The Paradise Army
1st Sign - Future (Past)
Rated R


     Take me down to the Paradise City
     Where the grass is green 
     And the girls are pretty
     Take me home

          -Guns N' Roses, "Paradise City"


     At the turn of the century, life on Earth ceased to exist.
     The natural world was turned to desert and dust.
     Humanity was all but extinguished.
     Out from the ashes arose Neo Queen Serenity. Like a phoenix in
full flight beneath a crescent moon, she was able to save the city
that was her home. Her magic had barely protected Tokyo and its
inhabitants from total destruction--but not death. 
     The Earth was restored to an Eden state, though it remained
for the most part uninhabited. The planet had become a garden
paradise. And in a strange if not ironic twist, there was a
consensus of keeping it this way. 
     Yet when the survivors awoke from their dark and dreamless
sleeps, they had forgotten almost everything that once was. It was
left to Neo Queen Serenity and her Senshi to rebuild what had been
torn down. Crystal Tokyo had become more than a utopia: it was the
new haven, a second beginning. 
     But not all have forgotten what once was.
     I am His lordship Chaos.
     Let me welcome you to the future that Naoko Takeuchi has seen,
the future that is Crystal Tokyo. So much of it is known yet
unknown. So much is hoped for, but has yet to come. And so much has
yet to be destroyed....

                         -His lordship Chaos
                              hislordshipchaos@hotmail.com




     "What do you think of the future?" he was asked.
     For a time he remained silent before forming an answer,
looking out at the city from where he sat. Looking out beyond the
towering and transparent pane of crystal to the shimmering world
that was Crystal Tokyo. 
     "It's still a work in progress," he said finally.
     A century of time and change had swept them by to replace what
was lost. They had known the change was coming--but they hadn't
expected it to arrive so soon. And in such a form. That one of
their own would trigger the end of the world; it could be only one
thing, and that was a tragedy.
     He closed his eyes to let the memory pass.
     At first it had been hard to watch the world burn, and then to
later live on for another few years, each day seeing the raw
destructive power still remain a stigma upon the planet. It had
taken all their combined effort to banish the creature who would
one day become Wiseman to the cold, distant reaches of space. But
one day that creature would return and once more bring back death.
A living entity who only existed to end all other life; to call it
a Death Phantom was more than appropriate.
     During the aftermath, as he stayed close to and nursed his
beloved fianc‚e out of her deep slumber, her face had been the only
thing to give him hope. To see those eyes of radiant crystal blue
again was the only thing pushing him forward. Forcing him to keep
living while almost everything else was gone.
     Brandy, rich and burgundy dark, was swirled about inside a
snifter held in his palm. He wore royal robes of black, a
comforting reminder of what he had once been: a guardian. The
position had not changed, but the world had. Now he was a guardian
known by all. Endymion lifted the snifter to his lips and drank the
bold liquid within.
     His guest sat in a chair across from him, a small golden-
framed table with a glass surface creating the comfortable distance
between them. She sat with one leg crossed over the other, one arm
propping her chin up as she stared with deep magenta eyes at the
cityscape.
     "Are you pleased with you've done this far?" she asked.
     Endymion nodded, and set the snifter on the glass surface of
the table. "There's still a lot we have to do to make this a
perfect world. But I think we've done well up to this point; it's
taken only a hundred years to build up what we now have from almost
nothing."
     "It's human nature to break down what has been built up," she
said. "What can take a century to build can be destroyed in a
day...or even mere hours."
     "Hai."
     Certain things would have to occur. Hellish things that meant
making hellish sacrifices. And it would all be embodied in a single
word, a solitary place: Nemesis. They had yet to see any rising of
those who would become the Black Moon Family. That worried him; he
had expected the unpleasant confrontation to have taken place years
ago, but there had been nothing but idyllic silence.
     When would the catalyst be set off, preparing them all for a
battle for the future that would be waged in the past? His guest
had been unable to find an answer within the Hundred Gate.
Everything was, at the moment, a blur of tranquillity. 
     "If what you and Serenity have made can be destroyed so
easily," she asked him. "then why go through so much to care for
this city? If we are prisoners by a single event to unfold
centuries to come, one that will decimate the world you're
restoring, then what else is left?"
     He knew his guest well enough from these quiet moments when
she was allowed to slip away during the lulls of the Hundred Gate,
and once more feel the warmth of human companionship. She was
testing him. Reassuring herself, reassuring them all, that they
were going to press on.
     "Hope, Setsuna," he answered. "Hope for the future."



                        THE PARADISE ARMY

                         -future (past)-



     It didn't look like it should have been London's Trafalgar
Square. Bustling streets and European architecture were no more,
and left in their wake, washed away by the merciless tides of the
Storm, was nothing but rolling grasslands. Wild and untamed,
appearing as ancient as time itself. 
     Seishiro half expected to suddenly stumble across a Neo
Stonehenge somewhere along his travels here. But no, that was a
fanciful impossibility. There was no one else out here. The only
human life that existed on Earth was on the other side of the
world, congregated in the warmth and comfort of Crystal Tokyo.
     How strange that he should find such warmth and comfort a
stifling thing. The Storm had wiped out life on the planet, reduced
it to a barren wasteland that covered continents and drank dry the
seas. By all accounts it was a tsunami of pure destruction, a
moving apocalypse that was hauntingly quiet in its onslaught. It
would have destroyed Tokyo as well, had it not been for the Sailor
Soldiers.
     Seishiro wiped his brow free of the beads of sweat trickling
down. He found it amazing that he could be so warm when the
temperature was dropping so fast. Clouds were starting to gather
overhead into a swirling grey mass. It would rain within the hour,
if not earlier.
     But he was used to this.
     He was a deceptively middle-aged man, the beginnings of a pot
belly melted away into a toned chest from the fifteen years he had
spent traversing and surveying this new world. 
     Neo Queen Serenity had used her magic to take a desolate
planet and breathe new life back into it. Oceans rose. Plantlife
was restored. Birds flew in the skies, fish splashed in the seas
and animals roamed the lush variety of landscapes.
     This second paradise had become known as the Edenstate. Once
again free of humanity's cruel touch. And the citizens of Crystal
Tokyo wanted it to remain so. Seishiro suspected it was more
because they didn't want to part company from the warmth and
comfort the lone city in this world brought. The people didn't want
to leave the presence of their life-giving Queen, her sagely King,
and the Senshi who protected Crystal Tokyo.
     Seishiro glanced at his wrist chronometer. "Another few hours
before transmission," he mulled. "Might as well set up the
satellite relay."
     A Hummer awaited him just over another hill, modified by
Crystal Tokyo technology to be more friendly to the Edenstate's
environment. A combination of fusion and fuel to let it go faster
and further on less energy. Wheels were still required; Sailor
Mercury had yet to design hover technology compact enough for a
small, single vehicle. Only the large transport vessels were
equipped with hovering abilities. 
     Since he had yet to set up any form of camp, if he wanted to
keep dry he'd have to hide in the Hummer. But Seishiro didn't feel
like holing up just then. It would be a mild shower at worst. And
besides, he enjoyed being out in the open like this.
     It reminded him that he was alive.
     His wanderlust was as rare a commodity in Crystal Tokyo as
memories of the old world. It was his wanderlust that had led him
here to what was once called England. And all because a watchful
Queen had kept an eye on him.
     In the aftermath of the Storm, those who awoke found
themselves lost. They had survived but were no longer who they
were. Memories were gone, wiped clean like human life most
everywhere else. The lucky handfuls were able to emerge with most
if not all their recollections of the past intact. Most had
fragmented memories and nostalgia whose enigmas would never be
resolved. And even more of the city's fledgling population had to
be born again and rediscover themselves.
     He had been such a soul, awakening upon a subway platform. It
had surprised him to find out that he was alive...but unnerving
that he no longer knew his name. Why had he been on that subway
platform? Why had he been carrying a briefcase with him? There was
so much confusion then, and through both a miracle and their own
hard work, the Senshi had been able to rally everyone together and
initiate a resurrection process. One of their first orders of
business was to find out who everyone was.
     Seishiro had gone off on his own to find himself. The
briefcase revealed an address on the outskirts of the Tokyo proper.
While the inner heart of the city was protected by Sailor Moon and
her Senshi from the ravages of the Storm, the fringe areas were
subjected to more severe beatings.
     His suburban neighbourhood bore the telltale marks of
devastation, almost as if a savage earthquake had ripped through
the district. Streets were broken, streetlamps knocked down, houses
dashed to debris like they were made of tissue paper. His own house
had been cut in half, a clean line down the middle. 
     Seishiro could still recall that day, the day he was wholly
reborn. Much to his amusement, he'd discovered that he had been a
vice president of a banking corporation. Yet he held no recall of
what it was like to be a vice president for a banking corporation.
And the notion of ever going back to that left a sour taste in his
mouth.
     But when he had walked into the master bedroom and saw that
the back wall had been cast aside by a precision gouge, he
understood everything so clearly. His house marked a part of the
outermost perimeter where the Senshi's barrier had collided against
the Storm's devastating power. Beyond his house was nothing but a
progression of mountains covered by dense green forests.
     The sun was setting when he had seen the Edenstate sprawled
out before him. It invited him to discover its secrets. From then
on, he had always wanted to explore the Edenstate. He nursed this
dream for decades, keeping it hidden when he realised how opposed
the others were to this idea. They wanted to shut themselves in,
focusing only on the reconstruction of the city. Only the agri-
farmers, and their enormous fields of crops and communities, were
put out there on the edge. And even then they were kept close to
Crystal Tokyo. 
     Seishiro paused as a few spatters of rain struck his glasses.
He looked up to the skies as the mild shower began, and smiled. 
     For a long time he had worked at the agri-farms, disappearing
many times to venture forth into the nearest horizon of Edenstate.
It was when he had disappeared for a week without telling anyone
that his wanderings were brought to public attention.
     He still didn't know how it had happened (though now in
retrospect, he was certain it was deliberately orchestrated), but
one thing led to another and he soon found himself answering to the
royal family. Ever since his exploration dreams had been revealed,
he had been chastised by others who told him that he was destroying
the beautiful world their Queen had created, violating the borders
between crystal and nature. He had braced himself for a stern
reprimand from King Endymion and Neo Queen Serenity. 
     The last thing he was expecting was a job proposal.
     The king had shown remarkable understanding.
     For the first time Seishiro discovered that he wasn't the only
one eager to explore the Edenstate. There were citizens possessed
by the same wanderlust he did. And more than that, the palace
wanted to put that to good use--even if the general public still
staunchly wanted to remain tucked within their safe little
crystalline borders.
     Neo Queen Serenity wanted to one day begin construction of
other crystal cities around the world. He had the qualifications
needed to become one of the handful of explorers royally
commissioned to go out and survey the new earth. It was his chance
to live out his dream, and the Senshi's chance to locate potential
sites for new cities. 
     Somewhere in the back of his mind, Seishiro wondered if the
King and Queen hadn't granted him this not because of mutual
benefits, but because of their interest in him personally. Serenity
was known for asking about the dreams of her people--and then
finding a way to fulfil them.
     Training had taken years before he was allowed to go out on
his own--yet they were among some of the best years of Seishiro's
second life. When the time at last had come for him to set out, he
had been supplied with everything for his survey expeditions. The
procedure for slipping in and out of the city was routine business
now.
     Transports specially prepped for extended flights smuggled him
out to his drop zone, where he'd roam around for usually a month or
two before getting picked up. During that time he'd give two or
three live transmissions to update the palace. If he ever needed
anything, an extra drop ship would journey over and deliver his
supplies.
     The explorers never rarely ever met each other, though
Seishiro thought there to be ten to fifteen teams in total who were
currently active. Most of them were probably single person teams
like he was--though apparently one team was comprised of a family
of four.
     Seishiro walked through the rain at a leisurely pace.
     The weather didn't bother him.
     This place was beautiful, one of his favourites in all the six
continents he'd visited. Each one had its own beauty, of course.
Africa was alive in studies of contrast, where a single step could
mark the end of jungle forests and the beginning of dry, desert
sands.
     But here in what was once London, England....
     "I could get to like it here," Seishiro remarked to the skies
above. He laughed to himself and then unhurriedly walked through
the rain to his Hummer.


     Night had fallen once more upon the shimmering sanctuary that
was Crystal Tokyo. The reflection of its majesty rippled in the
waves of the ocean that washed against the shores of what had once
been the Tokyo Bay. And at the heart of this Shangri La stood the
Crystal Palace. 
     The palace itself was actually an immense central spire
(dubbed the Crystal Tower by many) that was encased in an immense
but transparent crystal structure. The upper half of the tower was
nothing but a shining and beautiful fountain whose waters never
ceased to run. Anywhere in the city, one could look towards the
palace and see the empyrean splendour of the fountain. 
     The garden terrain at the base of the fountain gave way to
obscure darkness stippled with lights from windows. This opaque
stripe in the middle of an otherwise visible tower was where the
Court of Serenity dwelled and worked. And reaching down from this
darkened area, like steel stalagmites, were buildings that
seemingly hung upside-down, suspended above yet another immense
garden area. This seemingly impossible infrastructure only enhanced
the overall enchantment the palace worked on any who saw it.
     All this was surrounded by a number lesser oblong towers that
acted as both barriers and amplifiers. Within their borders lived,
rested and ruled the court of Neo Queen Serenity: one queen, one
king, six Senshi, and two Mau advisors.
     At such a late hour--or early, depending on how one read their
chronometer--most if not all of the people in the city were asleep.
But there were some who knew not fatigue in terms of sun and moon,
but of merely hours of motion and rest. Time of day was irrelevant.
Two such souls walked down through the streets, the hauntingly
beautiful shimmer of the crystal architecture enclosed all around
them.
     The process of renovating the entire city from cement and
steel into the same crystalline material as the palace took time.
Some buildings were merely encased, and others were rebuilt from
the foundations up. The engineers, artisans and construction crews
who worked with the crystalline substance were radiating out from
the palace in a circular fashion, slowly but steadily changing the
face of the buildings and houses. A lot of districts in the outer
fringes were still untouched, as unchanged as they were before the
Storm.
     But people were patient.
     Their time would come.
     Given another hundred years the entire city would be a
sprawling, shimmering crystal rainbow.
     "Quiet evening, ne?" the elder of them remarked. His voice was
low but smooth, hypnotic to listen to. He remained a head shorter
than his companion, though he was by no means the weaker. A long,
thin ponytail of silvery hair was draped down his back as he
walked.
     The younger of them nodded slightly. He was tall, his presence
foreboding, and he dressed in a dark overcoat. Ravendark hair was
cut close to the contours of his skull. Narrowed eyes beheld the
city around him, not entirely critical--but not entirely approving
either. Slung over his back was a katana blade resting in its
scabbard. As an instructor of a martial arts dojo, it was his
symbol and thusly his right to bear such a weapon. Guns were
outlawed, but not a weapon like this. 
     For as marginal as the dojos were today, they still existed.
     Bladed weapons attested to his tenacity to endure.
     "I thank you for your time tonight, Keigo-san," he said. "I
know how busy your schedule is, and how accommodating you are for
my requests."
     The elder waved it aside as if it meant nothing, walking with
his black and polished cane. And atop it, clenched loosely by his
palm, a grinning fishbone white skull. Serving as a constant
reminder of life, and its inevitable end. Unknown to most people
the cane was hollow, housing a slender but lethal sword blade
within. Present company excluded.
     "I enjoy the chance to spar as much as you enjoy every
opportunity to challenge me, Yanigata. I know how hard it is to
find a skilled sparring partner, given how the public is."
     Yanigata's eyes narrowed a little more. His stern gaze
definitely became drawn into a fierce scowl. "Hundreds of years of
bushido, and like that they just throw it all away. Well try as
they might, I won't let them walk away so easily."
     It was all he had left.
     His awakening after the Storm had claimed everything of his
life--except for a single, precious memory: his training. There was
nothing else left, and thusly nothing else left to live for.
Everything he valued was from the past...and now the future was
tossing it aside, discarding it like an empty and useless can of
dried paint.
     As it was, there were only twenty active dojos left in Crystal
Tokyo. At best any one dojo had about ten students practising and
preserving the techniques of the martial arts. The instructors of
each dojo were in regular contact with each other these days;
concern about their extinction was running high.
     Yanigata shook his head. "If everyone is so damned adamant
about preserving what's left of the past, why are they so quick to
try and forget about the only thing that matters to people like
me?"
     His companion was knew enough to understand. "Have you
considered their proposal?"
     Yanigata shook his head fiercely. "Never did, never will.
They're welcome to merge the other surviving dojos into two or
three large amalgamation, but I won't be a part of it. My dojo
shall remain my own until I die."
     He refused to allow his own styles and techniques, the only
things left that gave him meaning in this future, die--be it a
death of absolute termination, or a slow fading away as it became
enmeshed with other fighting styles and then robbed of all the
uniqueness that set it apart.
     "Your passion for your profession does you credit, Yanigata,"
the elder of them said. "You aren't the type to back down and let
things happen, unlike so many others in this city." His lips curled
into a near savage grin. "Why else would I be so willing to meet
you in the dead of night, to have an open sparring match against
you?"
     People frowned enough on anything that involved combat. An
open demonstration or sparring match would no doubt get them
reported to the police.
     "The police don't frighten me," Yanigata stated. He wasn't
trying to sound brave or conceited; it was a fact that they didn't
frighten him. "Neither does public opinion. They've been against me
since I reopened my dojo after the Storm."
     "You make it sound like the Neo-Renaissance movement is to
blame."
     "In part, yes."
     Over the past two to three decades, an enormous surge of
interest in the visual and performing arts had taken hold of the
city and its people. It was called the Neo Renaissance. Five large
academies had been constructed to allow for aspiring artists to
make their mark on the fledgling world around them. So great was
the rush to the arts, that anything else was left far behind if not
entirely forgotten. And some of those other things, like the
martial arts, found that the people would just as soon want to
forget about them altogether. 
     No one wanted to be reminded of combat, to have haunting
remnants of the old world re-enter their now peaceful lives. Only
a handful appreciated the beauty and physical demands that came
with the martial arts. The pressure on those students to change to
the other art programs was subtle, but crushing.
     Yanigata shook his head. "They are so quick to embrace
everything about the past except what people like me have to offer.
Mark my words, Keigo-san; one day their betrayal of the past's
lingering remnants will return to haunt them."
     Seki Keigo merely favoured his companion with an enigmatic
smile. "I am reminded of the ancient paradox," he said. His grey
hair seemed almost silver in the moonlight. "'Let he who desires
peace prepare for war.' We are still men of action, Yanigata, but
now the world has changed without us, without our actions. Therein
lies the dilemma of the ronin."
     Yanigata never flinched at being called a ronin, a masterless
samurai. It was a vicious truth he could not escape. Everything
that had bound him to his master, his old-world position as a
respected sensei, was gone. In place of this gaping maw in his soul
was the bitterness at knowing how much people shunned him. There
was only one choice left now: to aimlessly wander the future that
was Crystal Tokyo.
     And he hated this emptiness.
     Gone were the ancient knights and warriors who would march
through the midnight hours like spectral ghosts, atop steeds who
breathed steam from their nostrils in the dead of night. There were
still men of action in Crystal Tokyo...only now they were women,
clad in a sailor-style battle fuku. The Sailor Soldiers were now
the saviours, the ones who brought revolution and resurrection to
a planet laid to a cold and lifeless slumber. 
     That left Yanigata wondering where he stood in the grand
scheme of things.
     The two men passed by one of the grand squares of the city.
Walked past the Shadow Memorial. A large and black, stone obelisk
dedicated to the remembrance of loved ones lost in the Storm. There
were other cemeteries around; many people were adamant about
setting up personal shrines and memorials to their departed family
and friends. 
     But Neo Queen Serenity had wanted this memorial to be a sombre
reminder about all they had nearly lost, and thusly all they had
now found. Peace. Longevity. Contentment. 
     Yet sometimes human beings could not be content with such
things. One person's peace became another's poison.
     Seki continued to walk, the grinning skull atop his cane
gazing down the street with whitened hollow eyes. "You can still
change the future, Yanigata. That much is clear, as Crystal Tokyo
is still a newborn city. But now the destination, and the road to
it, has become obscured. It is left up to you to find the way."
     "If you're implying I become a police sergeant--"
     "Perish the thought." Seki smirked. "They'd be frightened of
you to no end."
     The thought of joining the police force was a laughable option
for Yanigata. Such officers of the law were more a placebo for the
city; with an end to the crimes and hatred that had defined much of
the world before the Storm came an end to the need for police.
Every now and again some kind of emergency would arise that called
for their attention.
     Excitement like that was rare.
     For the most part the police would do their rounds, give
directions, check up on people, and patrol the empty districts of
Crystal Tokyo. They could hardly be called an authority to fear.
Unlike the Senshi....
     The two Outers, Uranus and Neptune, were both revered and
feared for their guard dog ferocity. One didn't tangle with them
before thinking their chances through.
     Yanigata looked up to the full moon in the night sky. He
scowled at it momentarily before returning his gaze to the deserted
road ahead. "The only memories I have to offer are memories almost
no one else wants," he said. "What do you remember before the
Storm, Keigo-san?"
     Seki's smile became unreadable in that moment. "Everything,"
he answered quietly.


     When morning did come to Crystal Tokyo, it was a brilliant
painting of the skies: patches of clouds in hues of red against
blue, and coating the heavens with the fires of the rising sun. The
glow of the moon faded, though the pale orb failed to fade from the
blue skies until late into the morning.
     Even with the death and rebirth of civilisation, some things
never changed. Like high school, for example.
     Three such souls walked through the streets, dutifully heading
for their respective schools. The youngest of them (and naturally
the most precocious) was no more than six years old, and it showed
in the way two of her steps equalled one stride from either of the
two in her group. But she didn't seem to mind. She continued to
happily cling to the arm of her elder, humming a song to herself. 
     Two brown pigtails bounced slightly with each hop and skip she
made. For her, nothing could have been better than a clear morning
like this: swinging on the arm of the young man walking next to
her.
     "Ne, Shuichi nii-san," she said, staring up with expectant
eyes at the blonde teen who towered over her. "After school, can we
have an ice cream sundae together?"
     Which naturally meant he would be paying.
     Shuichi looked down at the child gripping his arm and sighed.
"Sorry, Mei-chan, but I've got practice after school. I'm usually
pressed for time as it is to get from Saito High to my dojo. I
don't think--"
     His words were cut short by the irritated, pouting expression
Mei gave him. "Shuichi!" she said, her voice rising with
exaggerated impatience. Whenever she got like this, nothing short
of complete surrender would be able to stop her.
     Shuichi groaned and resigned himself to his after-school fate.
His mind quickly worked through a way to appease Mei without
getting his butt kicked by Kunio-sensei. There was a small cafe not
too far from Mei's elementary school; a half hour with her, and a
miracle of catching the buses and subway trains at all the right
times, and he should make it to practice with seconds to spare.
     "Well?" Mei pressed.
     "H-Hai," he stammered, unnerved by her frightening tenacity.
Shuichi abruptly scowled as he heard the other female of the group
laugh behind him. "I fail to see what is so amusing, Ruri," he said
dryly.
     Ruri merely flashed him a savage grin, and replied, "Oh, I
just find it so cute that someone who works with a pair of sais has
been puppy-whipped by a six year-old girl."
     Much to Shuichi's relief, they reached Mei's school shortly
afterwards. He quickly reassured her that he would meet her as soon
as possible in the afternoon. That satisfied her enough. Mei
happily skipped up to the school, shouting hello to some of the
other kids around there, her Totoro schoolbag bouncing on her back.
She paused long enough to turn around and enthusiastically wave at
Shuichi. A little embarrassed, he waved back.
     Once Mei was through the front doors, he and Ruri started off
to their own school.
     "I am right, you realize," Ruri stated plainly, though her
smile was gentler than her words. "Mei has you at her beck and
call."
     "Jealous about having competition, Ruri Ruri?" he retorted. It
was fun to watch her blush a little and squirm uncomfortably. He
was also one of the few who was able to call her by that nickname
and not get the glare of the century in return. 
     She recovered, and feigned indignation. "Baka," she said,
pushing one of her two long ponytails back behind her. In the
morning sun they shimmered like faded violet. "Ne, can I borrow
last night's homework?"
     Shuichi rolled his eyes. "I don't believe this." It wasn't
often that the roles were reversed. His own late nights at the dojo
usually meant unfinished assignments, or else a hasty copying of
Ruri's notes. She always dug into him about this--not out of
malice, he hoped. But she didn't seem to understand his position.
Barely anyone did for that matter. 
     He felt obligated to continue his training under Kunio-sensei
(he could hardly bring himself to get past ancient formalities and
call his instructor by his first name: Yanigata), as well as
attending high school.
     Now Ruri was the one asking to copy his notes.
     He didn't gloat over it. That meant he could call in a bigger
favour from her later. Odds were he'd need it; the division of
responsibilities between high school and his martial arts training
at the dojo were starting to take their toll. At best Shuichi hoped
to hide his slowly spiralling grades for another month.
     That was at best.
     Shuichi reached into his bag and fished out a number of
datapads that were all the same colour of faded grey. Once he found
the right datapad, he handed it over to Ruri. She immediately set
about linking it to a datapad of her own, downloading his
information and answers.
     "You're actually done," she remarked with some surprise.
"That's a first. I guess I'm lucky today."
     "We both are," he glibly replied. "You will reword the
answers, right?"
     She nodded. "Like I'd let the teachers think I copied you.
Besides, I'd phrase this a lot more eloquently than you."
     "Gee...thanks."
     The download complete, Ruri handed Shuichi back his datapad.
"You should try to pull your marks up, Shuichi--that is, if you
actually want to graduate before your Ascension."
     He caught himself from frowning. Tried his best to keep his
stoic expression intact. 
     The Ascension ceremony was a big deal these days.
     When Neo Queen Serenity and her court had set about to
lengthen the lives of the survivors, a great concern has arisen
about stretching out the lifespan of the children. If the parents
were going to have a slowed ageing process, what would become of
their offspring? If a baby's ageing process was slowed at birth,
that only affected the physical dimension. Could a child be
mentally and emotionally affected as well?
     Problems naturally arose.
     No parent wanted to spend two decades (or even worse, two
centuries) in contending with a constantly needy infant, or a
rampaging toddler. If a child's mind developed as slow as they
aged, the parents were liable to commit suicide.
     On the other hand, if a child's mental and emotional abilities
developed naturally while their bodies aged slowly, that mean
having an infant with at least twenty to fifty years of experience.
Knowing calculus equations but being unable to say anything aside
from loud wails or happy burbles was liable to drive the child to
insanity.
     In the end, it had been King Endymion to propose a compromise.
The children of Crystal Tokyo would be allowed to age naturally
until their eighteenth year. Around the time of their eighteenth
birthday (though most families tried for exactly their child's
birthday), the youth in question would then make a pilgrimage to
the palace and bask in the rays of the Silver Crystal. From then on
their lifespan would be extended like the other citizens.
     Ascension ceremonies had as of lately--and lately being the
past few decades--grown to become a time of grandiose celebration.
It marked a coming of age, as well as a public testimony of one
pledging their loyalty to the royal family. While the teenager
alone would go to the palace and partake in the rite of Ascension,
there was usually an enormous family party for days before and
after. Everything was extravagant, and more often than not the
proud parents spared no expense in lavishing their child with
gifts, food and decorations.
     Shuichi found the whole concept overrated.
     Maybe it was from his exposure to Kunio-sensei, who seemed
discontent and at odds with the philosophies of the city. He knew
of opinions and views that Ruri had probably never been exposed to.
Namely that the founders and rulers of Crystal Tokyo were still
only human, as fallible and subject to making mistakes as the next
person. They weren't perfect, and given his time with Kunio-sensei
neither was the city, but they were doing their best to make it a
better place. That was what earned them his gratitude and
unwavering respect.
     Even still, by Ascension one was silently expected to have
graduated or else be ready to graduate. They were expected to know
what they wanted in life already, and be prepared to go after it.
Such a vision he doubted over. And such doubts put him at odds with
almost everyone he knew.
     "I'll graduate, Ruri," he told her. If anything, he'd do it
just to prove ones like her wrong. "My time at the dojo just keeps
me busier than most students."
     "Maybe you should drop your training. You can still make it
through this last semester of your junior year with decent marks."
     "This coming from the Neo Renaissance art student who had to
borrow my notes a few moments ago?" He didn't bother trying to hide
the acrid tone laced in with his words.
     Ruri got flustered again. "I just didn't feel like doing the
work for that subject last night," she defended herself. "Besides,
I do my homework before I go to the academy. I wanted to get an
early start on my oil painting project and lost track of time. And
I can afford to let an assignment or two slip."
     Shuichi smiled in spite of the way he was feeling. Whether or
not she always intended it, Ruri managed to do this on a daily
basis. His doubts were something she couldn't wrap her mind around.
The world he had grown up in was different from hers, filled with
more than one view about the Queen and the city. But at the same
time Ruri, with her almost naive green eyes and long hair of faded
indigo, somehow managed to calm him down moments later with a
simple smile.
     He tactfully changed the subject. "So how goes your latest art
project?"
     For a brief second she frowned, but quickly covered that up.
He still saw the momentary frustration, yet said nothing. "It's
going fine," she said. "I'm just deciding on what painting I want
to do next."
     "Still refusing to bow down to the trend of Serenity Period
works?" Shuichi inquired. In this day and age, many of the
sculptures, paintings and plays that proliferated the city had a
less than subtle Neo Queen Serenity theme to them. Always dealing
with the royal family or the Senshi.
     Ruri nodded. "I want to be an artist; for me, that means
creating or helping create a new style. I like Serenity Period
works, yes, but I don't want to paint them. I want to be known for
something indelibly me."
     When Shuichi said nothing in response, she turned and looked
at him questioningly. Her expression went more exaggerated as she
saw him staring at her with a cryptic but gentle smile. 
     "What?" she demanded.
     "Nothing," he answered, that odd smile still playing at his
lips. "I just respect your struggle." He turned his eyes to the
road ahead, to the shape of their local high school appearing over
the hill. "For all our differences, we still share the same
uncertainties. We're trying to find our own place here, Ruri."
     Ruri shook her head. "I've found where I belong, and now I
just have to reshape it to suit my dream. You--"
     "I know," Shuichi replied. "I have to find my way, period."
     The front gates of Saito High were still open; they had about
five minutes left before their first class began. A steady trickle
of students filtered in through the courtyard, many of them
shouting or waving to greet a fellow classmate. Shuichi and Ruri
shared the same homeroom, and continued together up to the second
floor where their class was located.
     Students were milling around, enjoying the proverbial lull
before the storm. A few sat on the tops of their desks, lounging
around. Clusters of boys or girls in animated discussions.
Individuals hastily skimming through their datapad notes. A girl
with a distant expression stared out the open windows to the
distant shimmer of the Crystal Palace.
     Noticeably absent were the...odd ones. Those children with
grey eyes and a nearly insane genius. The ones called Newtypes.
Newtypes rarely partook in regular academics, for well-known and
well understood reasons. A part of Shuichi wondered why he had
never seen an adult Newtype before, but that was quickly lost in
the usual worries of school.
     Their teacher, Miss Hinako, stepped into the room and called
the class to order. Everyone quickly scrambled back to their desks
and powered up their laptop Navi computers, connecting to Saito
High's Datapond. Soon enough they would be typing out their own
notes.
     Miss Hinako pushed some of her waves of fiery auburn hair back
over her shoulders. "First things first," she stated. "Please hand
in the datapads with your assignments. And then we can begin."


     It was her coffee break, and she was thoroughly enjoying the
momentary silence in the doctor's lounge. Asahina stared out at the
distant silhouette of the Crystal Palace. Even in the daylight sun
it seemed like a mirage, a beautiful dream caught for a fraction of
a second, only then to disappear completely from sight.
     But Crystal Tokyo was more than a lingering fantasy.
     It was a reality.
     She took another sip of coffee from her mug, one hand loosely
hanging out from one of the pockets of her white labcoat. Hair the
colour of night dangled around her ears, the longer portion tied
and braided at her back. It never ceased to amaze her just how this
city had even manage to arise at all, let alone survive the
holocaust that had been the Storm. In the beginning it had been
called the Silent Storm, for those who remembered it were chilled
at how such a wave of destruction could make no sound at all.
     No one really knew what had happened.
     Even those with their memories fully intact found this portion
of history a blur. The forgetfulness was probably less frightening
than the knowledge of what had truly happened. One night the world
went silent and died. One night, all of Tokyo was swallowed up by
the darkness. And then out of a metropolitan city proper with its
sprawling 27 million souls, less than one million awoke.
     The old city had for the most part remained unbroken by the
Storm. What had once been reduced to wasteland was now garden
paradise. And those who obviously had not awakened were nowhere to
be found. Tokyo echoed of the bustling life it once held, now
reduced to a mere handful of people by comparison.
     Asahina shook those dark and melancholy times away from her
mind. She had been one of the lucky few to survive. Some would have
argued that she was one of the Chosen, hand-picked by Neo Queen
Serenity herself to start a new civilisation. Serenity religions
made some odd claims, and this was among the least of them.
     She turned away and took another sip of her lukewarm coffee.
There was a job for her now; she had arisen with scattered
knowledge of what it meant to be a doctor. She had been closely
involved with helping raise Crystal Tokyo out from the ashes of the
Storm.
     The leaps made in science, primarily pioneered by Sailor
Mercury, were incredible. Currently it was taking the city's
collective efforts to integrate the new revolutions of technology
with the technology they already had, since more often than not the
two were rather incompatible. Not to mention it was a chore to
train everyone to operate either version of technology. Doctors,
researchers, scientists: anyone who was once in such a field and
had even half their memories were in high demand.
     The rush was dying now.
     People were settling down.
     Specialised fields were rising up and flourishing with
astounding speed: biomechanics, stellar cartography (the city was
dumbfounded to find that the Hubble telescope still existed),
crystalline engineering, as well as studies on human biology in
light of the Silver Crystal's power. Doctors wanted to see how it
physically worked to slow the ageing process.
     Temporal physics was still proving to be a testy subject that
never wished to work right with its scientists. Then again, she
reflected, such a thing as time was always an abstraction to begin
with. Half of any journal she read on temporal physics went right
over her head.
     But as for herself, Asahina had decided to remain working in
the hospitals. Granted it was a routine of regular check-ups, the
random patch job for a kid who'd broken an arm or leg, and ensuring
some worried hypochondriacs that the Silver Crystal's powers had
not suddenly worn off. Yet she quite thoroughly enjoyed it.
     She found her job--at least for the time being--fulfilling.
     Someone cut into her reverie. "Hey, cutie, when you're done
daydreaming, there's someone in room sixteen who wants you to look
at his arm."
     Asahina laughed as she turned around to see a fellow doctor
standing in the doorway of the lounge. He looked almost too young
to be a medical technician, yet he was one of the best in his
field: the study of the Newtype.
     A stethoscope dangling around his neck, he nodded with his
head down the hallway. "Looks like he pulled a tendon or ligament
playing tennis," he added.
     "Hai hai," Asahina replied, setting down her coffee mug by the
kitchenette sink. As she walked by she took the opportunity to
tousle his somewhat unkempt, brown hair. Her co-worker laughed and
made no move to push her away.
     He favoured her with a lop-sided grin before kissing her on
the cheek. "Are we still on for tonight, once my shift ends?"
     Asahina nodded. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Shingo
Tsukino."


     To be or not to be.
     That was the question he was facing.
     The question that formed his entire world.
     Six little words entranced him, kept him captive in the chair
he sat in. He gazed relentlessly. Licked his lips in anticipation.
Such words. Such clarity. Such perfection. Everything fell into
place.
     Grey eyes, faded and washed like a weathered marble floor,
stared at the screen of his small Navi computer. They rarely
blinked. Fingers hovered over the computer keys, waiting for the
further revelation that would give him a reason to breathe again.
     But he knew these words.
     And so he knew who he was.
     And he was a Newtype.
     The words he wrote were of an ancient play. The Bard who once
wrote them had died long ago. This piece, this tragedy--or was it
a triumph? He couldn't understand, not yet, but he would wait to
see the end--had been lost in the Storm. There was no manuscript
left. No memories that such a play ever existed.
     But here the words were manifesting themselves to him. He was
writing them not in Japanese, but their original Elizabethan
English. The language was foreign, incomprehensible, almost lost
entirely--yet made so much perfect sense.
     He started to giggle. The body of a ten year-old boy leaned
closer to the screen, eyes wider. Such euphoria. Around him were
walls of a deep sea blue. In front and to his left the screen of a
moderate imageviewer. Behind him a couch and cabinet full of fine
pottery, and a shelf of family pictures. Yet they melted away in
his vision. Became nothing more than crackles of static.
     To be or not to be.
     That was all that mattered.
     A voice, distant enough that he didn't concern himself with
it, echoed across the living room. "Kaoru, what are you doing in
there?" A woman's face looked from around a corner, older beyond
her years in the expression she wore. 
     "Daijobu?" she asked, concern etched into her face.
     She was asking if he was all right.
     Kaoru's lips curled into a maniacal smile as he turned back to
the screen of his Navi.
     He was perfect.
     His words were perfect.
     Kaoru licked his lips again.
     There was nothing more pure, nothing more clear in this murky
new world of uncertainty than the six words before him. His fingers
twitched. Began to write.
     His mother's worried expression lingered a moment longer
before she retreated back into the kitchen. She would continue to
make lunch for them both, using every motion to distract her from
her son's condition. He cared not for his condition. He cared not
that he was a Newtype. All that mattered was the purity of those
six little words. And the revelation that came with them.

     To be, or not to be - that is the question;
     Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
     The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
     Or to take arms against the sea of troubles
     And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep -
     No more....


     The clean air of the city was absent in the garage. But that
was to be expected in a place meant to repair machinery. Sakura
didn't object to it. The world she worked within was shielded from
most of the sunlight bathing the sidewalks. It was a world of
grease and oil and metal. And she would not have wanted to change
it for any other world. 
     Sporting a set of faded khaki coveralls with the top buttons
left undone, assorted patches of motor fluids decorating them, she
walked out from her office. Like most everyone else in the city,
she appeared deceptively young. Originally Sakura had expected to
become a writer before her coming of age ceremony. Two fateful days
before it was time for her Ascension, she chanced upon a man on the
side of the road who was trying to start his car. His head was gone
underneath the open hood, tinkering with anything he could touch.
     Curiosity had gotten the better of her then, and she had asked
if he needed help. The stranger himself was a mechanic and quickly
located the problem--but not before explaining some of the finer
points of the vehicle's operating systems. Sakura had been hooked
on mechanics ever since.
     The stranger she had met took her in as an apprentice
mechanic, and ten years later she started a garage of her own. For
all the advances that technology had made to make these new models
run longer and cleaner, said vehicles had yet to be made
indestructible against the elements of time and weather. 
     Sometimes they just broke down for no apparent reason.
     Business was always steady, never cluttered. Working here as
a mechanic had proven to be a lucrative business--and one she was
fond of too, which always helped.
     And there were always the curious perks of being a part of the
Mechanic's Guild. The oldest members said it began in the days
right after the Silence; those who still knew how to repair and
maintain anything with a motor rallied together and formed a
special school. It had since grown into a specialised guild
involving master mechanics and inventors, an apprenticeship system,
ritual gatherings, debates and communiqu‚s, and an annual
convention where the entire guild came together to showcase new
techniques, inventions and parts.
     Sakura returned to the present and quickly passed by the two
cars waiting a later inspection. Their owners were in no rush to
have them repaired. She had already performed an inspection on one
and found it to be a minor fault. A half hour of work would find
the car running smoothly.
     Right now her hazel eyes were staring at something that would
no doubt prove to be her challenge of the day: the sleek, black
body of a motorcycle. It stood in the back end of the garage,
assorted tools and instruments already clustered around it in
anticipation for the duel of mechanic against machine.
     Shining chrome was dulled in the garage light, making it
easier of Sakura's eyes. The driver had brought it in twenty
minutes ago, puzzled by a sticking whenever he had tried to shift
gears.
     She knelt down on her kneepads and got to work.
     This model's driveshaft was low maintenance to begin with, so
the idea of dust or dirt gumming up the inner workings was not her
first guess. A quick inspection validated Sakura's thinking; the
driver kept this motorcycle in near pristine condition.
     The man certainly loved his motors.
     Someone she could relate to.
     Probing the chassis proved no clues for the sticking problem.
Everything pointed to what she already believed to be the source of
the problem: the gearbox. It had five speeds and a broad range,
which meant that the gears shouldn't be sticking at all when they
shifted.
     Sakura sighed to herself as she continued relentlessly.
"Shimatta, why are you being so uncooperative for me?" she asked
the motorcycle.
     Long ago she had learned to never think that it would be
easier if the motors could actually talk to her. A true mechanic,
her adept teacher said, could talk to motors. Such a language was
something the average person didn't understand. Over time she had
learned to speak such a language: of the sounds of a revving
engine, the whirs and hums of the inter-working parts.
     She was so engrossed with her work that Sakura failed to
notice someone walk through the customer waiting area, and into the
heart of the garage.
     "Nice machine," the stranger remarked. "What's the engine
like?"
     "It's a modified Boxer engine," Sakura replied. Her fiddling
around with the gearbox was taking up most of her concentration.
"High torque, eleven-seventy cc."
     "What about the Bhp's?"
     "Sixty-one at five thousand RPM." Sakura tore her attention
away from the gearbox, her eyes displaying her curiosity at the
stranger's knowledge of engines. It wasn't often that someone who
walked in off the streets was this educated in engines; was he a
part of the Guild? "You work with motors?" she asked.
     A tall man with sandy-blonde hair regarded the motorcycle with
fond interest. "I used to drive one," he said. "A racecar too,
actually. But it was a long time ago."
     Sakura felt her cheeks flush.
     Damn, he was cute!
     "Anything I can help you with?" she inquired.
     He shook his head. "No, thank you. I just felt a wave of
nostalgia as I passed by."
     "If you have anything that could use some repairs, feel free
to bring it over," Sakura offered, hoping to keep him around. It
would be great to talk shop with another person who shared her
interests. Not to mention talk shop with such a cute guy. "I'll
even do a complimentary prelim inspection for you, free of charge." 
     The young man smiled. "It's a generous offer," he answered
with a slight nod of his head. "I'm glad to see that someone like
you is working here."
     Sakura politely side-stepped, finding a semi-clean rag to wipe
her hands off with. "We're not exactly an endangered species," she
remarked, breaking eye contact momentarily to ensure her fingertips
were more pink than black. "There's a convention held every year.
Visitors are welcome; I could set you up if you want."
     But the tall, sandy-blonde shook his head. "Gomen," he said
apologetically. "but I think I have other obligations at that
time." 
     He smiled at Sakura.
     She could feel the warmth in her cheeks again. 
     "I should be going. Thanks again for indulging an old memory
of mine. Maybe we can see each other again sometime, ojo-san."
     "Please, call me Sakura," she answered, trying not to blush so
obviously.
     The stranger turned and nodded his head to Sakura as he left.
Sakura sighed wistfully in watching him go, and then finally looked
back at the gearbox that continued to taunt her.
     "And as for you," she remarked. "You don't get off as easy as
he did."
     Outside, the tall sandy-blonde had to pause and squinted at
the sunshine beating down.
     "That was fast," a voice purred from behind.
     Haruka glanced to her left as another woman joined her. "She's
not one of them," she stated.
     "Are you certain?" Michiru asked, her tone serious and
questioning.
     Haruka nodded, slipping her hands into her jacket pockets. She
scowled. "Another dead end. Shimatta, we're right back to where we
started."


     From the solace of a third floor window, Hinako watched the
track team run their laps. Saito High's halls were deserted, void
of student life, and had been so for over an hour now. Classes were
over and most of the after-school clubs had finished their
meetings.
     The open playing field and racing track of Saito High looked
out to a small park. The manicured lawns and far-flung phys. ed.
storage sheds marked the edge where one would then be swallowed up
by tall trees and the constant drone of cicadas. To be so close to
nature was an advantage of working here at this school.
     She always enjoyed watching the track team perform. Young men
and women in top physical form, as of yet unaffected by the warm
glow of the Silver Crystal. Their energy was pure, their futures so
full of potential. That was ultimately why she had decided to be a
teacher after awakening from the Storm to a gaping darkness where
her past had once been. 
     Despite the best efforts by the royal family and the Sailor
Senshi, she had never been able to recover anything about her past.
Not even a name. And so she had given herself the name of Megumi
Hinako, and become a teacher. The history she had lost took on an
entirely new importance in her life; she didn't want others to
forget as she had been forced to.
     Memories of the past were something of great value.
     In the aftermath of the Storm, new history books had been
drafted by Sailor Mercury and that pet computer-beast of hers,
Cyberus. Hinako smirked at her suspicions that the Senshi had
spearheaded the recovery and writing of history, just to edit out
certain key parts.
     But she trusted their motives, which were no doubt meant for
the betterment of the city. Some things the people were better off
not knowing. What mattered the most was that they trusted their
leaders in leading them into a new and beautiful future.
     Neo Queen Serenity was on the throne, and all was well with
the world.
     Hinako turned away and started back to the faculty offices,
her auburn hair cascading down her back like silken flames. The sun
was sinking into the dark outline that was the distant horizon,
spattering a breath-taking array of warm colours across the evening
sky. The hues of red and orange made her auburn hair burn all the
more as she turned a corner and took her time walking down the
staircase.
     Her desk was located in the back end of the teacher's lounge,
right next to a set of windows which let her look down at the track
from another angle. Hinako sat down and quickly consulted her
personal Navi to see how the students from her first class had
fared with their assignments. 
     Navi computers were a part of once had once been referred to
as computer 'hardware'. Now they were called 'Wetworks', terminals
that could be connected with a virtual, cyber-ocean of information
known as the Datasea. Not unlike the Internet of old, the Datasea
allowed for extra interfacing options and offered more places to
explore information if one knew where to search.
     Saito High had its own small Datasea (playfully nicknamed a
Datapond), which the students could access from their desks. Any
notes or tests were written on the Navi's, and then that
information could be transferred onto a datapad. Faking a test was
rather difficult since the test could only be downloaded from the
Datapond into the Navi on her authority.
     Hinako had taken the liberty of downloading each history
assignment from her Navi into a datapad. She trusted the school's
Datapond security encryptions (hackers still existed even today),
but she wanted to take the assignments home with her Navi and read
through them before her other appointment tonight.
     Many of the students in her class held great promise. But a
handful still had her worried. Yet she trusted that they would make
the right decisions for their future. They were the next generation
who would help mould Crystal Tokyo's future over this new century.
     Hinako was confident that this paradise would be maintained.
     Neo Queen Serenity was on the throne.
     All was well with the world.
     She glanced down at her wrist chronometer. Soon enough, it
would be time to worship.


     Shuichi stood upon the training mats of Kunio-sensei's dojo,
a sai in each hand. Normally such weapons were used for parrying,
strictly close-combat defense. However, his sais were bladed and
could kill if he used them properly. And Shuichi knew how to wield
them in such a fashion.
     That didn't make him feel any easier given the opponent he was
facing. Yanigata stood in the centre of the mats, standing relaxed
and glaring at him. He was already dripping with sweat from the
past few hours of practice, while Kunio-sensei had yet to show any
signs of being warm.
     "Come on, Shuichi!" the instructor snarled. "I am unarmed, and
you have two bladed sais. Are you that afraid to attack me?"
     Shuichi's eyes narrowed and he hissed, but refused to charge
ahead in unbridled fury. At the edges of his peripheral vision he
could see the five other students who trained with him for six
nights of the week. They were sitting just off the mats, watching
the sparring match.
     He was the oldest student by three years. Of them all, he had
trained under Kunio-sensei the longest. And that naturally meant
that when the instructor wanted a "victim" to help demonstrate a
new move to his students, Shuichi was always it. 
     At the very least Shuichi knew it kept him humble. He never
grew cocky about how better he was; Yanigata would always knock him
flat on his ass with embarrassing ease on an almost daily basis. He
was always painfully aware that there was someone in the dojo
superior to him.
     Yanigata prodded again, this time finding a nerve and ripping
into it. His voice was breathed in a low, cruel whisper. "Maybe you
should quit training under me, if you're that frightened."
     That did it.
     Shuichi charged, racing forward at a blinding pace. He lunged
with his right sai, aiming for Kunio-sensei's chest. The blade only
met with air. Shuichi's eyes widened as he realised that Kunio-
sensei had already side-stepped the attack, and was calmly standing
right beside him. His inertia still carried him forward, and
Shuichi flinched in knowing he wouldn't be able to adjust his
stance for a proper defense.
     Yanigata's right hand grabbed Shuichi's outstretched wrist and
helped carry the student forward. His left arm bent at the elbow
and ducked underneath Shuichi's arm. The elbow connected with
Shuichi's stomach.
     Hard.
     Only later would Shuichi learn just what had happened in that
span of two seconds, where he suddenly went from a rapid thrust to
lying with his back on the floor. He coughed and rolled onto his
side in rousing himself. His chest was throbbing painfully; it felt
like he was going to throw up. Shuichi silently thanked Serenity
that he hadn't eaten that ice cream with Mei earlier, or else he
probably would have vomited.
     "Why couldn't I have tried out for other sports, like Go?" he
ruefully muttered, wincing through the discomfort. But he really
couldn't envision himself doing anything else but the martial arts.
     Physical fitness as a whole was still greatly valued, and
sports events always managed to draw large crowds. To be a
professional athlete was almost like being a demi-god in the eyes
of others. The beauty of the healthy and toned body. Hell, his body
was in better shape than most of his classmates. And to his
disdain, Shuichi knew that didn't matter. He was involved in a
combat sport. An art that was designed to fight another human being
and win. Why couldn't people appreciate the virtual dance students
like him performed every day?
     It took another five minutes for Shuichi to recover and feel
strong enough to join in the exercises. He knelt down at the edge
of the mats and simply watched the younger students spar, slowly
going through the motions Kunio-sensei had performed on him in the
time it took to blink.
     There was only one girl among them, and she was thirteen.
     The other guys averaged around that age as well.  
     And this was one of the larger dojos too.
     Thankfully, Kunio-sensei didn't single Shuichi out for another
demonstration, but kept him busy for the remaining hour of their
practice. From 4pm to 8pm, each night of practice. And it took him
an hour of travelling just to reach the dojo from either his high
school or his house.
     At five minutes to eight, Yanigata called the training session
over. Six weary and bedraggled teens bowed formally to their sensei
and then went to pick up their bags, which were against the far
wall of sliding screen doors. Shuichi fished through for the
scabbards to his bladed sais; the last thing he wanted to do was to
have the edges cut through the fabric of his bag and slice up his
legs.
     Or worse, someone else.
     "Shuichi!" Yanigata abruptly barked. "You stay."
     His back to Kunio-sensei, Shuichi visibly grimaced. It was not
uncommon for him being forced to stay back and endure extra
training. Sometimes he'd wind up leaving the dojo at ten or eleven
at night.
     His body was used to the extra hours of damage.
     But tonight he had to babysit for his little sister, and the
last thing he could afford to be was late. Ideally he could appeal
to Kunio-sensei and get the man to let him go tonight. As he
returned to the mats, Shuichi silently ran through every way he
could politely decline from any extra practice without upsetting
his instructor.
     He glanced at some of the sliding screen doors which were left
open, and saw the gardens that enclosed the backyard of the dojo.
     He waited for Kunio-sensei to speak first.
     "Shuichi," Yanigata said. The man was looking out to the
gardens in back of the dojo. His eyes were narrowed, focused and
intense as always. But not looking at his student. "I understand
you will be of age of Ascension soon."
     "Hai. In a year, Sir."
     "What have you decided to do with your life after you are
granted longevity?"
     To say Shuichi was speechless was an understatement. This
question was the last thing he had expected to hear from his
sensei. For a time he was silent, knowing full well that if he
couldn't find an answer for himself then he would be unable to
present one to his teacher.
     Kunio-sensei began to speak again. "When you are granted an
audience with the Queen, she will ask you a question much like this
one. She asks all her subjects what they wish to make of their
futures."
     He slowly turned his head and made eye contact with Shuichi.
     Shuichi visibly cringed.
     "I have lost many students to the winds and whims of change,
Shuichi. Only a few loyal ones remain. Of those who now train under
me, you alone are the one who holds the most potential of carrying
on the techniques I teach. I have invested more time and effort in
you than any other student, yet you have reached a point where you
have learned all I can teach you in this setting."
     The student said nothing, his stomach tightening into a knot.
Shuichi could feel where this was going, by Kunio-sensei's
penetrating gaze alone.
     "I will not tolerate you staying on to train for three more
years, and then decide to leave because the dojo no longer suits
you. If you wish to continue as my student, you must make a choice:
become my apprentice, and make this dojo your life...or leave and
never return."
     Regardless of all the training he had been given, Shuichi was
unable to keep a focused expression that did not betray his
feelings. His eyes wide in surprise and his mouth opened in trying
to form an answer.
     Yanigata studied his face, and then looked back to the
gardens. "Realize that if you choose to remain, you will have
chosen your future. I will only let you go if either I die, or you
prove yourself a master by defeating me in combat."
     Implicitly, they both were fully aware that neither
requirement would be fulfilled for decades to come. Perhaps even
centuries.
     The air in the dojo was becoming saturated with tension.
Shuichi found it hard to breathe, as if the weight of this place
had suddenly been set upon his shoulders. He should have seen this
coming. He should have realised why he alone had been kept behind
for all those extra training sessions.
     Why had it come as such a surprise?
     "Kunio-sensei," he began.
     And was cut off.
     "Do not answer me now," Yanigata snapped, his voice tempered
like many of the katana blades resting upon their display racks.
"And do not come to me tomorrow with an answer, for it will reflect
the foolish haste you made in choosing it. I don't want
appeasement, Shuichi. I demand commitment."
     Shuichi's throat was dry. Desert sands within his windpipe. It
was as if any answer he gave Kunio-sensei would not make the man
smile, only scowl all the more.
     The sensei's head turned ever so slightly.
     From his peripherals, Yanigata made eye contact with his
student. And his eyes were frightening. "Unless you have reason to
stay, you are dismissed."
     Shuichi scrambled to recover, straightening to attention. "H-
Hai," he managed to stammer out. He turned and slowly walked out of
the dojo. The sense of dread he felt inside failed to be dispelled
by the cool night air outside. And he could feel Kunio-sensei's
eyes upon his back.
     Yanigata returned to staring at the gardens out back.
     Shuichi was certain the man was now glaring at the plants.


     Ruri stared at her canvas.
     It stood there upon its easel, just being white. Blank and
awaiting life to be brushed into being by her elegant strokes of
paint. It had remained but a blank canvas for three days now.
Tomorrow would make it four if she again failed to make any sort of
progress tonight. She wanted to get something down tonight, even if
it was just a few scattered patches of colour.
     The canvas' mocking grew tedious and she wearied of it. Ruri
looked away to survey the somewhat claustrophobic array of
paintings she had already completed since joining this academy a
year ago.
     Her mini-studio was cluttered, as most everyone else's was. To
accommodate the large number of aspiring artists, a maze of small,
personal studios had been constructed in the two outer wings of the
academy. The central wing was devoted to lectures, technique
classes and special exhibitions.
     These were the Silver Renaissance art schools.
     Five had been built.
     It was no mistake that Ruri found herself placed here, in the
first school to have been built. She had specifically requested it
when making her application, and all for one reason. Because this
was the first academy, constructed a decade before the demand grew
so big as to advocate a second academy, it housed a wide variety of
the visual arts.
     Paintings, drawings, sculptures and statues were all placed
side by side with each other in the studios. The other four Silver
Renaissance schools that followed were all specialised; one devoted
solely to sculpture, another to painting, one to drawings and
sketches, and so forth. As a result, the sense of competition was
fierce in those academies. Each individual student wanted to break
apart from the others and become renowned. That proved difficult
when everyone else you studied with worked in the same medium.
     Yet here in the first established academy, everything was
mixed together in a beautiful, aesthetic melange. It was the oldest
and had a sense of history in every art medium. As a result, most
of the students who had studios in this place tended to be more
relaxed when it came to rivalries.
     That was an edge Ruri wanted to exploit.
     This relaxed atmosphere could easily tip the balance in her
favour. While the others amiably chatted, she would work with a
furious passion. Soon she would break free and create a new style.
She would achieve her dream of becoming a name mentioned in the
annals of Crystal Tokyo artistry.
     Yet finding a new style was proving harder each day.
     Ruri scowled again as she stared at her blank canvas and dared
to defy its emptiness. Yet once again it proved to out-stubborn
her. No image came to her mind, as if the canvas wished to remain
white for eternity.
     With an aggravated sigh, Ruri spun around on her stool and
looked someplace else. "Fine, be that way," she sulked, crossing
her arms over her chest in exasperation. She let her gaze drift
across the array of eye candy lining her studio. A welcomed
distraction. And ideally a source of inspiration.
     The dividing walls between each studio were essentially
pegboards that allowed for hooks to be easily inserted. And thusly
allowing for paintings of all sorts to be hung on the walls,
arranged in whatever way the artist saw fit.
     The three walls of her own studio were covered in paintings.
Even more paintings were carefully stacked and leaning against the
base of the walls. Not all her own. It wasn't uncommon for artists
to trade (and occasionally buy) someone else's work that they
liked. A curious bartering system had subsequently arisen over the
years, where canvases and sculptures and statues were exchanged
according to how much an artist wanted them--and how easily the
creator was willing to part with them.
     Her own acquisitions included a small sculpture of a ballerina
in 3rd position. Luckily for her, the other student was enamoured
with one of her waterfall scenes. Ruri had never been partial to
that oil-based work, and gladly traded it for the ballerina.
     Ruri's eyes drifted over to the far wall.
     A small set of shelves housed her motley assortment of paint
tubes and brushes. And amidst the chaos of her tools all sprawled
out on the top shelf, there stood a lone statue of Neo Queen
Serenity. The queen had her head penitently bowed, eyes closed,
hands clasped as if in silent prayer. She wore her flowing white
gown, gossamer wings spread out behind her. Tresses of blonde hair
were draped down her sides.
     She looked so...saintly.
     "And what about you?" she asked the statue. "Can't you help
inspire me?"
     Such were the Serenity Period works.
     There was an entire set of those statue types, naturally. The
king, queen and all six Senshi: Mercury, Mars, Venus, Jupiter,
Uranus and Neptune. Serenity was the most popular of course--though
King Endymion had quite the cult following among many young girls.
     And a few guys too.
     Ruri wondered if he was even aware, let alone allowed some of
the more risqu‚ drawings or paintings some students made with him
as the central figure. She knew that at one of the other academies,
a sculptor was making Endymion into the next Michelangelo's David.
     Fully nude.
     She laughed to herself at the thought of its unveiling. "What
would he think?" she sighed, shaking her head. What would any of
the Senshi think about this?
     Especially here in the academy, Ruri could see the evidence of
Serenity's influence. A lot of paintings depicted scenes of a
peaceful Crystal Tokyo. Or else moonlit silhouettes of the Senshi
or the royal family.
     It was the style of the day.
     Ruri wanted to seize something new.
     But right now inspiration was slipping through her fingers.
     The constricting feeling of her studio had to be escaped, so
Ruri got up and took a walk to clear her head. An incredible
community of artists existed here in this Silver Renaissance
academy. Many of the older students likened it to dorm life in a
college or university. If one wanted the distraction, he or she
could simply wander around and visit someone else's studio, or meet
up with others in various common areas, or get a meal at the 24-
hour cafeteria located just off the central wing.
     The dazzling variety of artworks always served as some kind of
inspiration for her. Of course, the blade was double-edged.
Certainly she could be enthralled with the desire to paint...but
that would only frustrate her if the canvas didn't co-operate.
     As she moved down the walkways separating the various rows of
mini-studios, Ruri glanced up at the U-shaped second level, which
opened up to the atrium below where she and countless others
worked. Some of the more advanced and well-known students had their
studios up there; those studios were larger and allowed for a
greater degree of privacy. The fringe benefits of being a leader
and not a follower.
     It was hauntingly quiet, and she could hear the echoes of her
own footsteps, as well as the echoes of other people walking around
on the tiled floor. The outer wings were like this all the time;
here silence was an unsaid rule to uphold. Anyone who wanted music
for a muse simply brought in their own discplayers with a set of
headphones. Only the central wing was party to all the noise of the
constant influx of artists. Be it meeting to eat, meeting for
class, or just meeting to talk.
     The architecture of each wing gave way to a dominating
openness, with massive columns and archways that stretched skywards
to support a beautiful mural decorating the ceiling. The central
part of this wing's ceiling was a daunting glass dome revealed the
darkened sky. Seeing the array of stars caused Ruri to quickly
check her wrist chronometer.
     9:35pm.
     "Half an hour left," she sighed in relief. Her parents had
made her curfew for 11:30pm on weeknights, with the weekends
pushing half past midnight. It took her about an hour via transit
buses and subway routes to get home, so that left hopefully enough
time for her to take up the gauntlet her blank canvas had thrown
down.
     Ruri headed for one of the common areas. Most of them featured
a fountain, and a number of benches and tables. Not to mention
there were always a multitude of large potted plants and trees to
further enhance the atmosphere. Not surprisingly, an artist or two
could always be seen on a bench, furiously sketching the life and
people who frequented the common areas.
     "Komban wa, Ruri Ruri," a voice called out behind her.
     Ruri smiled and turned her head, greeted with the sight of
another young lady peeking her head out from a mini-studio. A small
black braid of hair hung down over the young woman's left shoulder. 
     "Evening to you too, Yukino," Ruri said. "Working late like
the rest of us?"
     Yukino nodded, wiping her clay-stained fingers on her apron.
"I invited my sensei to critique my latest work tomorrow. I'm just
busy doing some final touches, but I need advice on the glazing."
     "Gomen," Ruri said, raising her hands in playful helplessness.
"I only work with oil paints. Don't think I'd be much help."
     "Hai hai." Yukino glanced around the other studios. While
there were a number of students at the academy at this hour, the
majority had already gone home due to prior obligations. In the
early hours of the morning, only the dedicated nightowls were
around. "I could use a break myself. You want to grab something at
the cafeteria?"
     Ruri's smile grew. "Definitely."
     "Give me a second to wash up," Yukino said, ducking back into
her studio.
     As Ruri waited for her friend, she continued to check out the
various artists located in this part of the academy. And then
something caught her full attention.
     It was a mini-studio located right next to one of the enormous
marble columns, almost obscured from view because of its placement,
The shadows seemingly tried to cover up its existence. As if
someone wanted to be one with the dark.
     Ruri ventured forward.
     Euphoria crept into her system.
     She stopped on the threshold of actually stepping into someone
else's studio space. Ruri sucked in her breath when her curiosity
became satiated...and her appetite to paint was whetted all the
more.
     A bizarre world opened its doors to her. There hung paintings
of different sizes and dimensions, the realms within those borders
of unimaginably fractured and twisted space. Smooth and curving
contours became cubed, reformed into geometric angles and designs.
People transformed into some kind of shape-dictated abstraction.
Three dimensions were shattered into what might have been two or
eight or four. There was no real way of being certain.
     This theme surrounded Ruri everywhere her eyes dared to look.
Such a surreal world to share with the rest of Crystal Tokyo. Who
could have dreamt a place like this? Ruri found the artist in the
back corner, in what must have been the darkest part of the studio.
It wasn't pitch black, but it was dark enough to make Ruri feel
uncomfortable.
     A Newtype was rocking back and forth on her stool, catatonic
eyes fixated upon a canvas decorated with the same motif. The girl
couldn't have been any older than eight, her blonde hair done up in
twin braids that hung down her back. Her lips were moving rapidly
in an almost inaudible and seemingly incoherent chant.
     Ruri thought she heard something that sounded like, "Picasso."
     Whatever a picasso was.
     The Newtype abruptly turned her head and looked straight at
Ruri. She continued to rock on her stool, but her faded grey eyes
seemed to bore into Ruri.
     Ruri shivered and slowly backed out from the studio.
     "Ruri, you coming?" Yukino's voice echoed behind her.
     Hastily Ruri gave a quick nod and tore her gaze away from the
Newtype girl's studio. A lingering chill went through her body as
she rejoined her friends.
     "Look who I found," Yukino remarked wryly, thumbing her
shoulder over to a gangly twenty-something guy decked out in sweat
pants and a generic white T-shirt. "Piro-chan decided he's going to
join us for something to eat."
     Piro frowned and looked down at Yukino from behind his gold-
tinted sunglasses. "I'm older than both of you by twenty years. I
don't need the '-chan' thing, okay?"
     Yukino giggled and immediately gave him an exaggerated hug,
like she was squeezing her favourite doll. "Aw, but you make for
such a cute teddy bear!"
     "Wha--hey, get offa me!" Piro protested, loud and frantic
enough to get some artists leaning into the walkway to see what the
commotion was. "Yukino, stop playing with my sunglasses!"
     "I just want to see how they look on me, Piro-chan."
     "Stop calling me Piro-chan! Can't you act your age?"
     A giggle from Yukino. "Baaaaka. I had my Ascension only last
year, remember. Compared to you, I'm still just a kid."
     Ruri could only laugh at the way those two flirted, and then
walked with them down to the academy's cafeteria. A lingering
memory of those cube-ish paintings remained in the back of her
mind. That was the sort of revolutionary new style she wanted to
create. 
     For now it could wait.
     But not for much longer.
     

     Not everyone who survived the Storm were Japanese. Tourists,
foreign dignitaries and ambassadors had been a part of the city
when it was spared from total annihilation. They weren't many, but
they were enough to make one take notice. But they had all
integrated with Crystal Tokyo quite well; it wasn't like there was
a second choice apart from wandering the Edenstate.
     Such an example presented itself before Seki as he sat within
the darkened ambience of an old-style Jazz bar. Everything was made
to resemble the life and times of the roaring 1920's of America.
There was nothing nostalgic about it; few if any of those who
survived the Storm had once lived through the era. Yet the owners
had done their best to recapture the atmosphere, making use of
literary and Datasea archives.
     Seki's fingers drummed against the table, keeping in beat with
the performers on-stage. The band was composed of four diverse
players: a Caucasian trumpeter; a man of African descent on the
drums; an either Korean or Chinese saxophone player; and the only
woman of the group, who looked more a Polynesian mix than anything,
stood playing a large cello.
     They were certainly putting their heart and soul into their
music. And the energy was contagious, given the reception from the
other patrons of the bar. Seki enjoyed the mood in his own way,
ever smiling, ever pouring himself another small cup of warm Sake
to drink down moments later.
     He didn't even turn his head as someone pulled up a chair and
sat down at his table. The stranger was as tall as he was, with a
six o'clock shadow of brown stubble left for a day or two--not
unkempt, but giving him a roguish air. And he had the telltale dark
complexion of sun-tanned skin.
     "I didn't know you liked jazz," the stranger offhandedly
remarked.
     "I've been an ardent fan for many years," Seki replied.
"Michael 'Patches' Stewart remains my favourite trumpeter. And I
hear a lot of that man's style in the band before me. They're due
to play at the masquerade, in fact; a promotion of the disc they'll
soon be releasing. You can hear them now before they become
famous."
     The stranger regarded the band with some interest. "You think
they're that good?"
     "I know they're that good."
     Seki slammed back his latest glass of Sake, letting out a
satisfied "Aah!" as he set down his ceramic cup. He turned to his
guest with a dark smile. "They may have outlawed smoking, but thank
Serenity we can still drink alcohol." Seki signalled for a waitress
to attend to their table. "Care for some Sake?" he inquired.
     His associate shook his head. "Japanese rice wine is still a
taste I have yet to acquire." The man looked over the waitress.
"I'll stick with a Scotch on the rocks."
     The seemingly young woman nodded and disappeared to the bar
located in the back. While waiting for the drinks, neither man said
anything. They simply sat and enjoyed the music as the trumpeter
began a rousing solo piece.
     The waitress returned a few minutes later with a glass of
Scotch on ice. She set it down on the table and then handed a small
pad to Seki's companion. He pressed his thumb against the
crystalline screen and was cleared.
     "One thing I hate about drinking," he sighed, taking a quick
sip of his Scotch. "It's not the hangovers, but all these damned
checkpoints to make sure you're sober enough to drink. Especially
since I had to arrange that, despite getting scanned and ID'd, I
wasn't here tonight."
     Seki chuckled, pouring himself another small cup of Sake. "I
know some men of Irish descent who could drink twice as much as
anyone here in the bar, and still be able to flawlessly debate
temporal physics. Some people are just born fish, I suppose."
     It was true that drinking alcohol was still a touchy subject;
those who had originally objected to Serenity not listing it as
contraband were waiting for an incident. But the checkpoint policy
readily ensured there were but a handful of complications over the
decades.
     The stranger glanced over to the cane with its bonewhite skull
top. "Still carrying that around, I see. Old habits die hard?"
     "In a manner of speaking." Seki reached into his inner jacket
pocket and drew out a small brown envelope. Without saying a word
or even looking at his companion, he slid it across the tabletop.
     The stranger briefly examined the tidy sum of money inside
before pocketing it. "You do realize the spider venom won't be easy
to acquire," the man said. "Even Edgetown has its limits."
     "Payment isn't a problem," Seki countered evenly. "What of the
nagamaki?"
     "The swordsmith is wary about would-be buyers these days."
Understandable given the stigma on anything associated with combat
or fighting. "Give him three to four weeks and your bladed staff
should be done. You won't get it with this shipment, but definitely
the next."
     Seki nodded, his index finger tapping along with the jazz
beat. "Excellent."
     Certainly there were items that fell directly under the
contraband classification. Firearms were a prime example. It was
illegal for anyone to even own any form of handgun or rifle. To
have the ammunition that went with the weapon was even worse.
     Bladed weapons were more of a grey area, since the city
recognised the existence of the martial arts dojos. And the
students who trained there were often trained to use many forms of
such bladed weapons. Most people were squeamish, but said nothing
so long as there were no public incidents--meaning that the
instructors kept their students in line, and the weapons for the
most part on display.
     A silent shunning was proving to be more effective.
     Seki knew it wouldn't come as any surprise that if the dojos
disappeared for good, so would the weapons they utilised. The
general public would see to that. He wasn't impressed; swords and
their steel-bladed kin were an art unto themselves. Hence the
private collection he was busy amassing.
     Many other items or issues were clouded in shades of grey.
That was where life got interesting at times. While such things
like less-explicit hentai or certain exotic pets were not declared
illegal, the palace and its Senshi heavily emphasised a "We would
STRONGLY recommend against it" policy. That worked enough to scare
most people off. Those who dared to continue did so relatively
guilt-free, as they really didn't care to begin with.
     Seki was one of them.
     In fact, his business deal with shades of grey.
     "Rumour has it that an underground shipment from Edgetown will
be arriving here in a week or so," he remarked idly, making it
sound like an offhand remark not requiring a second thought.
     The man sitting next to him shrugged. "It's only a rumour."
     Rumours always abounded about the extent of the underground
runnings into the Edenstate, where exotic and usually black-market
items were secretly transported to Crystal Tokyo and sold to rich
and knowledgeable citizens. Most everything else came from the city
itself, which possessed its own widespread underground market of
items.
     All your heart or memories desired.
     And all for a price.
     Seki reached into his jacket a second time and drew out
another envelope of money. Upon receiving it, the contact
immediately answered, "Rumour has it that it will arrive in the
Bunkyo district a week this Tuesday."
     Seki nodded, eyes still trained on the jazz band. "I'll be
sure to call off the watchdogs for you. After all, my merchandise
is a part of that shipment, and I would be most displeased to lose
it."
     His friend grinned. "I'll bet."
     While he had recently placed an order with other contacts, he
was expecting the arrival of something he had first sought out
years ago. And only in the past six months had managed to secure.
A "full body suit": a Japanese, hand-tapped body tattoo. Taking
months if not years (and sometimes decades) to complete, such an
elaborate mural covered the willing person's entire back. At times
it would reach up and over the neck and shoulders. 
     The only way to hang such masterful artwork for others to see
was to either remove the person's shirt...or remove their skin.
Some of the people consented that, after their death, their skin
may be removed so that the artwork on it might be put up on
display.
     It was no secret among those who worked some of the more
shadowy deals within Crystal Tokyo that Seki desired a work of
Horiyoshi III all for his own viewing pleasure. But only a handful
of those people knew why. Seki shared something in common with the
famous artist: namely the Oriental shenlong dragon that curved
itself around his body, designed and tattooed by Horiyoshi himself.
     Its tail started at his calves, its body twisting up across
his back and over the right side of his neck, its blazing eyes and
open mouth curving down along his right breast. The dragon remained
a mark of who he once was before the Storm tried--and failed--to
take his memory. Likewise, the Silver Crystal had not removed the
tattoo from his body, and for that Seki was grateful.
     Seki poured himself another mouthful of Sake and then downed
the cup's contents. He never looked back at his guest, even when
the man quietly got up and left. Seki paid for both their drinks.
     He always did.


     Shuichi winced at the numbing aches in his joints and muscles
as he wearily pushed open the front door to his house. "Tadaima."
     I'm home.
     "Thank Serenity you weren't held back for extra practice," his
mother said, already waiting for him in the front entry. She
quickly raced past him, pausing momentarily to give him a peck on
the cheek. "Hotaru's in bed, and your father's still at that
business meeting."
     "Good luck with your--" Shuichi began.
     The front door slammed shut, cutting him off.
     "--client."
     The trail of perfume drifted out behind her.
     Shuichi stifled a yawn, removing his outdoor shoes at the
front entry. The walk to his bedroom was more of a shuffle, with a
brief stopover as he checked on his little sister. She appeared to
be sleeping in her bed, amidst an army of small stuffed animals
around her head.
     The lights of Shuichi's bedroom sensed motion and turned
themselves on. Shuichi squinted at their harshness. "Decrease
illumination, fifty percent," he stated.
     The lights complied.
     Compared to what his sister had, Shuichi's room was the
epitome of minimalism. The walls were painted, but without posters
or pictures. In one corner he had his bed. In another, his desk
with its immaculately clean top. His closet doors were closed,
revealing nothing of his wardrobe. There was a small set of shelves
mounted into the wall over his desk, and even then the shelves
lacked mementoes and kitsch items. All it housed were books.
     But Shuichi preferred the lack of eye candy.
     Kunio-sensei's life philosophies had rubbed off on him more
than he wanted to admit to his friends. Although now it looked like
he was in over his head at the dojo. As if he didn't already have
enough things to worry about. An impending Ascension, his
spiralling grades, and now an offer to become Kunio-sensei's
apprentice at the cost of leaving everything else.
     His bags were tossed onto the floor and he collapsed face-down
on his futon. The temptation to just fall asleep where he laid was
overwhelming. Shuichi rolled onto his side to try and ward off the
fatigue just a little longer.
     "Priority check," he muttered, ticking the items off on his
fingers. "Take a bath, do homework, sleep."
     It was right then that his stomach decided to make itself
known in a most discomforting and noisy way. Shuichi found the will
to laugh and headed for the kitchen.
     "Find something eat, then take bath," he added to the list.
     Rummaging through the fridge turned up an apple. Shuichi
ravenously devoured the piece of fruit and then tossed the core
into the waste chamber. There was a brief and negligible flash of
green light as the item was decomposed and reduced into harmless
air particles.
     Shuichi returned to his room and stood before his bed, staring
down at the futon. Contemplating its existence. "Screw the
homework," he muttered after a few seconds. He could soak in the
bath, forget about the world and its worries for a half hour, and
then be lulled off to whatever pleasant dreams were out there.
     Yet before he could head to the bathroom, he heard the sound
of excited footsteps racing down the hall. A tired smile worked its
way onto his face as he turned around to look down at the wide and
happy violet eyes of a five year-old girl looking up at him. 
     "Hello there," he said to her. "What are you doing up?"
     "Waiting for you," she answered, staring up at him with an
endearing smile. She raised her hands expectantly.
     With a sigh, Shuichi nodded and sat down on the edge of his
bed before picking her up in his arms and placing her on his lap.
She cuddled her head against his chest while he stroked her
ravendark hair, staring out the window at nothing in particular.
     He was still busy trying to digest the day's revelations.
     His little sister suddenly squirmed and climbed to her feet,
nearly slipping off Shuichi's legs in the process. He steadied her
as they stared into each other's eyes.
     "Can I have some cookies?" she asked.
     Shuichi smirked at the request. "Not a chance. It's way past
your bedtime."
     "Please, Shuichi onii-san?"
     She gave him the same look Mei always gave him when she
expected her whims to be obeyed unconditionally. She was certain he
would cave. And much to his chagrin, he did. Not that he objected
too much; having a cook and caterer for a mother meant a constant
supply of some of the best cookies he'd ever eaten.
     Shuichi carried her in his arms to the kitchen, and raided the
cookie jar. One of his eyes went up as he fished out a cookie for
each of them. "No wonder you wanted some," he remarked. "Mom must
have made them today."
     She beamed. "I love chocolate chip!"
     To hide the crumbs he knew she'd leave behind to tip their
parents off, Shuichi retired back to his bedroom to eat. His sister
sat beside him on the edge of the bed, contentedly munching on her
snack, her little legs kicking at the air.
     "Ruri would have a field day in seeing how you have me wrapped
around your finger," Shuichi sighed as he stared into his sister's
eyes. "I'm not a pushover am I, Hotaru-chan?"
     Hotaru paused from taking her next bite, then scrambled to her
feet on the futon. Now standing at eye level with her older
brother, she leaned close to his face with a serious expression. A
second later she kissed a surprised Shuichi on the nose.
     He blinked a number of times before trying to say anything,
which only made Hotaru giggle all the more as she finished off her
cookie. Then Shuichi started to laugh as well and got into a
tickling contest with her.
     He won.
     "You ready to go to bed now?" he inquired.
     She nodded, still out of breath. "Tuck me in?"
     "Always. I want to make sure you don't get loose while I'm
taking my bath."
     Hotaru walked alongside her older brother as he led her back
to her bedroom, her tiny hand gently held in his. Her bedroom
lights were still off, the nitelight plugged into the far wall
serving as their guide. Shuichi tucked her in and kissed her on the
forehead. "Thanks for the cookie, Hotaru-chan," he whispered.
"Sleep well."
     Her violet eyes had already closed.
     Shuichi quietly slipped out from he room, closing the door
partially behind himself. He glanced down the hall and was
presented with two doors, two options. Bath or bed. For as tired as
he felt, Shuichi chose to soak; it would be better for his muscles
tomorrow, and it would give him a chance to ignore the schoolbag
full of datapad assignments that demanded completion.
     Right now a nice hot bath awaited him.
     And then after that, an escape from reality within the
pleasures of sleep.


     For the second time that night, Seki found himself
entertaining a guest. Though this one was unexpected.
     "I thank you for being willing to see me on such short
notice," Yanigata said as he and Seki sat out on the back veranda
of Seki's estate. Their place upon the deck gave them a full view
of the breath-taking gardens that blossomed in Seki's backyard.
Only a few stray interior lights were left on behind them. The
scattered lanterns in the gardens themselves cast a hauntingly
beautiful glow upon the flowers.
     "I know how busy a man you are, Keigo-san."
     "It's quite all right," Seki reassured his friend, pouring
them each mouthfuls of warm Sake. "I had just finished my business
for the day anyways; I can unwind in your company."
     Yanigata nodded, his usual stern expression appearing all the
more intense. There was a brooding darkness behind the instructor's
eyes that could not go unnoticed. He took up the cup of Sake
offered him, and drank it back.
     They continued like this for an hour or so, drinking Sake in
between idle talk of the city and what they were doing in the midst
of it. Though Seki did most of the talking, and Yanigata was more
prone to frown in silence.
     Yanigata could feel the effects of the Sake coursing through
his body. His cheeks were flushed, and he was swaying as he sat. He
glanced over to Seki, who continued to pour them both more rice
wine. The old man didn't even show any signs of being drunk, and he
had already been drinking before they had met tonight.
     "...and I know a Newtype who can forge a katana blade as good
as any weapons master from before the Storm," he heard Seki say.
"If you want, I can put in an order for you. I should be receiving
one of my own soon enough."
     Yanigata sighed and looked up at the stars. "Who came up with
that name for them anyways?"
     "What, the Newtypes?" Seki asked. He chuckled to himself at a
private joke he had once made to a friend. The reference had caught
on from there in ways he had never even imagined. What had once
been his quiet hobby had proven to become a part of the future.
"When you're a little more sober, Yanigata, I'll introduce you to
the world of Gundam."
     He regarded his drinking companion for a moment. 
     "You've been unusually quiet," Seki remarked. "You're a stoic
man, certainly, but not to this extreme. This is about Shuichi,
isn't it?"
     Yanigata nodded. "When I told him about becoming my
apprentice, I could tell by his response that he had never even
considered it in the first place." He scowled. Reached for his Sake
and drank it back. "I don't think he'll accept."
     The rice wine travelled down his throat, its warmth lingering
there and continuing to soothe him in drunken comfort. Everyone had
a reason to forget the future, even for a brief period of time. "My
dojo won't last much longer. He was the best student I ever had,
Seki. The others, I know their families will pull them out after
Ascension. But Shuichi...."
     He voice trailed off, and Yanigata harshly slammed his
clenched fist into the wooden floor of the veranda.
     "What you see in Shuichi is not an isolated thing," Seki
replied calmly, filling Yanigata's small cup with another mouthful
of Sake. "The youth of today are different from when we were their
age. We had a pressing sense of urgency to make something of our
lives; we only had, at best, eighty to ninety years. But now
children are faced with who knows how many centuries of life. They
can afford to sit back and take their time--not just in deciding
their future dreams, but in everything else too."
     "Maybe I should remind them how fleeting life really is,"
Yanigata muttered as he reached back for his katana. Fumbled for a
hilt that wasn't there, and then frowned upon recalling that he had
left the sword and its sheath in the front entry.
     "I don't think killing anyone will prove very productive,"
Seki said, amused and strangely not unnerved. 
     "I'm drunk. Ignore me," Yanigata muttered.
     "Yanigata, people like us should question the system, to keep
it in check. But there's a difference between raising a little
hell, and inciting a riot. Raising hell has a purpose behind it,
ideally for the betterment of the group as a whole. But you incite
a riot, you only lash out blindly for no good reason. That gives
people further excuses to scorn you as an outcast."
     Yanigata lifted his refill of Sake to his lips. "So what would
you have me do? I'm not going to sit here complacently and await my
end."
     "There's always working as a guard for the agri-farms."
     Yanigata nearly choked on his Sake. "Am I going deaf, or are
you trying to develop a sense of humour?" he sputtered.
     "Perhaps a bit of both. You are not the only one who's found
life to be uneven," Seki told him. "Ritual suicide is an option."
     It was somewhat uncommon, but every now and again someone not
unlike Yanigata committed seppuku. The queen never brought back to
life those who died by their own hand and their own choice. She
honoured their decision; Seki wondered how much guilt she took upon
herself, as if she could have changed the city somehow to prevent
such deaths. For that matter, since the newspapers never carried
obituary notices, he wondered how much of the general public was
aware that death still existed amidst longevity. Most everyone
seemed so thrilled with their extended lifespans, they were
starting to get it confused with actual immorality.
     Yanigata's stern gaze continued to look ahead. Always ahead.
He reached with a shaky hand for his cup of Sake. Fumbled with the
cup. Scowled when the uncooperative cup tipped over and spilled its
liquid contents. 
     Seki righted the cup and refilled it.
     "I am not about to commit seppuku, Keigo-san," Yanigata
growled. "There is no honour in that, not in this context."
     "Don't be too sure of yourself."
     "Would it help if I said that, despite my uneasiness with
life, I still fear death?" he added, almost ruefully, his eyes
closing.
     An odd smile crept its way onto Seki's face. "Now you're
actually starting to sound like a human being."
      "I would be either a fool or a liar to say death didn't
frighten me, Seki. Its edge might have been dulled because of the
Crystal, but that doesn't mean the edge is gone completely. Some
people in the city would do well to remember that."
     Many were treating their extended lifespans like it would last
forever. Yet the Silver Crystal didn't grant anyone what could be
called a true immortality, save for the Senshi and the royal
family. The citizens of Crystal Tokyo received longevity, a life
counted in centuries. And an end marked without the pain of a
decrepit, failing body. No one really knew how long it worked.
Something akin to, the wear and tear the body takes in a year was
stretched over twenty, maybe fifty years.
     "When the time comes, I think I'll have lived long enough to
appreciate the opportunities I had, and be ready to face the end of
my life," Seki drawled. He watched Yanigata take one more gulp of
Sake. "Would you like another? Our pitcher might be empty, but I
can always heat up more Sake."
     Yanigata shook his head, rubbing his cheek as the effects of
the Sake and the late hour started to betray him even further.
"It's getting late, and I should get back to my dojo. But I thank
you for tonight."
     "I'll pay for a cab to take you home," Seki offered. 
     That drew a derisive snort from the instructor. "And let
someone see how drunk I am? That's all I need right now."
     Seki held up a hand, playing the situation as diplomatically
as he always did. "Daijobu. I know some drivers who won't ask
questions, because I'm the one paying." He grinned viciously.
"Besides, you've entertained me enough tonight as it is, my friend.
I'm sure something you said tonight will serve as adequate
blackmail material later on in the future."
     Yanigata stifled a burp. "Happy to be of service, Seki."


     It was approaching the midnight hour.
     And the moon was full in a darkened sky tonight.
     Hinako quietly made her way into the beautiful and daunting
foyer, the white hooded robes over her body lazily billowing out
around her feet. She could hardly contain her excitement as she
stealthily moved through the shadows of the enormous columns that
rose high above her.
     The ceremonies always changed location; the ritual was never
performed in the same place twice. They were always moving, to
escape their persecutors. Tonight felt different. Tonight felt
special. Perhaps it was because tonight they were gathering in the
central wing of a Silver Renaissance academy. Such schools were
eternally open, yet tonight found them closed. The apologies on the
door made mention of interior renovations.
     Hinako could only guess that a member of their group was high
in the ranks of this Silver Renaissance academy's administration.
     A fountain was located in the centre of the main atrium, which
in turn showcased towering pillars and archways that led up to a
glass ceiling overhead. The perimeter was enclosed by large palm
trees and other exotic plants which rose up above and beyond them,
sprawled across the marble floor. 
     At the front, beneath the heart of the glass dome overhead,
was the alter. It seemed forged of purest white marble, small but
noticeable grooves running next to the alter top's borders.
Flanking either side of the alter were lanterns covered with
crimson paper and sporting black kanji, raised upon a tripod of
crystal pikes. Any other source of illumination was void here, save
for the full moon beyond the dome.
     Everything was dancing, even shadows and colours and light.
     It was all so beautiful.
     Hinako calmed herself as she entered beneath an archway, and
saw the other members already assembling. Like her, their bodies
were cloaked by whitened hoods and robes. In the lantern and
moonlight, the cloth shimmered like waves of silver water. And like
her, they all wore carved masks that hide their faces behind
beautiful gemstone facades.
     Her own mask was an exquisite blue, carved from Lapis Lazuli.
It was moulded to fit her facial features, a strip of the mask gone
from the bottom of her nose to her chin, to allow for clear vocals
on her part. Three straps on the top and sides of the mask hooked
in behind her auburn hair, which had been tied back for the
ceremony. It allowed for freedom of arm movement without worry of
holding or breaking the mask. Through the eyeholes she could seem
those gathered all milling about.
     Greeting each other.
     She kissed one of them on the cheek, as was customary.
     They came from all walks of life, though none knew who the
others were. They came dressed in their robes and masks, and left
in the same fashion. And to ensure their protection, they were
notified of the location of the next ceremony only a day or two
prior.
     Hinako knew that the exception laid with the Chosen One for
tonight; he or she was notified a few days after the previous
ceremony of their selection. That gave them time to tie up the
loose ends of their lives before giving themselves up to Serenity.
The Archangel, the one who had brought her into this fold with his
hallowed whispers and haunting eyes, had told her of the
possibility that one day she might be chosen.
     Her time had yet to come.
     But should she be the Chosen One next time, Hinako would not
object. Such a destiny was of the greatest honour any person in
Crystal Tokyo could have.
     Those gathered for the ceremony were alive with anticipation.
It had been so long since they had last gathered to worship, but
such rites could only be done when the moon was at its fullest. Yet
that made each ceremony all the more richer. All the more an
ethereal experience.
     The hushed whispers went silent as a figure stepped out from
the shadows behind the alter.
     Their priestess.
     She was dressed in the same whitened robes as everyone else,
and she wore a mask of polished sapphire. So much like Neo Queen
Serenity's eyes. The priestess moved with a regal air, elegant with
each step and gesture.
     Behind her emerged the Chosen One. He looked to be getting on
in his years, a grey beard and hair attesting to when he had first
received life from the crystal. Unlike the others, he wore white
underneath a layer of blackened robes. He was smiling as he
followed the priestess, content with his life and ready to give it
up for the good of their queen.
     A step behind the ageing man was the one Hinako recognised as
priestess' servant and protector. Rarely was their priestess seen
alone and apart from this supplicant. The build and physique
betrayed a masculine persona, and he moved silently, his arms
hidden beneath the folds of his robes. The very shadows seemed to
fear the supplicant's presence.
     Everyone gathered knelt down before their leader.
     The priestess stood before the alter, patiently waiting as the
supplicant gently helped the ageing man onto the alter. The Chosen
One laid on his back, hands at his sides, eyes fixated upon the
full moon high above him.
     "Beautiful...." he whispered.
     The priestess spoke, and her voice was clear and smooth.
Hypnotic to listen to. "We are gathered here to pay tribute to she
who saved us, the chosen few. Though we emerged like orphaned
children, lost and without our memories, Neo Queen Serenity took us
in and became our mother. It is she who made us; we belong to her."
     "We remember the Storm," Hinako chanted along with the others.
"We remember the darkness."
     "Serenity brought us out of that darkness," the priestess
proclaimed to the assembly. "and into the light of a new world:
Crystal Tokyo. We owe her everything that we have, all that we are.
She is the angel of light who has guided us into paradise."
     "Serenity protects us," they chanted. "We are her children."
     "Tonight we show our gratitude. We honour her name, by giving
her an offering of flesh--"
     The priestess looked down the Chosen One.
     "--and blood."
     "Never a life without death," the worshippers said. "Never a
death without life."
     The priestess took each end of the Chosen One's black robes
and drew them back to reveal the white cloth beneath. "In his
death, the city shall continue to find a life of peace and
prosperity." From within her own robes she took out an aikuchi
dagger. Its hilt and scabbard were decorated with intricate kanji
and symbols. "Because of his sacrifice, Crystal Tokyo can live on
as the paradise it was meant to be."
     "His name shall be remembered for eternity," they chanted. "He
shall be forever honoured in the halls of Serenity."
     The priestess turned the knife blade downwards, and slowly
raised it over her head. The single-edged tip caught the
lanternlight and glowed, poised for the final, fatal strike.
     "Offer yourself up to the glory of the city," she said to the
Chosen One. "Open your heart and soul to the dream of our queen."
     The knife came down.
     Sank into the aged man's chest.
     His eyes never widened in surprise or sudden fear, but his
body spasmed, a slight gurgle of blood echoing from his lips. The
priestess then removed the stained dagger from his heart, and with
one flawlessly motion she slit his throat. A gush of blood flowed
from the wound, pooling into the thin gouges lining the alter.
Crimson liquid moved until a scarlet border had been formed.
     The crimson paper of the lanterns suddenly rippled.
     Turned silver and bathed the room in that colour.
     Hinako could feel her mask suddenly grow warm as the
transfiguration began. It felt like droplets of sweat moving down
her skin, hot and wet and feeding her body with a delicious
ecstasy. She let out a strangled moan as a mask once blue now shone
silver like the light.
     So sensual.
     Purifying.
     It never failed to remind her of what it was like to have been
under the rays of the Silver Crystal. The rapture moved throughout
her body, and she feared she would lose her strength and collapse.
Her nerves were alive and on edge, sparking and reacting to the air
around her.
     The euphoria continued to build within her entire soul.
     And then shattered with the shout of an outsider:
     "World Shaking!"
     A ringed sphere of light exploded from the shadows of the
surrounding columns and archways, tearing through the floor with
relentless ferocity before kicking into the air and smashing itself
into a nearby pillar. Stone shrapnel flew in every direction as
dust rained down.
     Confusion set in, overpowered only by fear.
     With a horrific surge of terror, Hinako realised that their
persecutors had found them. The other worshippers scattered, each
one running in a different direction with the hopes of escaping
capture. Hinako found herself lost in a blurred tangle of whitened
robes and jewelled masks. And lost in her own fears, she fled too.
     Yet they were all ignored as out from the darkness emerged two
women dressed in sailor battle fuku. Their colours betrayed their
sigils and guardian deities. 
     Uranus.
     Neptune.
     As she broke through from the cloud of dust and haze, coughing
and still in shock from the sudden change of pleasure to panic,
Hinako froze upon seeing them. The two Outer Senshi stalked past
her, as if they were blind to her presence.
     She never stopped to ask herself why, and continued to run.
     Many of them were regrouping in a corner behind a pillar. One
of the worshippers hit a hidden switch, and a secret passage opened
up from within the walls. They began filing in as quickly as they
could. Mindful that if the Outer Senshi were here, the others would
be too. This passage would grant then access beyond the police net
set up outside the academy. In a few short minutes, the ordeal
would be over.
     Hinako brought up the rear of the group. Before she
disappeared into the recesses of the passageway, she turned her
head and looked back at the alter. She saw the two Senshi stalking
towards the alter, where her beloved priestess stood. But she also
saw the supplicant moving to intervene.
     Hinako tore her gaze away from the scene and stepped into the
hidden corridor, the door closing shut behind her. There was a dull
click as it locked.
     She trusted in their priestess to live and carry on their
sacred ceremonies. And Hinako trusted in their supplicant to
protect her from any harm. One day they would be able to worship
without the fear of persecution.
     One day....




     My indebted thanks to the authors and contributors
     of "Crystal Tokyo for the Baka", whose discussions
     shaped a lot of the smaller details seen here in
     Crystal Tokyo. Without their debates and speculation,
     the future wouldn't be half as interesting.





                    tomorrow's another future


                 the paradise army: past (future)