cdavies@gpu5.srv.ualberta.ca (Chris Davies)

Sailor Moon:  Panorama

Interlude
"The Most Complete Vengeance"

        The rebellion was being crushed with typical, ruthless efficiency.
From the door of his pavillon, Lord Aniams watched with bemused boredom as
the mob of poorly equipped men, women, and children were methodically
slaughtered by his own, first-rate troops.  `For this I missed Her
Majesty's annual Gala of Roses?' he thought.

        He let the flap close, and settled down at his desk, and tried for
a few moments to continue the sonnet he had only just begun to compose
when word of the rebellion had reached him.  It was a futile effort.  The
noise of the battle was simply too intrusive.

        About an hour later, the noise had finally died down.  One of Lord
Aniam's lieutenants opened the door of the pavillon.  "Milord, we have
captured the leader of the rebellion.  Do you wish to interview her?"

        "Eh?" said Lord Aniams, who had fallen asleep at his desk.  "Oh.
The leader, you say?  Are you certain?"

        "The mages have tested her veracity, and she tells the truth when
she makes the claim, milord."

        "How intriguing!  Did she have to be racked before making such a
bold statement?"

        "No, milord.  We believe that she made it to protect several other
individuals within the rebellion who had also stated that they were the
leaders -- to protect her, the true leader, we believe."

        "Oh, how utterly silly.  Don't these peasants know anything about
the Arts?"

        "No, milord, since magickal training is strictly prohibited to any
who is not of the nobility of the Kingdom of Earth ..."

        "The *Protectorate* of Earth, Lieutenant," Lord Aniams interjected
sharply, his usual lazy manner disappearing in an instant.  "Until his
Serene Highness Prince Endymion reaches maturity, there is *no* nobility
of the Kingdom of Earth.  You would do well to remember that."

        The lieutenant, who had been blooded in the brief civil war that
had erupted after the untimely death of Prince Endymion's mother,
Rheannion, stiffened.  "Of course, milord.  In any case, knowledge of what
can and cannot be done with magick is not widespread among the peasants of
the ... Protectorate."

        Lord Aniams subsided, reverting to his normal, disinterested mode
of speech.  "Well, bring the wench to me, Lieutenant.  I've a whim to see
the mettle of a woman who would lead these sheep to this slaughter."

        Moments later, the rebel leader stood before him, in chains, of
course.  She was rather tall for an Earthling, and the unbending nature of
her posture made her seem even taller.  Her hair was a deep, scarlet red.

        "Well?" Lord Aniams asked.  "Aren't you going to tell me your
name?"

        She opened her mouth, when he interrupted, waving a hand.  "No,
no, don't bother.  It would undoubtably be some alias you'd chosen to make
yourself a symbol of this insane crusade to liberate Earth from the Silver
Millenium.  The significance would be lost on me, I assure you."

        Lord Aniams walked in a circle about the woman, making admiring
noises as he did.  If the woman had been outraged at the situation she'd
been in before, she became utterly furious now.

        "Oh, stop hissing at me, girl, it will do you no good at all,"
Lord Aniams finally informed her.  "You know, I really don't understand
you Earthling ..."

        "Terran!" she burst out.

        He hit her with a backhand blow of his knuckles that left her
reeling.  "Interrupt me again and I'll cut your throat.  Now I was saying,
I don't understand you Earthling separatists.  Don't you realize that the
only reason that we have taken you under our wing is to protect you and
help you evolve?"

        "Evolve?" she hissed.  "Evolve into the perfect race of slaves,
you mean!  You murder our rulers, slaughter those among us who dare
protest, and forbid us the study of the Arts and sciences!  You seek to
destroy us, and I tell you that it will not happen!"

        Aniams yawned.  "Such entertaining rhetoric.  No wonder you became
such a rabble-rouser.  Has it occured to you, you chit, that if we hadn't
begun shepherding your species along, you wouldn't exist?"

        "What?  You dare to blaspheme and claim responsibility for the
creation of the human race?"

        "Nonsense.  I refer to `you' as an individual, not `you' as a
representative of the Earthling species."

        The woman looked truly startled for a moment.  "Wha ... what are
you talking about?"

        "It's obvious that you're part Lunar.  A nobleman's bastard, or a
descendant of one, probably."

        "That's a lie!  My parents were Terran!" she shrieked.

        "Actually, one of them was definitely Lunar ... you look almost
familiar ... now where have I seen your features ... wait a moment ..."

        "LIAR!" she screamed, and as a startled look of recognition began
to develop on Aniam's face, she slammed into him with all her might,
knocking him over ...

        ... into a lit brazier.  His head cracked the fire-bowl open, and
its contents spilled out onto his face.  He never even had time to scream.

        The woman let out a deep, shuddering breath.  She was manacled, in
the centre of the enemy encampment, and soldiers would surely be coming
into the pavillon to investigate the noise that the late Lord Aniams had
made in expiring.  `How can I turn this to my advantage?' she wondered,
silently.  Unfortunately, her intuition couldn't suggest anything.

        She quickly checked the corpse, and found a key, which didn't fit
her manacles.  It did, however, fit the large wardrobe in the pavillon.
She opened it up, and let out a startled gasp.

        The set of thick, black robes and certain ... paraphernalia in the
closet was all the proof that a magistrate would need to convict Lord
Aniams of his membership in the banned Cult of the Death Phantom.  She
shivered.  It was whispered that the King Consort of the Silver Millenium,
Ourrannos, had made an alliance with the Cult ... even if the rumor was
just a lie, it would be very suspicious that a member of his faction was a
member ...

        Leaning against the wall of the closet was a sword.  Even to the
woman's untrained eye, it glistened with dark magick.  Another rumor that
was whispered about the Cult was that they occasionally bound evil spirits
... daimons ... into objects, such as swords.  Such weapons were said to
be phenomenally powerful.

        She carefully maneuvered to get a firm grip on the sword's hilt
without touching the blade, then slid the blade against the chains of her
manacles.

        The sword cut through the links like a hot knife through butter.

        The woman swallowed.  This was a powerful weapon, but one of
foulest darkness.  Was it truly wise to continue to use it ...

        "What goes on here?" the lieutenant's voice bellowed behind her,
and there was no more time for thought, only time for action.

        She ran the lieutenant through, then proceded to slaughter the
small troop of men behind him.  The power was exhilhirating.

        She burst from the pavillon, screaming at the top of her lungs,
"RISE UP, OH TERRANS!  ANIAMS IS DEAD, AND THEY CANNOT STAND AGAINST OUR
MIGHT!"

        The ranks of prisoners exploded.  Without weapons, without armor,
they flung themselves at their captors, even as the woman leapt to begin
the killing her soul cried out for ...

        Hours later, she regained consciousness in a river of blood, still
gripping her sword tightly.  The stench of the dead bodies was
unspeakable.

        Every other participant in the battle was dead.  Both her "army"
and the forces of the Moon Kingdom.  Thousands were dead.  Because of her
... NO!  Because of THEM.  The Lunars' fault, all of it.

        Reforming an army after this would not be easy.  There would be
those who would accuse her of deserting the cause, and letting her forces
be slaughtered.

        She would deal with them.  There was much she would learn from
studying the secrets of the sword, and she would gain wisdom and power
from the outlaw magick-workers of Terra.

        She lifted her gaze to the full moon, that had witnessed such
savagery with such impassivity.  "It's your fault," she hissed.  "I swear
that I will make you pay for the horrors you cause on this world.  You
will pay in blood.

        "THIS I SWEAR!  I, BERYL!"

                        The End
                        (For Now)

Author's Note:

        Sailor Moon: Panorama is my epic.  It is my attempt to plug the
various holes in the storyline, answer questions that the series never has
(like, where did the Silver Empyrian Crystal come from? and, who was
Princess Serenity's father?) and make a few philosophical points along
the way.

        One philosophical point can be determined from the title of the
epic.  "Panorama" means "many views".  I will be trying to examine the
effects of the entire history of the Sailor Moon universe from a variety
of points of view.  The version of the end of the Silver Millenium that we
(and the Sailor Senshi) are treated to in "The Past Returns" is one which
is very consciously biased.  To just say, "Beryl and her forces tried to
destroy the Silver Millenium because they were evil, and that's what evil
people do", ignores the depths and shades of psychological character-
ization that have been demonstrated elsewhere in the series.  People act
the way they do because they have reasons and motives to do so.  In the
story at hand, Beryl's motives are explored.  While we are told that the
Silver Millenium was a golden age, every age is golden for the people who
are in the ruling class of the time, and that is the only segment of the
Silver Millenium's population that we ever saw.

        Panorama is going to be composed of three large chapters, and a
number of much shorter interludes, prologues, and epilogues.  In a larger
sense, however, all my Sailor Moon stories (with the exception of Serena
and Luna:  The New Adventures of Sailor Moon) are part and parcel of
Panorama.  So in a way, if you've read "One Moment Longer" you already
know the ending.

        Or do you?

Chris Davies, Advocate for Darkness, Part-Time Champion of Light.
"I am not a very nice person anymore." - Rand al'Thor, "Crown of Swords"