
It was work well suited to Floaters, since they could survive on Earth
(and on unprocessed Earth foodstuffs) pretty much indefinitely.

Intel had made the conclusion (at least partially based on the size of
the landing pad on the Procyon) that they were looking for a medium
scout. That class of UFO could have as many as nine crew members, but
experience with 'skippers' had indicated that the crew on this ship
would only be about four or five, since they had to live off the land
and their limited supplies. He'd already killed three.

That left the navigator (who would probably always remain in the ship)
and one more soldier. Ranma finished checking around the small lake, and
when he was sure there weren't any more of the creatures floating around
(and after he smirked at his clever use of the verbal pun), he stripped
the aliens for any useful items, and tossed them into the water. The
ecosystem would handle the rest when it came to corpse removal. The
metal lower torsos would remain, but it was doubtful anyone would find
them, and they were non-toxic as an environmental hazard.

Jumping into the water, the UFO itself wasn't terribly hard to find. The
lake wasn't huge (none of the ones he had visited really were), and the
Medium Scout wasn't that small. It was a giant metal Frisbee one story
tall, after all. The real trick was in getting inside while it was still
underwater. The later alien ships were all compartmentalized, with
airlocks of some sort of another, but the Medium Scout was too small for
that. Opening the door would flood the whole chamber, if it wasn't
already full of lake water.

Ranma drifted down towards the sunken face of the ship, looking for the
almost seamless rectangular section of the hull that functioned as the
door. It worked underwater just as it had worked back when he and Ryouga
had taken the Sectoid Abductor vessel, back when this business had
began. Pushing, holding, and releasing, he felt no rush of water drawing
him into the ship. It really had been kept flooded.

The two Floaters inside had to have been surprised and they lunged for
him.

He almost pitied them. Plasma weapons didn't work underwater (they would
only superheat the water around the person firing it), so with few other
options, the aliens had decided to just try and deal with him hand to
hand. Against most any human, underwater, it would've been a one sided
fight totally in their favor.

Ranma seized the wrist of the one closest to him even as it reached out,
clawed hands eager to seize the foolish human intruder. Underwater
combat was actually quite similar to midair combat, the specialty of
Saotome Style Anything Goes Martial Arts. It was also (he supposed)
quite like zero gravity combat. The idea was to control the contact
points between yourself and the enemy, and to manipulate the
distribution of forces.

If you strike someone in midair, neither you nor your target are braced
against anything. The force drives you apart, and is imparted to the
target inefficiently. Unless you had significant momentum already
carrying you into your target, the strike would have a lot of wasted
potential energy. The answer: if neither you nor your opponent had
bracing or significant momentum, the way to deliver a powerful blow was
to grab a part of the opponent, and then strike.

The strike itself would serve not only to impart energy and cause
damage, but also to throw off the enemy's balance and manipulate their
spatial position relative to yourself. Mastery of non-grounded martial
arts required an understanding of the principles of motion, counter
motion, rotation and counter rotation. The goal was contact to strike to
motion - all leading into a chain of attacks capable of defeating even a
stronger opponent.

Ranma pulled the Floater in, using the contact point about the alien's
wrist. Through years of practice, he knew without thinking deeply about
it exactly where their shared center of gravity was. Ranma exploited
that point in space and introduced his elbow to the alien's throat. It
made a breathless underwater gasp. Ranma switched hands holding the
alien's wrist, from right to left, pulling the Floater closer even as he
struck with an open palm.

Floaters were tough, especially because most of their vital organs were
encased in that pesky metal bulb that made up the mid to lower torso.
The only vital organ left exposed was the brain, which remained in
place, shielded only by a thin later of bone. Ranma's strikes cracked
through that bone like a rock breaking open an oyster. In two or three
seconds, it was over. The Floater's head lolled back at an odd angle,
trailing a growing cloud of red.

Ranma kicked off the body, using it to propel him towards the last of
the creatures. This Floater was more than a little wary, having just
seen the human crack open the skull of its comrade. Ranma reached for it
- an obvious and slow move. The alien took the bait and tried to grab
him by the exposed limb. The moment it did, however, Ranma twisted his
arm, sending his body in the opposite direction, and his enemy in the
direction of the original motion.

A more experienced martial artist, even one that didn't prefer to fight
in the air (Ryouga and Kuno came immediately to Ranma's mind, though
Mousse was quite competent on the wing, so to speak), would have been
able to meet the countermotion, and use it. The Floater, due to surprise
or inexperience, tried to rake at Ranma's face, hoping to remove his
helmet and deprive him of air.

But Ranma knew the limits of the alien's reach, and the twist had kept
them just that far apart. He grabbed the arm with his free hand, pulled
out his arms, and twisted them together. This locked each of the
Floater's arms between Ranma's own, like a stick caught in a vice. Ranma
had control of the contact points and the advantage of positioning. He
no longer needed a solid surface. With upper body strength alone, he
brought his fists up to his face, snapping the alien's forearms like
match sticks.

With both arms broken, the alien drew back, but Ranma wouldn't let it
end just there. Grabbing the Floater's broken left arm, he pulled back
his right fist and extended his index and middle finger. He hadn't been
able to use this against the other alien because it left him exposed,
but this one couldn't counter attack. Ranma thrust his hand forward and
pulled the alien towards him. With an inaudible underwater splatter, he
buried his fingers into the creature's left eye, breaking through a
paper thin layer of bone, and into the brain.

'Ugh!' Ranma drew back his hand and wiped it off on his stealth suit.
Still, killing was killing, wasn't it, no matter the method?

Swimming over to the still active control panel, he got a good look at
what he had to work with. He was usually happy to leave the technical
stuff to others, but he'd been briefed on what to do, and repeatedly
drilled on it. There hadn't been time to really learn the alien
language, but luckily enough; the mind-interface was built to work with
extremely limited instruction.

WORK

Nothing dramatic happened, but then again, it was already up and
running.

AIR

This time, the telepathic command instantly triggered a positive
response in the ship. The water level began to drop immediately, and in
only four or five seconds there was little more than a centimeter of
liquid on the floor. Ranma could see that the entire floor had turned
semi-porous, with millions or maybe billions of tiny holes. Then the
last of the water was gone, and the holes vanished into the seamless
alien alloy floor.

STATUS

The screen flickered, turning into a display of the ship, its status,
and its functions. Ranma thought-triggered the engines, ignoring most of
the lines of alien gibberish that scrolled up and down the projected
holo-screen. He maneuvered easily enough from display to display simply
by knowing what he wanted.

ACTIVATE

The engines took only a second to charge up to full power, from their
previously idle state. Behind him, in the center of the scout ship, a
bubble of alien metal flowed and parted, merging back into the ceiling
and floor. It revealed a pulsing orange structure reminiscent of a
piston rhythmically going up and down. That rhythm was the heartbeat of
the ship, and that plain orange piston the Elerium-115 Annihilation
Reactor.

Leaving the displays relating to the engines was a little trickier than
getting to them, since the only thing Ranma knew how to do was backtrack
to where he started. Any advanced switching between the displays was
still out of his league. After a minute or two, he was ready to set a
destination. This would have been the hardest part, picking a set of
four dimensional coordinates (three for space and one for time), except
that he had just been told to memorize what to put in and not work it
out on the fly. That was just fine with Ranma. It was what those
eggheads back at the base were for, after all.

"Now..." he wondered aloud, scratching his chin. "What... were those
coordinates again...?"

He thought for a few seconds and laughed at his own foolishness. He'd
almost forgotten that he's prepared a backup, for just this sort of
situation! Opening a pocket by his waist, he whipped out a small piece
of paper in a plastic doggy bag.

A thoroughly soaked and non-waterproof doggy bag.

"Aw, man..."

-----

Tokyo

The light snowfall seemed suspended in the air, forced downward by
gravity and upward by the wind billowing up from below. It was the crown
of Tokyo: a magnificent cluster of zen gardens and immaculately arranged
cherry trees, all growing atop the roof of one of the city's tallest sky
scrapers. Kuno held his sword before him and in a blindingly fast flash
of movement, the stillness of the air resounded with the echo of three
gunshots being deflected.

He scoffed at the feeble attempt. "It shall take more than that, fiend,
to avert the vengeance of heaven!"

A pair of zori straw sandals made faint crunching sounds against the
freshly fallen snow. Kuno faced this new opponent with a measure of
genuine respect. He had seen this one man's skill before; when he had
dispatched the federal agents Kuno had stormed the building alongside.
He was a rugged looking but clean shaven man, perhaps in his early
thirties, with an exceptionally long samurai topknot. His traditional
hakama and loose, easy fitting and undecorated Nagajuban mirrored Kuno's
own taste in dueling attire.

The two master swordsmen stood face to face, several meters apart.

"Kuno Tatewaki," he introduced himself. "Age: 19. Of the Kashima Shinden
Jikishinkage-ryu. Founder of the Hououkendo- ryu. The Blue Thunder of
Justice."

The older man inclined his head in greeting and respect.

"Tsukahara Ushijima Nishizou," he said in a low voice. "Shindo Munen Ryu
Kenjutsu. If you wish Masaharu-sama's life, then you must first defeat
me."

Safe behind his bodyguard, the evil Miyamoto Masaharu snickered in a
suitable villainous 'kukuku' fashion. The sound of an approaching escape
helicopter had emboldened him, and he was now confident of making his
escape not just from the city, but from Japan itself. He held the tanto
tightly against his hostage's throat; she was helpless to escape. Her
only hope was that Kuno could defeat the evil businessman's bodyguard
and rescue her before it was too late.

"I think I will take the woman with me, as a momento to remember this
country by," Masaharu added, chuckling at the prospect.

"Iiiieeee!" The red haired girl screamed. "Kuno-sama, please save me!"

"Do not worry, pig-tailed girl!" Kuno cried, dramatic lightning playing
off his perfect hair and....

"Oi! Kuno."

-----

"Saotome," Kuno grumbled, looking at the pigtailed boy across the bar
counter. "Why do you interrupt my narration? Did not you, too, wish to
know of my exploits of the last two days?"

"Yeah, Ranma," Ryouga leaned across the table with an
uncharacteristically wide grin. "Don't you want to know what happens to
the pigtailed girl?"

Next to the lost boy, Ryu was too busy trying to hold back his laughter
to contribute to the conversation. Sitting between Ranma and the
autobiographical kendoist, even Ukyou seemed to be having a hard time
reigning in the giggles. On Ranma's left, Konatsu seemed to finally
realize something important.

"But... but... what were you doing there, Saotome-taichou...?" Konatsu
grinned like a cat. "Shouldn't you have been in Vietnam around this
time?"

Ranma slowly turned his head to stare at the ninja-boy with half lidded
eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Kuno asked, now totally confused. "Saotome
wasn't there at all!"

And then they broke into laughter again.

"Damnit, Kuno," Ranma tried to address his old enemy over the dim of
guffaws and giggles. "Don't go saying the pigtailed girl was there if
she wasn't. Was any part of your story true?"

Kuno paused, and relented. "I may have embellished the minor details
just a little... but it was snowing, and Masaharu did try and flee.
Saotome, all of the finest chronicles have an element of fiction to
them. You must understand this well, for your tale was quite
fanciful..."

"It was the honest truth!!" Ranma yelled and Kuno drew back, making
warding gestures with his fingers.

"So!" Ryu leaned over onto the counter, tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Does this pigtailed girl put out?"

Ukyou started pounding the table, covering her mouth with her hand as
she laughed.

"A gentleman does not kiss and tell, my friend," Kuno replied with an
all-too confident grin. "But suffice to say, she was quite appreciative
of the rescue..."

"What did I just say?!" Ranma yelled.

"A toast!" Ryu declared, raising his ceramic choko cup and the flask of
sake itself. "To the pigtailed girl!"

"To the pigtailed girl!" Ukyou seconded, holding out her cup so Ryu
could reach over and fill it up. The sake was cold, and off season, but
no one had complained (except Kuno, but he didn't count).

"Yes, to this exotic pigtailed girl!" Konatsu added.

Cups filled, they all drank, even Ranma and Kuno, who were in better
spirits than anyone would have suspected. Despite all the joking about
his curse, Ranma was still just failing to hold back a smile of his own.
He shook his head, and laughed a little. The last three, or three and a
half, days had been a real grind. They hadn't been off duty or between
missions in half a week!

But it had been more than worth it.

The bastards responsible for the attack on the village had been tracked
down and captured by the Chinese authorities. The men were both Chinese,
but only one was a national, the other was foreign born. From the wind
and dispersal pattern at the attack site and a bunch of other technical
mumbo jumbo Ranma didn't understand but pretended he did, Intel had
identified the spot in the hills near Jyusenkyou where the attack had
originated. Apparently, the two men had had a few drinks, at least three
of which had rolled away and never been retrieved. Their DNA and
fingerprints were still on the cans.

The last two days had been devoted to hunting down and eradicating every
trace of the so called 'Cult of Sirius' and any of its affiliates or
allies. As stinging as it had been to lose that alien Battleship and to
have an Avenger knocked out of service, the human terrorist threat was
far more serious. While the men and women of Juliet and India Squads had
done their part to free up manpower, and to further the overall
investigation of the conspiracy, UNETCO had come down on the Cult like
ten tons of bricks.

Even the rich snobs bankrolling Sirius operations, and the corporations
profiting from them, had not escaped XCOM Justice. The organization was
ruthless to the point of zealotry in its defense of Earth, and Ranma
almost felt bad for the bastards who sided with the enemies of humanity.
Of course, all he had to do was remember the Procyon and the Amazon
Village for that magnanimity to disappear.

Those bastards had used innocent Filipino men and women as test subjects
for their poison. Just days later, flush with success, they'd smuggled
samples of the Venom by boat to Shantou, and out of Vietnam using
private aircraft and corrupt officials. The poison meant for Hong Kong
had been seized by UNETCO biohazard-trained operatives on small speed
boats loaded with rockets.

Just an hour or two later, Ukyou and another agent found a ship and a
crop duster in Kuala Lumpur, both of which had been modified to deliver
the chemical weapon. The cultists had planned a reign of terror beyond
even Singapore and Hong Kong, striking Bangkok, Taipei, San Francisco,
Shanghai, Seoul and Tokyo. Luckily, most of those cities had been saved
when they had taken the Procyon. They'd been just too late to prevent
the tragedy at Jyusenkyou, but they'd managed to save untold civilian
lives elsewhere.

Of course, no one would know about it.

UNETCO had covered the whole thing up. There wasn't so much as a peep
about what had happened on the news anywhere. There were no pictures, no
photographic evidence, and no frantic phone calls to tip off the media.
Those terrorists who didn't meet justice in the field would never tell
their story, at least not until the war with the aliens was over, and
Earth was free to resume its standard rounds of petty squabbling. Ranma
doubted those two men from 'Zhang's Fireworks Company' would ever get
that chance, once the Chinese government was done with them.

So they had cause to celebrate not just a well earned break from work,
but their own accomplishments. Looking down the bar counter in Seiran
Mountain's cafeteria, Ranma saw his comrades - his friends - laughing
and joking. It was just too bad that Akane wasn't there, too, but then
there was also the secret fear he had that if she were around, someone's
old habits would kick in and somehow the get together would turn into a
brawl.

He really didn't want that, but at the same time he missed her. She'd be
rotated off active duty tomorrow, and he silently wondered just how he
could tell her how he felt, without... well, actually babbling about it
in some lame way. Her signing up for duty (and being accepted no less)
still aggravated him and filled him with worry, but at the same time, he
was pretty proud of the tomboy, too. It was all too damn confusing!

That was a problem for tomorrow, though. For now, he could relax and not
worry about a damn thing. He couldn't even remember the last time so
many of his friends had been together and not fighting or feuding. Maybe
it had never even happened before! Even Kuno was in high enough spirits
to laugh at himself; quite the accomplishment in and of itself.

Then the swordsman seemed to realize something.

"I had been meaning to ask, my friends, where are our Chinese
compatriots? Did they not wish to share drink with us?" he asked,
looking around.

Ryouga grumbled something, but it was Ranma who answered the question.

"They're working on something important," the young Special Lieutenant
said with a knowing smile.

"Oh?" Kuno asked, the inflection in his voice hinting at just what he
thought that 'something important' to be.

"Hey!" Ukyou popped up behind the bar, holding up another bottle.
"Shochu! Let's have another toast!"

"Yeah!" Ryu cheered.

Still, Ranma knew he was the one she was waiting to hear approval from.
"Alright! I don't think I've had that one before."

"I know this brand; you'll like it!" Ukyou took a handful of ice out of
the bar freezer, and dropped two cubes in each of their cups. She then
popped the top on the Shochu bottle, and began to pour. The fact that
she'd run a restaurant and probably poured many drinks before became
immediately apparent. After that first drink or two, she'd slipped
easily back into old habits, including a few from her one-of-the-boys
femininity-renounced days.

"I'm gonna drink all you guys under the table tonight!" she proclaimed,
Osaka accent becoming just a bit more pronounced. She raised her glass.
"To justice for bad guys, and beatin' 'em all down!"

The guys cheered, and the six martial artists drank and reminisced.

-----

Mousse couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

"You can't be serious..." he said slowly, testing the waters, sure that
Shampoo was just pulling his chain (of which he had many).

Shampoo shook her head. "I have never been more serious in my life, Mu
Tzu."

They were alone in her room. Under different conditions, the very
thought of that would have fogged over Mousse's goggles and scrambled
the logical parts of his brain. In fact, that still threatened to
happen, but he was far more jaded after the events of Jusendo. He had
literally passed up the chance to make her love him, he had given her
freedom and independence, and she hadn't given him even the time of day.
He could understand not getting even a word of appreciation or thanks,
but to have her continue to treat him like he was some kind of leper or
pariah...

Even after joining UNETCO, she hadn't actually been particularly
friendly with him. He had tried to just establish some sort of cordial
respect between them, they had known each other practically all their
lives, and they were the only two Amazons in the entire organization.
Shampoo could be so kind, so strong, so wonderful... but she tended to
be a bitch. He was painful to admit that, because he did love her, but
facts were still facts, no matter how distasteful.

So he'd come to her quarters, expecting more to be chewed out than
anything. Standing at her door, the alternative thought had occurred to
him that maybe she needed to emotionally unburden herself, and that she
needed a shoulder to cry on. He would have liked to be that sort of a
man; someone she could confide in and show weakness to, but he also knew
that really wasn't Shampoo's way. She was an Amazon.

And she had just reminded him that he was one, too.

"There had never been a male Elder," he replied, weighing his words
carefully. "There can never be one."

"I would understand if you don't want to do this," she said, hugging her
sides. "But I don't think I can do this alone. The Amazon Way... it has
to change to survive in this era... I need you, Mu Tzu. I need your help
to rebuild the Amazon Tribe."

He frowned a bit, considering what she could mean. The Amazons were all
gone.

"The Exiles?" he asked, and the frown deepened.

"You know where some of them are," Shampoo said, and Mousse pretended to
look away at one of the potted plants in the room: a small snake plant.

"I know you do," she pressed him. "They helped you, didn't they? When
you ran away? Now you can return the favor."

At that, Mousse stared at her intensely. "You don't mean...?"

Shampoo grinned, and gestured towards the table, and the area next to
her computer. She opened up a black folder there, revealing Sin Ke's
papers. Mousse took a few steps over, and leaned down to get a better
look.

"The Council had always been an odd number," Shampoo reminded him.
"Either three, as in the distant past, or five. There is someone I would
like to find."

"A third Elder...?" Mousse straightened, and smirked. "I can guess who
that is. Interesting! You know where she is?"

"I do." Shampoo nodded. "The United States."
-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: http://www.chez-vrolet.net/pipermail/ffml/attachments/20070922/4bef540f/attachment.htm