Chris Davies Whose Will Be Done? Book One: Hashiin I lost my faith in an unusual, yet quite common way. I know this from listening to the voices of many of those who came to me for counsel in those days, expressing everything that I also felt, but kept a secret tightly within my heart. I have to stress that I still *believed*. As my husband was wont to say, I believed the whole nine yards. The Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit, the holy Church, the communion of saints, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. I believed that a rational person who did not believe in miracles was not a realist. I believed in predestination, and I believed in the freedom of will. And I had learned how to support believing in those two contradictory tenets, and believed in the logic that supported them. I just no longer felt as though it no longer had any connection to my life, or indeed to the world in which I lived in, to borrow from the Beatles. I tried to keep up a brave front for the small number of souls who came to the church, stayed involved with our attempts to bring in new members. I remained optimistic, and calm, and serene while surrounded by troubles. And it took a man who did not express optimism, who was given to the bleakest pessimism, to give me back my faith. * * * His name was Urawa Ryo, a member of our church since before I had had any inkling that my Calling would lead me back to my father's home. I learned within the first few weeks of knowing him that he was a minor celebrity, having been one of a small handful of people who had suffered youma possession during the Golden Age, decades before. He'd been an associate of the Sailor Senshi, who had saved him from his possession ... who had in fact saved *all* of that small group, who had become friends with each other later in life as a result of their shared experience, and started to attend the church, which was being ministered to by one of them, my predecessor. Urawa-san was, in fact, the last of that small group of victims. He quickly became a friend in addition to a member of my flock, and his enthusiasm for Canadian football led to his friendship with my husband, even though they argued fiercely about the rightness of the referee's calls, which Urawa was always correct in guessing. Whenever he came over to join us for dinner, we would both listen to his stories about the Sailor Senshi, and of the other heroes who had danced their way into legend all those years ago -- the Ai Tenshi, Great Mazinger, Cutey Honey, Mighty Atom, the original Supercar, the Thunder- birds of International Rescue, and all the others. Tom, God rest his soul, would always scoff at them afterwards, accusing Urawa of mixing half a thousand stories much older than the golden age had been in order to fill in the blanks. But Tom was always willing to hear another, too. The saddest thing is, he listened more closely than I did. Before illness and bitterness had begun to take its toll on him, Urawa often accompanied me on my visits to the sick and aging members of the church. He insisted that even though Graviton City was still one of the safest places in the world to live, even with the then-recent loss of its greatest protector, there were still places where a woman -- "Even a woman of the cloth, Bara-sensei," he added quickly, always -- should not walk unaccompanied. I let him have his rationalization for wanting an audience for his monologues as we walked. I recall once that as we were passing the scene of an "accident", as everyone was quick to refer to it -- fearing retribution if blame should be laid to either of the involved parties -- that the anger that Urawa felt first began to show itself. He walked up to one of the plainclothes officers -- a rather beautiful man, roughly my age -- who was supervising the cleanup, and asked him point blank, "Young man, do you miss the concept of human achievement?" The officer blinked. "Uh ... excuse me?" "The Nobel Prize. The Olympic Games. High school tennis matches. Do you miss things like that?" "Urawa-saaan ..." I said as I gently led him away from the confused officer. We had only gone a few steps when I heard the officer call out, "Oi! Old man!" We both turned, and saw that the confusion on his face had gone away, replaced with a sense of sadness. "Yeah," the policeman said. "Yeah, I do." Then Lieutenant Daley -- for that was his name, as I heard him called by his associates -- was called away, leaving me to wonder which was more disturbing: the oddity of the question, or the fact that the man had known exactly what Urawa was talking about. And so did many others, increasingly. Urawa insisted that the root of all the problems that the world faced was that when humanity had demanded more of its children than it had ever asked before, in order to prepare them to face the future, they had gotten more than they had ever bargained for. To be more specific, they had gotten the Newtypes. And Urawa had mocked and disdained these self-appointed champions and heroes, comparing them unfavorably to the "real" heroes he'd known in his youth -- heroes who had, he claimed, promoted human achievement, rather than belittling it. The world around us kept getting even more dangerous, and Urawa seemed to mirror its growing coldness in the way he seemed to grow feebler and angrier at the same time. Towards the end, before he went into the hospital for the last time, he occasionally lost what little decorum he had and went into rants in which he quoted extensively from the Book of Revelations. Or the Apocalypse, as it was once known. I remember his last day as though it were yesterday. It is almost as though I am still there, in some way, still indulging him by listening to him reading from the book which so fascinated him ... ... still ... * * * "`And I saw the Lamb break open the sixth seal. There was a violent earthquake, and the sun became black like coarse black cloth, and the moon turned completely red like blood. The stars fell down to the Earth, like unripe figs falling down from the tree when a strong wind shakes it. The sky disappea --' KAFF!" "Yes, Urawa-san," I take the chance to interrupt peacefully, "this is all very interesting, but wouldn't you rather read something more cheerful?" "You don't understand, Bara-sensei," he wheezes. "I have seen what St. John saw, all those many years ago! It's not ... it's not an allegory, sensei ..." "I know that you've been having nightmares, Urawa-san --" "Not nightmares!" he insists. "Visions! Visions of what *will* be!" He struggles to sit up, and inadvertantly yanks the intravenous needle from his arm. "`Their chests were covered with what looked like iron breastplates, and the sound made by their wings was like the noise of many horse-drawn chariots rushing into battle'!" A middle-aged nurse, with short-cropped blue hair gone to a metallic sheen, pokes her head in the door. "Oh no," she mutters, and calls for a doctor ... but not before Urawa sees her. "Ami-chan!" he calls out. "For the thousandth time," she says in an irritated voice, "my name is A-RI-mi! Not A-mi!" Then the doctor is there, gently forcing Urawa to lie back. "Sensei!" he calls out. "I owe you so much ... and yet I have nothing to give you but my insight --" "No!" I try to insist. "You don't owe me anything, Ryo ..." I pause, momentarily startled to realize that I have never before this point called him by his personal name. "It's all in the book, Bara-sensei!" he gasps. "Read it! READ IT!" From the expression on the doctor's face, I can guess that it may well be that I will soon take on the role of my vocation that I enjoy least. I open to the First letter to the Corinthians, and begin to read aloud, though my voice is shaky. "`There is, of course, a physical body, so there has to be a spiritual body. For the scripture says, "The first man, Adam was created a living being"; but the last Adam is the life-giving spirit. It is not the spiritual that comes first, but the physical, and then the spiritual ...'" And although there is more, Urawa Ryo does not hear it. And for long hours afterward, I wonder why I did not begin further down, and offer the words of comfort that come later in that verse. The funeral is sparsely attended. A handful of Urawa's fellow church goers, and myself. And a sad-eyed blonde young woman, her hair done up in buns with streams of hair flowing back from them. I wonder, briefly, if she was one of Urawa's relatives. It is a few days later that it happens. I have purchased groceries at the local supermarket, and am walking home. I come to a cross walk, and wait for the light to change. This saves my life as the bus flies down the street, passing a few inches in front of my glasses. I hear the sound of the impact, and turn to see what has caused the bus to become airborne. It is, of course, a struggle between Newtypes. I recognize only a few of them. The Knight Razor is probably the most famous of the ones struggling here and now -- the polished ceramics of her Hardsuit are infamous, even if they are only for show. Her half- cyberdroid physiology ensures that she can take vastly more punishment than even a Hardsuited warrior, like her reputed parent, could endure -- to say nothing of her weapons. The one who calls herself Burnt Honey is there, her features and clothing shifting from moment to moment. I note with vague distaste that the two known as Younger Mars and Younger Jupiter are also fighting this day. The irony being that they're on opposite sides, if I understand the conflict. If the concept of "side" applies". The others are unfamiliar. The minotaur figure who towers over all of them seems somewhat familiar, as do the two shockingly dressed women who chase after it with whips ... but I can't place them. I suppose that it doesn't matter. Ultimately, they are all equally dangerous. They number in the nameless thousands; progeny of the past, inspired by the deeds of those who came before, if not the honor. They no longer fight for the right, or for a cause. They fight only to fight, their only foes each other, as they boast of having eliminated the various kinds of monsters and demons hiding within the earth. Small comfort. They move freely, through the streets, and through the world. They are challenged, but unopposed. They are, after all, our champions. And they are coming this way. I become one of the crowd fleeing the rampage, my groceries fallen forgotten to be either crushed beneath the crowd's feet or to be destroyed by the battling Newtypes. I pause only briefly to snatch up a child who has fallen before he can be crushed, and note the tears of terror in his eyes. The instinct to tell him that boys don't cry is ruthlessly supressed. And then ... The ground begins to shake, much more violently than the gathered Newtypes have caused, bringing those of them who remain on the ground to their knees just as surely as it does us. And then the sun goes black, as a huge cloud of dust rises in the east, obscuring it like ... I think. An eternity passes, and I hesitantly look to the window of an electronics store, through which I can see the glimmer of television screens. I hope for a rational explanation. In one sense, I'm not disappointed. In another, I am. Time has run out. * * * "Then the kings of the earth, the rulers and the military chiefs, the rich and the powerful, and all other men, slave and free, hid themselves in caves and under rocks on the mountains! They called out to the mountains and to the rocks, `Fall on us and hide us from the eyes of the one who sits on the throne and from the anger of the Lamb! The terrible day of their anger -- DIES IRAE! -- is here, and who can stand up against it?!?" I pause to draw in breath, and my eyes meet those of the members of my congregation. Sometimes, when I've recited the scripture to them, I've seen a struggle for understanding in their faces, even from this simplified and translated version of the Word. And now, I wish with all my heart as it slows down from its earlier manic pace, that that was what was there now. Because they understand perfectly. And they are terrified. "... I ... please ... I don't know what came over me ... I am sorry for what I have done ..." The remainder of the service is almost happily brief, and the small handful of people present are all in a great hurry to leave, citing various reasons, obligations and commitments to attend to. As the last of them exits, I wonder, momentarily, if any of them will be back in a week. And then I remember that the world is poised on the brink of armag-- the apoc-- the end of the world, and so the question may become academic. I sit quietly in one of the pews, trying to understand what drove me, just a moment ago. Even before I felt my Calling, I disdained all the "preaching windmills", screaming, with mascara running down their cheeks, about the imminent apocalypse, which the actions of all the convenient targets were speeding up. And just now, I became something that I promised myself I'd never become. Spreading a gospel of fear, instead of one of love. But it's not my fault. It's these visions. My hand clenches involuntarily, and it doesn't register for a moment that I've torn a page from the Bible. I've tried to deny the visions as the product of an overwrought imagination in the wake of the Tragedy, but this moment of quiet reflection has reminded me that they had been coming even before that. But they had been less ... visceral, and I'd been able to dismiss them as my mind dwelling on Urawa's final words. The visions that Urawa had are now mine, and they are visions of utter despondence. If this is indeed what he saw, I begin to understand why he had embraced the doctrine of predestination. What can anyone do to prevent what is coming? The Tragedy proved it. Because of the Newtypes, the end is truly near ... and the Word of God so very far ... ... and then I hear it. The sound of wings. I lift my head to gaze at the "stained glass" at the head of the church, depicting the Ascension. For a moment, it seems to grow darker, more solid, and then something is moving through it. It ... she is a woman, clad in white robes. Her eyes are the most dazzling shade of blue I have ever seen, and her hair is the color of spun gold. It is drawn into a pair of buns on either side of her head, behind each of which there is a long tail of hair. On her forehead is the sign of the crescent moon, and from her back stretches wings. Long, feathered wings, impossibly large for a human to bear. They flap, once, as she descends to the floor. I notice, almost as an afterthought, that her feet are bare. "Tezuka Bara," the angel says, "I need your help." I hear myself whisper, involuntarily. "I am hearing things, as well as seeing things ... I've lost my mind." She shakes her head, once. "That you have *retained* your mind may be vital to the survival of humanity. Even as I stand before you, an act of utter darkness is beginning to take shape, and the end of the world draws near." She pauses. "But you know all this already, for yours are the dreams." "You can see into my mind? My *soul*?" I gasp. "What are you? An angel? Or --" I cut myself off before I can say that. "I am Serenity," she says, as though this would explain everything. "I have been charged by a higher power to bring justice to those responsible for what will be." Again, she pauses ... perhaps to let her words sink in, or to consider what the next ones should be. "Once ... I would have been able to determine who bore that responsibility easily, but time has ... eroded my confidence in this area. In order to make this judgement, I must be guided by a human soul who seeks justice." "But I don't --" "You will." Her tone does not permit debate. And then what has bothered me about her eyes dawns on me ... they don't reflect light. They are perfect, blue circles on a white sea with a dark centre -- with no more life in them than in those of a corpse. "Why me?" I delay, trying to understand what I am seeing. "Because I was too late in seeking out the dreamer Urawa Ryo. He also saw what would be, but his fatalism prevented him from acting upon it ... save for his final act of bestowing his gift upon you. Now will your visions guide us both. In order to complete the task before us, we shall be witnesses to the events that lead to armageddon. Come with me," she concludes, and extends an alabaster arm and hand to me. "But ... but I can't just leave! The church ... my congregation will need me to --" "-- to do what?" she asks, flatly. I look over my shoulder, self-consciously, to see the Bible I let fall from my lap when I rose as she arrived. The Bible with the torn page. I swallow. "All right," I breathe. "I'll come." I take hold of her hand, half expecting it to have the chill of the grave. I am startled at the warmth, and the gentleness with which she takes my hand in hers. As I realize this, the world around me begins to grow indistinct. It is at that point that it occurs to me that she had said that she would punish those responsible for what was to be. Not that she would prevent my visions from coming to pass, and I open my mouth. "That is not what I am meant to do," she says, calmly. "Once this world boasted many who would have tried to prevent the destruction to come, but you will soon realize that they are not to be the source of the solution in this case. In fact, they are very much the source of the problem ..." And then the world comes back into focus around us, and I gasp at the impossibility of what I see. A long, golden beach, beneath a setting sun, against an azure sea. And no matter how hard I try, I can't convince myself that the gentle roar of the surf is an illusion. It can't be real, and it can't be a product of my mind. I turn to Serenity to protest that this is impossible, and the words die in my throat as I see the other person in this place. "There is no need to be silent," Serenity assures me. "We can neither be seen nor heard. Not even by her." She crouches a few meters away in a runner's starting pose. Red hair spills down her back, unbound. From where she stands, I cannot see her eyes, or much of her face ... it is hard to tell how old she is. Her feet are bare, like Serenity's, but they are far from alabaster -- they are covered in wet and dried sand. Her arms and legs are well-muscled. She is dressed in a pair of red shorts and a short-sleeved blue shirt. "There's something about her that's familiar ..." I say slowly. "Indeed, though she is not truly a part of this world -- her lineage guiding to a planet long dead, and to a people thought legendary ... both of which have endowed her with what power she possesses. You know her by a name she has not used in ten years." And then, as though reacting to the sound of a gun that only she can hear, she begins to run. In the blink of an eye she's hundreds of meters away, her feet hardly seeming to touch the ground as she dashes ahead. I blink and realize that we're following her, maintaining a position only a short distance behind her. I don't feel any sensation of movement as we do so, but I do feel the wind that she makes as she cuts through the air before her -- She stumbles, and falls. The speed at which she was running propels her hard into the ground, and produces a huge explosion of sand in her wake. I jerk my arms up to keep it out of my eyes, but nothing seems to be affecting me. I lower my arms in time to see her rise from the ground, unhurt. She shakes sand out of her hair, brushes herself off, and for the first time I see her face. She looks like a woman in her early thirties ... but as she contemplates the hole she threw herself into, the mirthless smile she gives makes her seem much older. And all at once, I know her. "A-Ko," I whisper. "Not now," Serenity replies. "Not since she began her exile." I nod, on somwheat familiar ground. "I remember! She left Graviton City ... it was just before I came there. I ... I can't remember the details. There was ... there was a trial, of some sort. Things ... went bad. But she seems so lonely, here. So alone." I hear the bark of a dog, and turn to see a large black dog bounding down the beach, coming to A-Ko's side. The dog begins to lick her face, and she almost starts to smile. "Not always alone," Serenity notes, pointing at the young man standing nearby. I almost jump as I see him there, and wonder why I didn't notice him before. He's definitely distinctive enough that I should have. He is younger-seeming, in most respects, than A-Ko, though his eyes suggest that they are of a similar age. His short-cropped, light purple hair rests on a hard, scowling face that could have been chiseled out of rock. His body is even more tightly muscled than hers is, something which is clear even though his frame is covered by his baggy trousers and blue leather jacket. I glimpse the logo of a "Capsule Corporation" on the sleeve. There is a sword strapped to his back. "Hello, Eiko ..." he begins. She gives him a Look. He sighs. "Hello, *A*." A-Ko continues to pet the dog. "Trunks," she says brusquely. "Haven't seen you in ... quite a while, now. What can I do for you?" "Leave this place and go back to the real world?" the young -- Trunks replies. "I like it here." "You can't live out the rest of your life like a hermit." "It's a free planet. I can do pretty much anything I want," A-Ko answers, standing up as she does. "Which means that you don't *want* to face your fear," Trunks counters. "I'm. *NOT*. Afraid of her." Trunks lets out an exasperated sigh. "I didn't mean, *her*. I meant ... ah, shit. A, you've gone through so much --" "People die. *You* know that. And sometimes they don't come back, either." I find that last statement horribly confusing. I look to Serenity in hopes of gaining some clarification, but her eyes are on the scene before us. When I look back, A-Ko has started to walk away from him. "They were your mother and father, Eik-- *A*. And she was ... she was your best friend." A-Ko turns to give him a look that drips with contempt. "All right, *lover*. Happy? You still shouldn't call them `people'. Now listen, I --" "Trunks, I don't want to hear about it. All I want from life right now is the chance to lie in the sun and rest." "Oh yeah?" Faster than the eye can follow, his left elbow jabs out to press against something where I can only see empty space. "Wrong place for it." All at once, the sky vanishes, replaced with an arcing black and yellow grid. I can see now that the sea is actually a large tide pool on the far side of the room, which stretches for miles in either direction. As I had thought, it could not be real ... but that doesn't stop the brief flash of disillusionment. The dog, on the other hand, seems to take it even worse. He cowers and wimpers. A-Ko turns and slaps her hand against a different section of the grid, even as Trunks steps away from where his hand had rested. "You're scaring Hikari," A-Ko says shortly. "Stop it." "As long as I'm getting a reaction from *someone* here. Now will you just hear me out? Do you not know what's happened out there? A, she's out of control." "You don't say." "Yes, I do, and yes, you told them that she was that way ten years ago, and yes, *they* didn't listen to you. Get over it." "I don't care anymore," A-Ko replies, turning away and stepping through a door in "mid-air", which leads into a room filled with the pieces of broken robots. "Oh yeah?" Trunks demands. "Two words. Love and justice. Do they sound familiar, or have you forgotten them completely?" A-Ko looks over her shoulder at Trunks, her eyes shadowed due to the irregular lighting in this room. Her expression is almost impossible to read. "Just see for yourself, what she's done this time. That's all I'm asking," Trunks presses. "Just ... be ready." A-Ko taps on a section of the wall of the robot room, and a door opens up into darkness. She walks into the darkness, and picks up an antiquated remote control from a table. Pointing it forward, she presses the power button. A thousand television screens, forming the far wall of the room, activate simultaneously. The sensory shock of going from silent darkness to that intensity of light and sound would cripple any normal mind, to say nothing of the impossibility of making sense out of the barrage of information in every language of humanity. A-Ko's eyes flash across the screens, as fast if not faster than her legs had moved during her run. They come to rest every few seconds on a particular stream of close-captioned text. "the inconcievable tragedy which struck --" "-- el mundo fue shockeado por horribles actos --" "-- le President des Etats Unis et son cabinet ont descendu aux citadels subterraneans --" "-- no word as yet on any response from the Lepton Kingdom --" "-- une Newtype Japonaise au nom de --" "Wir haben gelernt das Sakura uns gefahdet hat --" And now a single word breathes forth from A-Ko's lips. "Sakura ..." "-- fight appears to have begun in the American city of Miami, where Sakura, along with the other members of the Japanese Floral Assault Unit, descended in force on Captain Napolipolita and the remnants of her invasion force --" " -- battle eventually carried to Cape Canaveral, where the survivors hijacked a space shuttle for --" "-- despite repeated offers to surrender --" "-- pursued by the Unit, to Genaros-1 --" "-- battle resumed almost before docking procedures --" "-- commentators were staggered, but not surprised by the ferocity with which Sakura pursued the attack --" "-- best known as being responsible for A-Ko's disappearance ten --" "-- alone, Napolipolita obviously panicked --" "-- final assault in Genaros' main reactor core --" "-- last transmission from Genaros station's security monitors clearly shows --" "The mecha has been knocked back OH SWEET MOTHER OF GOD THE REAC--" "-- e quella fu la fine." A-Ko's eyes rest on a single diagram, depicting the descent of an object from a Lagrange point to impact with Earth. "The explosion, killing all but a handful of those on board the station, also altered its orbit so dramatically as to send it on a collision course with Earth. Despite efforts of United States Astro Guard Interceptors to destroy the falling star, it impacted into the west coast of California and exploded, creating the largest astrobleme in this geological epoch, centered around the site of the town of Bashtarle. The tremendous explosion also triggered a Richter 11 earthquake along the entire San Andreas Fault, essentially devastating the California coastline far more extensively than the Second Great Kanto Earthquake devastated Tokyo twenty years ago. There have been serious aftershocks reported all along the Pacific Ring of Fire, with tsunamis being reported throughout the Pacific, and the Tragedy is believed to have been a key factor in triggering the recent eruption at Mt. St. Helens. However, the damage remains heaviest in California, where the casualties are believed to exceed ten million. The entire state, and parts of Oregon, Texas, and Nevada, is essentially a wasteland at this point in time. As well, the destruction of one of the centers of the international marketplace has thrown the global economy into chaos. "Sakura, who escaped the destruction of Genaros through means which remain unclear, could not be reached for comment --" "Off," A-Ko whispers. At once, the room is dark and silent once more. A-Ko turns and walks away, not meeting Trunks' eyes as she leaves the room. "Come on, A -- you can't just walk away from this, you have to take a stand. If you don't, nobody else is gonna have the guts to do --" Trunks begins. "I can't do anything about what's happened," A-Ko says, not looking at him. "Go back to wherever your family has been, these last ten years. It should be safe there." She steps through the door leading to the illusory beach, and it closes behind her. For a moment, the scowl on Trunks' face falls away, replaced by a look of disbelief ... and mounting anger. His teeth clench, and there is a faint golden aura about his hair. He finally shoots straight up into the air, flying through the rock, and then the ice, of the Antarctic continent. Standing beside Serenity, some distance above, I watch him fly. "`... nobody else ...' Like who?" I ask. "All of those who, a decade ago, had to deal with the aftermath of A-Ko's decision to absent herself from the world. The shock of seeing her abandon the heroic ideal took an immeasurable toll on her contemporaries and peers. Some followed her example and retired, while others, unable to turn their backs on the world they knew, continued to use their abilities and equipment to champion order ... though often in secret." She gestures, as if parting a curtain. And I see a great city, which I recognize at once as Chicago. The Sears tower still dominates the early evening skyline, although we seem to be standing some distance above it. I suddenly see an object moving at vast speeds among the buildings, flitting about with greater speed than any helicopter, and greater agility than any bird. As I gaze at it, it grows larger and larger in my sight, until it's nature is clear. It's a car. A flying car. While hovercraft are hardly uncommon, in these days, it doesn't make any sense for this one to be designed to look like an automobile. "It is a tradition," Serenity informs me, softly. "This is the culmination of fifty years of work in creating the ultimate car -- a legacy passed for three generations ... and perhaps more. But the driver of this vehicle, unlike his father before him, does not compete to prove his car's prowess, and find adventure incidentally. The race he runs is a more lonely one, against time; seeking to set right even the most harmless of troubles in this city." "But that's impossible! No matter how fast his car is, he can't be everywhere at once!" "He can try. And with the power of his vehicle's engines, he has a chance of succeeding, from time to time. Much can be accomplished ... at Mach Five." Serenity gestures again, permitting me a glimpse of the man behind the wheel of the Mach Five. His face is covered by a mask and goggles, with a G emblazoned on his forehead. He is connected directly to the vehicle's controls by cybernetic linkage. Across the goggles of his flight suit streams a flow of information. And judging by the impression he has left in the seat of his vehicle, he has not left it in years. Then we are standing in mid-air above an island in the sea, on which there is a large industrial plant that dominates most of the landmass. I recognize it after a moment. "The Heatsinks," I say aloud. "The source of much of the electrical power for the Pacific Rim," Serenity replies, nodding. "These geothermal plants have been claimed as a protectorate of another of yesterday's guardians." We seem to move at an incalculable speed, passing through the walls of the complex as though they aren't there. Within, I see a group of uniformed, armed men moving through a shadowed corridor. "Some call this champion," my escort continues, not commenting on the terrorists below, "little more than a corporate lackey ... but he is feared by those who would interrupt or devastate this source of cheap energy." There is a sudden scuffling noise, and one of the terrorists goes into a shooter stance. "Dare da?!?" he shrieks. And then, from behind them, a white shape swoops down, moving among them with ruthless intent. "A white shadow that moves unseen," Serenity continues. "Once there were five ... now there is but one." When at last all the terrorists are beaten to the ground, I see the figure even more clearly. His muscular frame is clearly emphasized by the tight fit of the blue body suit he wears beneath the white cape. His face is covered by a mask of opaque blue glass. "The scientific ninja ... Gatchaman," Serenity concludes. Then we are within the void of space, beneath Saturn. My breath is almost stolen by the beauty of the great gas giant, its rings, and its moons. And then I see the ship casting its shadow on the rings, and lose my breath in truth. Every child knows that ship -- rebuilt from the hull of one of the proudest battleships of the Second World War, outfitted with alien technology -- "Yamato," I whisper. "Yes. Out here, among the outer planets, the space battleship stands its lonely vigil, its crew alert for any and all extraterrestrial threats. They have stood this guard for nearly ten years, all told." A gesture, and I can see the bridge of the great ship. It's not what I'm expecting. It is all but empty, save for an old man, seated in the captain's chair, gazing at a glass of wine. Then we are standing on a mountain, gazing down at a city that looks like a picture book image of ancient China. "The gods of yesteryear no longer walk with humanity, Tezuka Bara," Serenity explains gently. "Instead, they journey apart ... they have lost themselves in ancient civilizations ..." Then we stand among the spires of a city of gleaming crystal. In the distance, I see a dark-skinned girl sitting on a park bench, and a pink haired girl in a boy's school uniform jogging up to her. "... or in future times. They have left humanity to its fate." Then we stand, gazing down at the earth, from a close orbit ... and I know, without knowing how, that we stand where the Genaros space station had once been. I turn to Serenity. "And what about the ones who *weren't* gods? I remember one who dwelt in Mega Tokyo ... what has become of the last Knight Saber?" "Mega Tokyo," she whispers. And we are there. Within the dark alleys of that city, I witness a group of young hoodlums running away from the scene of their crime -- a fatal mugging. I hear one of them crack a joke that I can't quite make out, and the others laugh in response. A laughter which is cut off when the first railgun spike impacts the ground before them. They look up to see the slender form standing on a nearby rooftop, its palm pointing in their direction, its eyeslits glowing red, and turn and flee. Only to confront another, *identical* figure coming from the opposite direction. Six in all of the Saber Boomers -- they move far too gracefully to be humans, I realize -- finally corall the frightened muggers. "It would seem that the last Knight Saber has Mega Tokyo under control," Serenity muses. And then we are standing on the Seto Bridge, in Graviton City. In the distance, I can hear the sounds of another fight between Newtypes, and I note that there are people fleeing past us, but I ignore them. Instead, I stare at Serenity. "That's it? That's all you have to show me?" "Is something wrong?" she asks, politely. "You're damn right something's wrong! So what you're saying is that there's no hope?!?" "I never said that --" "That all you have to tell me is that those who might save us won't? That's it?!?" I shriek. "`There was a violent earthquake, and the sun became black like coarse black cloth, and the moon turned completely red like blood!' `The kings of the earth, the rulers and the military men, hid themselves in caves!' That's what Urawa saw! California was just the end of the beginning, because now all those idiots who call themselves *heroes* see themselves for what they really are! *LOOK AT THEM FOR GOD'S SAKE!*" I whirl around to see the fight myself. Burnt Honey is there, as is the giant minotaur thing from the earlier fight, with his two pursuers. The four of them seem to have combined their forces, however, in conflict with another grouping, of whom I recognize only the pink tresses of the Sukeban Deka. "They're *worse* than before!" I yell at the impassive face before me. "Then, at least, they had *some* grasp of responsibility! But now, nothing matters! They're following Sakura's reckless lead, right out of control!" Behind me, I hear a whip crack, and slice through one of the cables of the suspension bridge. Immediately, the other cables on that side of the bridge begin to groan and splinter under the strain of the weight, tossing the combatants about like so many toy soldiers. "Trunks was right -- nobody has the courage to *stop* the cycle, so it's going to go on and on and on! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME? If anyone is going to survive, we need --!!" And then there was a wind. No, not a wind ... a blur of motion, seizing the weapons of the Newtypes and smashing them beyond repair, incapacitating them if need be. The sound of metal cables being tied into knots. Then silence. And even before the fact that the fight was over has sunken into the bystanders, they know. Everyone know. We know ... and remember. "Look!" I hear a voice cry. "Up there!" Every eye tilts up to see her. She stands on the top of the suspension cable, balancing without effort. The blackness of her blouse transforms the otherwise unextraordinary schoolgirl uniform, making it look more like the clothes of a soldier. Her red hair flows down her back, unbound still, and her jaw is set. She has returned, and -- -- and the threat of armageddon hasn't ended. Dear God, it is closer than ever. To Be Continued. AUTHOR'S NOTES: On "Why?" Why the new title? Because Nicholas Leifker is working on another story entitled "Kingdom Come". I didn't want to force him to take on a different title because of me. And then there was that other story called "Thy Kingdom Come" that was the center of a debate that I was involved in. I note with a great deal of satisfaction that the author of that one still hasn't gotten himself out of the corner he painted himself into in another project he started a while ago. (Hold grudges? You bet yer sweet fanny I do.) Why do this? Because I adore Kingdom Come (see the next essay in this series) and I adore Anime (see the next essay after that) and I thought it would be fun to combine the two. It has been fun, and it has also been a *lot* of work. But I hope you enjoy the results. Why California? So I could wreak even more havoc than Waid and Ross did. Why a falling space colony? Because I couldn't figure out any other way to work Gundam in. Why make Sakura, of the computer game (and new OVA series) Sakura Taisan, the heavy? I'll go into that in more detail elsewhere. Why do writers go insane? Because they don't get commentary and criticism. Please send me your thoughts and feelings about what I've done here, I welcome all of it, even the flames. Why aren't I including the usual list of all the creators and distributors of the series I've referenced in this part in this space? Because it would go on forever. This story, while incorporating elements of motion pictures and the plotline of a magazine held under copyright by others, is copyright 1998 of Chris Davies. Nobody Sue Me Okay? Chris Davies, Advocate for Darkness, Part-Time Champion of Light. "Damn it all, how am I supposed to sit here and wallow in self-pity and disgust with all this racket going on?" -- Yuusaku Godai, Maison Ikkoku. http://www.ualberta.ca/~cdavies/hmpage.html