Chris Davies Bubblegum Crisis Best of All the Years II Episode 2 (To review: (Priscilla S. Asagiri awoke in Crystal Tokyo, and was told that she would be forced to pay back her "debt to society" (the cost of her restoration). Furious, Priss swore to find Lady Mars, who had ordered her resurrection. After six weeks of searching, she found herself at a rebel meeting, at which Lady Mars was also present, undercover. Priss demanded an explanation for her cloning. Mars explained that Priss had really been in coldsleep after the destruction of the Knight Sabres in 2041, due to her guilt at failing to save Nene Romanova's life. Priss then destroyed the rebel leader, the last of Genom's Boomers. Recovering from her injuries, Priss began to come to terms with her life in the future.) (Priss became one of the Palladins of the Crystal Realm, and was involved in stopping a scheme of the Centauri Republic to steal technology critical to Earth's defense. At the same time she began to read Sylia Stingray's journal in hope of regaining some of her memories, and was shocked to discover that Sylia had fallen in love with her, but had believed that Priss was not interested in her ... which Priss was not sure was true. The shock was cushioned by a brief relationship between Priss and Sheila Tenkai, Lady Jupiter's adopted daughter -- which ended due to an ongoing feud between Priss and Jupiter. Ultimately, Priss saved the Neo-Queen Serenity's life after she was kidnapped, using the final version of her Hard Suit to rescue her. During this mission, Priss made a choice on which, the fate of the world rested. As a reward for making the right decision, Lady Pluto opened a gate back to 2041, allowing Priss to rescue Sylia from her seeming fate ... and to realize that she did, in fact, love her former teammate.) (Unfortunately, that was just the beginning of a new set of trials for Priss and Sylia. Priss was confronted with the fact that Sylia's extensive biological and cybernetic modifications meant that she might not be considered to be human in the view of Crystal Tokyo, while Sylia was horrified to learn that her journal had been published. Unfortunately, Priss chose to deceive Sylia by claiming to actually be the clone of the original Priss, as her memories of the years between 2033 and 2041 were still indistinct. Furiously, Sylia attacked and rejected Priss, leaving them both unceratain as to their future.) SYLIA "If you would state your name for the record, it would be greatly appreciated," she said, softly. There was something very strangely familiar about this young woman's appearance. I could not place it exactly. Her golden eyes and light purple hair -- the colour of crushed amethyst -- were exotic enough that she should stand out no matter how long ago I had seen her, but the exact memories were buried deeply. It did not matter. I would find them, eventually. "Dr. Stingray?" I blinked. "That is not my name," I said, almost reflexively. She gazed at me, confusedly. "According to the information on you, you graduated from the Nekomi Institute of Technology with a Doctoral degree in computing science in 2030. Your thesis was on the subject of the application of cyberdroid psychology in dealing with artificially intelligent computer systems. I have read it. There can be no doubt that you earned your degree. Why then do you not wish to be referred to by a title that honors it?" "If you know all this, then you must certainly know who I am," I answered calmly. "I know whom I believe you to be. I am trying to determine whom you believe yourself to be. If you would state your name for the record, it would be greatly appreciated." I considered it, and wondered why she hadn't challenged my evasion. "Sylia Stingray," I said, slowly, to give myself more time to consider. She made a note. "Sylia Stingray. It is an odd name, isn't it? Your father was originally named Stengovitch. And the usual romanization of your personal name is `Celia'." The way that she spoke emphasized the subtle difference in the way that the two names were pronounced. "Why do you prefer the form you have chosen?" FOR SILIA'S EYES ONLY. "I don't see the relevance of the question," I replied. "The names that we choose for ourselves tell us a lot about who and what we are, I think." "Oh?" I asked, trying to regain a little of the ground I'd lost in this conversation. "Then what's your name?" This time she didn't blink. "Catty. Caterina Narses." "Beyond what your adoption of a diminuitive version of your personal name says, your name tells me nothing about you," I commented. She nodded, slowly. "Yes. To understand the significance of my chosen name, you would have to have a more intimate relationship with me than you currently have. Tell me, Dr. Stingray --" "That is not my name." "How would you prefer to adressed, then? Ms. Stingray? Would you rather be called by your first name, Sylia? Or --" "Ms. Stingray should suffice," I interrupted. She made another note. "Very well. Ms. Stingray, with whom would you consider yourself to be in an intimate relationship?" LIKE ME, YOU ARE A SUPERIOR BEING -- "What exactly do you mean by, intimate?" I asked, as much to distract myself from that line of thought as to clarify the question. "There are degrees of intimacy in one's relationships with others, as I'm sure you are aware. The most casual degree of intimacy is that normally that existing between acquaintances. Then colleagues, then personal friends, then intimate friends, then lovers. How would you characterize your most intimate relationship?" My throat was dry. I moistened it. "There is no one with whom I am sexually intimate at this time." She nodded. "All right. Then would you characterize your most intimate relationships as those between yourself and your intimate friends?" "All my friends are dead," I informed her. I did not allow her to see the grief. If in fact there was any. She began to make a note ... then paused, and looked up at me. "*ALL* your friends?" I nod, once, firmly. Her spirit was gone. That was all that had mattered. She lowered her gaze once more, and resumed making the notes. "So then, you would characterize the most intimate relationship you have at the present time as that existing between yourself and a colleague? Or an acquaintance?" "Between myself and an acquaintance, I suppose." "Such as myself?" I stared at her. "Evidently not," she noted, and stared at me for another long moment. "Ms. Stingray ... your father developed the nanotechnological computer systems used as cyberdroid brains, correct?" "My father invented the boomer, yes." She cocked her head to one side. "Why do you refer to them by the slang term?" "Because the slang term originated from my father's own usage, during the developmental stages," I answered calmly. It was, after all, the truth. "But that term was usurped by the organization which you blamed for his death. They applied it to the corruption of his ideals. Why do you perpetuate their --" "My father's final testament to me indicated that he desired that boomers -- *his* term, not Genom's -- become humanity's friends. I have striven to bring about his dream." I willed myself to believe my own thought. "I see. And what about your dreams, Ms. Stingray?" "I don't understand the question," I temporized. "What did you intend to do after you had achieved your father's dream, liberating all cyberdroids from their slavery -- that is more or less what his dream entailed correct? After that, then what?" "I had not given the matter a great deal of thought," I answered simply. After all, I hadn't. "Why not?" "Because I never had enough time to do so. I was engaged in a war to ensure that Genom was kept in check ... and it understandably took up much of the time that I might have used to come up with plans for the future." "Ah, yes. Maintaining the balance. Your biographer stated that that was your stated intent." I blinked. "My biographer?" "`Sylia Stingray: Whom The Gods --'" She broke off, and shook her head. "That's not important. It was written in 2045 by Lisa Vanette." I recognized the quote, of course. I also recognized the author's name. The irony made me want to laugh. I suppressed the urge, of course. "I have one final question, Ms. Stingray. You are aware that you possess abnormal levels of cybernetic and biological enhancement?" I stared. "What constitutes a `normal' level of cybernetic or biological enhancement?" "The medical examination indicates that some of the enhancements were added when you were in your teens, Ms. Stingray. That is not considered to be `normal' by current standards, or by those of your time." "Perhaps not. What of it?" She looked down to examine her own notes, and possibly to avoid meeting my gaze. "You should be aware, Ms. Stingray, that excessive amounts of biological modification *can* cause someone to be considered not humnan under the legal system of Crystal Tokyo." YOU AND I ARE THE SAME, SYLIA ... "I see," I said, tersely. "How does that make you feel?" "Ambivalent about being a citizen of this place and time," I answered. She nodded. "Understandable. I take it that you take pride in your humanity?" "I ..." It was a difficult question. Human beings, ultimately, were the ones who had perverted my father's dreams. Not boomers. It was not right to blame all of humanity for the acts of the masters of a huge corporation ... But it was easy to do so, as well. "I do not think it is right that others should determine whether one is or is not a human being," I finally answered. She gazed at me for a long moment, then nodded. "Very well then, I -- oh! My apologies, I forgot one addendum to one of the earlier questions. Uh ... with regards to your friends and colleagues, do you no longer consider Priscilla Asa--" "Priss died nearly nine hundred years ago. That thing is not her." I was startled by my own vehemence. "I ... see," she said, gazing at me oddly. "Very well then. The orderly should be along shortly to escort you back to your hospital room. Good day, Ms. Stingray ... it has been an honor." My brow furrowed as she exited the room. PRISS I watched as the boomer stepped out of the room, stepped out of the line of sight of the window, and let out a sigh as she leaned back against the wall of the hallway. When she hadn't said something after about a minute, I got impatient. "Hello?" "She's human," the boomer said without looking up. "Quite human. Or at least if she's not human, her ... behavioural logarithms are too complicated for me to detect a pattern." She shook her head. "Which means that if she is, her programming is at a higher level than mine ... and that's not possible. I hope." The words I didn't want to remember kept coming back at me. "Suppose her father ... made her? I mean --" She looked at me for the first time. I could tell she was still fairly pissed off at me. "Ms. Asagiri, my mind is the product of a technological civilization as far removed from Crystal Tokyo as Crystal Tokyo is from your era. I have studied, in *minute* detail, the work of Dr. Katsuhito Stingray -- and he could not have created a program more sophisticated than my own, EVER." "Okay, dammit, I'll take your word for it!" I snapped. "Thank you," she answered calmly. "There is one thing that you could clarify for me, haowever. Why does she believe that you are dead?" Shit. "Caterina, is that relevant to your evaluation of her psychological condition?" Lady Mercury's voice came from behind me, sounding very crisp and polite. I turned around to see her looking at the two of us with the most neutral expression that I'd ever seen. "Not ... as such," the boomer replied grudgingly. "However, if she is given to delusions --" "Does other evidence in your evaluation support such a conclusion?" Mercury interrupted. "Catty," she continued gently, "stay out of it. For your own good." The boomer bit her lip, bowed, and stepped away. "I'll have my report ready in an hour," she said over her shoulder as she walked away. "Uh ..." I brilliantly observed. "Ms. Asagiri," Mercury said, turning to look directly at me. "I have given the matter a certain amount of thought, and I have come to a pair of conclusions about you. You are the single most abrasive human I have ever encountered. And I owe you an apology." *That* came close to flooring me. "When my husband said that he viewed my behaviour towards you as quite proper, I realized that I had a certain amount of self-evaluation to embark upon. I was rude, impatient, and prejudiced. For these things, I am sorry, and I will try to improve my behaviour in the future." "Er ..." I suavely commented. She looked at me for a long moment. "Ms. Asagiri, I believe the normal response is, `Okay, but if you do anything like that again, I'll kick your butt around the room'." I blinked. "Excuse me? That's --" I caught myself in time, then glared. "Apology accepted." Something else that she'd said caught up to me. "Husband? Wait a minute, a few days ago it was fiance --" "Your point?" I found myself smiling, more or less instinctively. The utter air of calm combined with the subtle sense of humour reminded me a lot of -- -- of course, that thought killed the smile. Seeing it fade, Mercury let out a sigh. "Ms. Asagiri ... may I call you Priscilla?" "Sure," I said, shrugging, as she talked over me. "Have you had lunch yet?" I shook my head. "Would you care to join me in the cafeteria? I think we should talk." " 'Bout her?" I said, glancing back at the door to the room. "About you. About her. About the two of you. Unless you have other plans?" I shook my head, and followed her down to the hospital commissary. She ordered a light salad, and I got a burger -- to which she gave a mildly disapproving glance that went away as soon as she realized I was watching her. I sat down across from her, and started to chow down. After a moment, Mercury finally spoke. "You're aware that your problems with your memory are primarally psychological in origin, correct?" "Yeah. Her Divine Omnipotence --" "Please," Mercury interrupted. "She doesn't claim either of those. If you don't feel comfortable with `Majesty', then simply call her by her name." I considered using a different slam-honorific, but I decided I didn't need to push things more than I already had. "Yeah, she told me so." "Well, it's a bit more complicated than that. It's psychological, with a physical component -- not unlike a manic-depressive state." She chewed on some sprouts. "You were given a mild rejuvenation treatment shortly after you were brought out of coldsleep for the first time. Enough to make you look like a woman entering her twenties, rather than on her way out of them, as you were when you were put under." Thinking on it, a bit later, I realized that I should have realized that. In virtually everything that they'd done to me, there was a little detail that, if I'd thought about it, would have made me realize that the stories I was given didn't make sense. The colour of my eyes in the mirror telling me that I was the original, and not a clone, for instance. But I'm not the sort of person who thinks about the details. Anyway, *then*, I took another bite of my hamburger, and glared at her. "Lemme guess, while you were making me look eight years younger, you accidentally rinsed my brain out and --" "No," Mercury answered firmly. "While it's not uncommon for patients to experience mild cases of amnesia, due to the ... to use your analogy, `cleansing' of the neural pathways during the process, your reaction to it is unprecedented. At most, I'd say we rejuvenated you seven years. Even with a rejuvenation of fifty years, the most amnesia any of my patients has experienced is the loss of a few *months*." "So what you're saying is that my brain's over-reacting to what's been done to it," I said dryly. "Makes sense." "I decline to comment on that," Mercury said, the faintest touch of sarcasm in her voice. "However, it's clear that there is a psychological element to your problems, as well as a neurological." She lifted another leaf of salad to her mouth before continuing. "It's my theory that the rejuvenation is also tied into the psychology." "How's that --" "This theory strays into a bit of mysticism," she interrupted. "I'm drawing on my knowledge of the mechanics of reincarnation. I'm not sure if most people do reincarnate, but even if they do, there's very little chance that they'll ever remember their past lives as anything other than vague dreams." I had the weirdest feeling that I'd had this conversation with someone else, recently. "Why not? I mean, I don't know jack about how the mind works ... but if you actually remember something with your soul, then --" "But what if one of the things that your soul remembers is how you look?" Mercury asked. I blinked. "I don't get it." "If you were walking down a hallway in the palace, passed a mirror, and turned to look in it, and saw that you had ... say, curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and red-and-black body armor ... what would you think?" "I'd think it wasn't a mirror. I'd think it was a holographic display thing for a plastic surgeon's chop shop -- `For just 15,000 nuyen, this could be you!' -- or something like that." She blinked. "There actually were such places in MegaTokyo?" "Well, one," I shrugged. "I *think* that was where I got my eyes done." "Astonishing," she muttered. "Should probably have spent more time in that place. Wouldn't have been so shocked by what went on in the United Galactica if I had ..." She trailed off for a moment, and then suddenly realized that I was still there, and gave a little cough. "In any event, you wouldn't think that it was *you*, correct? You wouldn't identify yourself with the image." "No," I said, starting to get an idea of where she was going with this. "Similarly, the appearance of most people's past lives wouldn't look anything like their present self-image, and so they'd dismiss memories which were centered around *being* a person like that as the flotsam of dreams. Also similarly, I suspect that your conscious mind is rejecting memories of yourself that deal with you appearing as other than you are now." I sat back and thought about it. Among the coherent memories of my life after 2033, I couldn't find a single one of what I looked like. There were flashes of my friends growing older, and feelings of myself losing a bit of my fire ... but my own face eluded me. "You may be onto something here," I said slowly. "So now what?" Mercury seemed a bit troubled. "I'm not sure. While I have a fair amount of psychiatric training, I don't really have the experience to deal with this sort of thing. I could refer you to a different doctor ..." I felt a prickling at the back of my neck. "Sounds good to me," I temporized as I looked over my shoulder. And there she was. Her long red hair was tied up in an extremely severe French braid, drawing attention to her forehead and eyes -- which were glaring at me. I could have been mistaken, but I think the clothes she was wearing, then, were the same ones that she'd worn the first time we'd met, in the hallway. For all I knew, we stared across the room at each other for another thousand years. All sounds in the cafeteria died down as those angry brown eyes bored into my own. And then, with a scrape, she jerked a chair out from under a table, and sat down in it. Facing away from me. I turned back to look at Mercury, who was now regarding me with an expression that reminded me of a doctor looking at a terminal cancer patient. "Do you know, I do not think I have *ever* seen Sheila that angry?" she mused. "It's ... complicated." "No doubt," she said, again with just a little bit of sarcasm. There was a sudden beeping noise. Mercury looked down at her wrist, and frowned. "I'm afraid I have to be going, Ms. --" she said as she was standing up. "Look ... call me Priss, will you? Everyone calling me Ms. Asagiri is giving me rickets," I snapped. For a second, she stared at me as though I were some sort of bug under a microscope. Then she nodded. "I think I will, at that. Good day." I followed her with my eyes until she walked out of the cafeteria. Leaving me alone -- okay, surrounded by a whole boatload of people I didn't know -- with Sheila, whom I suppose I could call my ex-girlfriend if not for the fact that it'd lasted less than twenty-four hours. The "relationship", I mean. I tore a chunk out of the hamburger, and tried not to think about whether she was thinking about me. You really gotta understand ... this was kind of a new experience for me. From the time I turned thirteen 'til I was seventeen, I basically screwed anything with two legs. No regrets, no complications (an "arrangement" with the local pharmacist kept me stocked up with the necessary paraphernalia, if you get my drift), and no semblance of a "relationship". And then I met HIM. The funniest part of the whole thing was that up until then, I'd've probably classified myself as "lesbian, not adverse to the use of males as dildos" on a survey. Assuming I wouldn't just use it as toilet paper. But for a grand total of seventeen months, I was not only exclusively boy-crazy, I was exclusively mono. I almost knifed one of the other girls in the gang that I'd screwed a few times when she wondered if I'd be interested in sharing. If I hadn't been crazy in love with the guy, I would have scared shitless. Maybe I was. And then he got himself killed. I mean, after that, you'd expect me to be disinterested in any kind of companionship for a while, right? A few weeks of mourning, then back in the game. Try eighteen months. Hell, I still remember the first time I thought about doing anything. I'd just caught Mackie putting a videocamera in my trailer, and after I tore a strip off of him, I stared at him for a while, and then said, in a curious tone, "Mackie, do you wanna fuck?" Sylia *would* have killed me. This added spice. Unfortunately, the geek fainted dead away. So I dumped him back at Sylia's, and tore off looking to get lucky. Three hours later, I lit up for the first time that year. I didn't go wild ... here a groupie, there some "record executive" (read guy who knows a guy who knows a guy, yadda yadda yadda). I'm pretty sure Sylia would have cracked down on me like a ton of bricks if I went through as many boyfriends as Linna did. She wrote that she let each of us have one bit of freedom. Linna could chase cute boys to her heart's content, Nene could scope out as much dirt as she wanted on her lonesome, and me ... I got to break things. And then I met Sylvie, and I broke some things I couldn't put back together. Dumb-ass way of putting it, but true. I would've slept with her. Almost did a couple times. But we couldn't do it at my place (she was worried about her sick little sister) or hers (ditto) and I didn't want to do it in public, or in some "love" hotel. I wanted to be in bed with her. You can call it a yearning for intimacy or something psycho like that, but that was what I wanted. And I never got it. Afterwards ... I don't know how long I was off the market, after that. I do know that I *did* have sex at least once between 2033 and 2041, but I don't remember much about it. So this thing with Sheila was something new. Both of us were alive, and I had regrets. Lots of 'em. I brushed the crumbs off my hands, and looked over my shoulder again. She was gone. Irritated with both of us, I stood up, and carried my tray to the disposal. It was then that I heard a female-type voice that I didn't recognize at first, behind me. "Ms. Asagiri?" the voice inquired. I turned, started on, "Yeah, who wants to kn-" and graduated to, "-oh, shit." Her long, aqua-blue hair tumbled down her back, and her cold blue eyes were gazing daggers at me. It was Lieutenant Ryouko Mizuno, the woman whom Sheila referred to as her nemesis, and claimed was the biggest homophobic ego-freak in the Realm's powered armor corps. "Ah, you remember me," she said quietly. "Good. I was wondering if you and I could have a few ... words, elsewhere?" Shit. SYLIA Immediately after the conclusion of my interview, I was returned to my chamber. The fact that the door was firmly locked prevented it from being a room, yet I had quickly determined that I was not under surveillance -- which indicated that it was not a cell, either. At least, not under technological surveillance. I despise magic. A psychologist might well attribute this to my need to be in control at all times, and a reaction to my feeling of being helpless when confronted with a power that I can neither manipulate nor fully comprehend. I could not argue with that analysis. In any event, after I was taken to the chamber for the second time, My father had been something of an enthusiast for science fiction classics, and had ensured that I was exposed to certain works at a very early age. I learned to read on Asimov's juveniles, and progressed from there. The first film which I can remember with any degree of clarity is Kubrick's "2001". This doubtless explained why I found it surreal that I was being imprisoned in a room which had clearly been constructed to echo the architectural style of the period to which I was native. I began to feel less like a captive than the subject of an experiment. The dreamlike quality that had almost overcome me in the first few moments of my awakening in this place returned, in part. Unfortunately, the Crystal Tokyo Society were not as adept as the makers of the monolith, and so I could have spent hours picking apart their replica's mistakes. I elected to not do so. Within the chamber's dresser drawers, I found clothes tailored to the fashions of 2041 -- the strangely muted style that the designers of Paris, Neo Angeles, and Beirut had popularized, almost in a prophecy of the chaos that would engulf the latter part of the year. Convenient. I had rather liked that style. Doubtless the clothes, like the chamber itself, were a reward for agreeing to have the psychological evaluation performed. No reward had been promised, of course. That would have biased the responses, in any other subject. I stripped out of the rough white hospital garment, and began to dress. Then I remembered the true reason that I'd approved of that year's fashion -- gloves had been in. Perhaps half an hour after the interview concluded, guards appeared at the door to the chamber. I was told that I had been asked to come to a meeting with my physician and others. I asked which others. "Lady Mars and Lady Jupiter will be present, as well," I was told. >From comments which I had overheard, I knew that my physician was called Lady Mercury. They seemed to have a fixation for the planets. Before you ask, yes, I *did* know about the legend of the Sailor Soldiers. I simply disbelieved it. Nor had I ever become familiar with more than the general details of their appearances. Which explains why I did not react strangely to the sight of them when I was brought into their presence. They were seated behind a long table -- Mercury in the middle, with Mars to her right, and Jupiter to her left. Introductions were made, and I was invited to sit down in a chair before them. Mars was looking at me with a studied neutral expression, but I could see hints of curiousity about me in her eyes. Curiousity ... and respect. On the other hand, Jupiter was looking at me with thinly disguised irritation. "Ms. Stingray," Mercury began, "I believe that this discussion should clarify a number of matters for you. Please feel free to interrupt any of us if you have questions." After a moment, I realized that they were waiting for a response, so I nodded silently. "First of all, you should be made aware that the psychological examination which you have just recently undergone was not, strictly speaking, an undirected inquiry. There was a specific question which it was intended to answer." She checked her notes, and frowned slightly. "I see that you were informed of our policy in regards to cybernetic and biotechnological implants during the inquiry. You are aware, then, that overly extensive modification of this kind can cause a question, under our laws, as to the humanity of the subject of modification?" I nodded again. So far, this required very little interaction. So far, so good. "Incidentally, Ms. Stingray ... would you care to enlighten us as to the origins of the modifications to your body?" I considered my options, realizing that there was more than simply passing interest behind the question. Focusing on incidentally, I changed the direction of the discussion. "Am I required to give you an accounting of it?" Mercury opened her mouth to reply, then turned to look at Jupiter. The other woman's frown deepened. "While it is our policy to license and regulate all cyber and biotech surgeons," Jupiter said slowly, "we have never *required* those who had modifications performed outside of our jurisdiction -- in terms of time, as well as space -- to register their modifications." I sensed that I had scored a point, though I was not sure with whom. "Then I cannot see how my describing the circumstances under which I had them done would change matters, since all of those involved are deceased -- except for myself." A slightly catty comment wriggled its way from my brain to my tongue before I realized what was happening. "And in any event, I believe that my personal journal is available to you, and I discuss a number of the incidents there." Mars frowned, but said nothing. "Very well," Mercury said, calmly. "Let us continue to the main point of this discussion. Ms. Stingray, I am pleased --" She did not look as pleased as all that. "--to inform you that the results of your psychological evaluation demonstrate that you *are*, in fact, still human. I should note, however, in reference to certain worries which you expressed during the evaluation, that we do extend full citizenship to many who do not qualify as humans." She seemed to be fishing for a reaction. I considered giving her one -- lifting an eyebrow to feign curiousity, for example -- then rejected all such ideas. I simply gazed back at her. After a few seconds of this, she shrugged almost imperceptibly. "Moving along, I am pleased to offer you citizenship in the Crystal Realm. Normally, we require immigrants and infants to take an examination before granting them --" "I have a question," I interrupted. "Yes?" Mercury responded. "The Crystal Realm, as I understand it, constitutes the government of the entire planet Earth, as well as its orbital and lunar colonies. If I elect to not accept this gift of citizenship, will I be obligated to leave this world?" Clearly none of them had been expecting *that*. "No," Mercury replied, a bit unsteadily. "I believe that there are roughly ... perhaps ten thousand people, living on Earth, in orbit or on the Moon, who are eligible for citizenship yet have elected not to obtain it. Exact numbers are difficult to obtain, since they have no obligation to cooperate with census takers, but --" Interrupting again, and rather enjoying it, I suggested, "Perhaps you could describe the benefits and responsibilities of citizenship within this Realm?" It may have been a misstep. Mercury turned to look at Jupiter once more, and the latter seemed rather less discombobulated by my rapid changes of topic than she did. "The first -- and fundamental -- right and responsibility of a citizen of the Crystal Realm is that of franchise. Naturally, only citizens may vote." "Or hold public office, I presume?" I asked. Mars suddenly leaned forward. "Actually, Ms. Stingray, the concept of `public office' is foreign to our system of government -- although a number of communities, particularly in the Americas, have established mechanisms to elect representatives to address her Majesty. The voting mentioned is in direct democratic decision-making." "I see," I said slowly. Direct democracy, with almost universal enfranchisement. Something never attempted, to my knowledge. And yet, with a monarchy. An exceedingly strange combination. "However," Mars continued, "only citizens may join either of our armed forces -- or work for companies which have contracts with them." I nodded. Not surprising. She stared at me for a moment. "I'm not sure you understand, Ms. Stingray ... the only way for you to have sufficient security clearance to work with Ms. Asagiri is --" Any semblance of a good mood which I had felt evaporated. "I repeat myself. That person is not Priss. I have no desire to --" "What the hell are you talking about?" Mars asked. "She is. I should know." I blinked. "She -- I was informed that she was a clone of --" Mars immediately turned to glare at Jupiter, who glared right back. "I had nothing to do with this," snapped the tall auburn haired woman. "If Asagiri told her that she was a clone, she did it on her own time." Own time? Mercury spoke up then. "Ms. Stingray, I think I should explain. Due to a psychological trauma of uncertain nature, Ms. Asagiri seems to have lost her memories of the interval between 2033 and 2041 -- when she was rescued by us, and placed in cryogenic storage at her request." She hesitated, then continued. "I believe that she feared that you would not believe her, if she stated that she could not remember those years, and so ... she lied." Lied? But she ... but I ... but she ... but I ... butshe butI butshe butI butshebutIbutshebutIbutshebutIbutsheIsheIsheIsheIsheIsheIsheIsheIsheI-- "Ms. Stingray?" I heard Mars ask, with concern in her tone. I closed my eyes. You never gave me the chance to be what I wanted to love you as I am. I opened my eyes. "Are you all right?" Mercury asked, half-standing. "I'm fine," I lied smoothly. "Well. Uh, to return to the original focus of this discussion --" "I am sorry, but I will require more time to fully consider my options before I make any decisions. May I be excused?" I asked as I rose from my chair. Mercury opened her mouth, then nodded, slowly. "You may at any time reach us through the vidlink in your room." "Thank you," I replied. "Oh. Could you give me directions to the nearest washroom?" Jupiter did, with a confused expression on her face. I bowed, and quickly left. I locked the door to the washroom behind me, and went over to one of the sinks. I began to mechanically wash my face, seeking to eradicate any sign that I had cried recently. I hadn't. That was the strange thing. For a long moment, I stared at my red-rubbed face in the mirror. And then I realized where I'd made my mistake. Her eyes. The colour of them could easily have been faked. But not the pain. The pain that was always there, no matter how much she tried to bury it behind walls of machismo. It had grown worse, over the years, but even in 2033 it had been there. No clone, no matter how perfect, could have faked that. I should have known. It was, after all, part of the reason that I loved her. I walked over to the washroom window, and was pleased to note that it slid open, and that there was no screen behind it. I looked down, and determined that I was perhaps ten stories above the ground. More than sufficient. I began to climb out. "You don't want to do that," a modulated voice behind me said. I quickly looked over my shoulder. Standing a few feet away was a black Hardsuit. Behind the visor, a green light was glowing. The suit itself was a hodgepodge of the various styles I had designed over the years -- and I was disturbed, on one level, to realize that a few of them were designs which I had only considered towards the end, and never actually set to paper. "Don't I?" I asked the obvious hallucination. The head unit shook in a gesture of negation. "You have made a mistake. But so has she. Do either of you deserve to suffer forever for your --" "You don't understand!" I burst. "It's not just one mistake! It's *countless* mistakes! How many times have I been on the verge of telling her, when she's done something to push me away, or I've done something to push *her* away? How can this be love when we only try to hurt each other?!" "If you did not care, then you would not be hurt," the hallucination told me. "That you are hurt by what she does, and regret that she is hurt by what you do --" "Spare me the platitudes!" I snapped. "What will she feel when she learns that you have killed yourself?" the perfectly obscured voice asked. I wanted to scream. "I won't care! I'll be dead, and I won't be able to care what she feels anymore!" "You do not accept the possibility of an afterlife? To deny the possibility without evidence either way is hardly logical." I closed my eyes, and drew in a long, shuddering breath. "The only god there ever was died when I was twelve, and I would not wish to see the heaven he might have created." It had been dark, and it had hurt. He had said that it was necessary, and it had hurt. I wanted to die, and it had hurt. I heard the sound of a visor being lifted. "Your father was not a god, Sylia. You do him dishonor by thinking of him in that way." It was a woman's voice. I opened my eyes to look into the face of the Black Knight Sabre. To Be Continued "Bubblegum Crisis" was created by Toshimichi Suzuki and others, and brought to North America by AnimEigo. "Sailor Moon" was created by Naoko Takeuchi and brought to North America by DiC. This story, while incorporating characters from a motion picture held under copyright by others, is copyright 1998 by Chris Davies. Nobody Sue Me Okay? Chris Davies, Advocate for Darkness, Part-Time Champion of Light. "WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT FOR THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN?" -- Death, in "Reaper Man", by Terry Pratchett. http://www.ualberta.ca/~cdavies/hmpage.html