This is not the first fanfic that I have written. However, it is the first one that I have ever uploaded, so any com- ments/concerns/questions are welcome. I’d prefer not to be flamed, but then again you just can’t have it your way all of the time, ne? As obvious as the title sounds, there’s a little bit of explain- ing to do. The story takes place after the final season, in case that wasn’t immediately apparent. Even so, I have left the names of their sailor forms as simply Sailor ________. This is because I have only seen up to the end of the SMR episodes that were shown in North Amer- ica, and I’d prefer to leave the Super forms out of it so I don’t run into technical difficulties. I must warn anyone reading it that I do have a few scenes that may be disturbing to some readers. Nothing violent, nothing sexual, not even any questionable language, but it does get rather intense at times. But there’s a happy ending, so don’t panic! My personal rat- ing is hovering somewhere around the PG range, but it’s either that or PG-13 at some spots. The quotes in the final sections (I think that I used italics) are from Enigma’s “Return To Innocence” and are the property of Mi- chael Cretu and his crew at Virgin Records. They just seemed to fit in at that particular section. Unfortunately, I have lost my Romanized Japanese-English dic- tionary. The only words I have used are the common knowledge words (gomen, ne et. al.) and several words listed at the end of the story which come from Michael Crichton’s excellent novel Rising Sun. As to disclaimers——well, the Wonderful World of Sailor Moon was not mine, is not mine, and never will be mine. (Sigh.) Lawsuits would amount to nothing, and even though big corporations have the cold hard cash to throw away on lawyer overbilling, I do not. Enjoy my story. I can be reached at gramarye@rochester.rr.com if any- one’s interested. Apocalypse and Genesis—The Creation of Crystal Tokyo By: Gramarye Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice -Robert Frost Kaioh Michiru's violin performance with the Tokyo Symphony Or- chestra was the height of cultural events for the winter arts season. Her concert had been sold out for months, with ticket prices rising to astronomical figures as the date approached. Of course, Haruka and Hotaru had tickets, and Michiru had reserved a special box for them that gave an unobstructed view of the stage. The lights of the opera house dimmed, and the audience hushed itself with remarkable speed. The spotlights stopped wavering, and focused on a solitary girl in the center of the theater. Her sea- green hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back, and her long silver sheath dress seemed to shimmer with a light of its own. She raised her golden-brown violin to her chin, and began to play. The music ebbed and flowed, reaching grand heights of ethereal passion on the high notes and dropping to throbbing throaty strokes on the low notes. She bent her body into the song, swaying and floating with each new phrase. The orchestra was suitably muted, providing a background that did not interfere with the soloist's melody. Her fin- gers sped across the strings in a glorious virtuoso feat. The bow dipped and flashed, coaxing pure music from the thin and tightly stretched filaments. The melody soared as it drew to a close, swirl- ing higher and higher, almost causing the audience members to rise from their seats to follow the notes. Finally, the orchestra played a final chord, and was silent. Michiru smiled, closed her eyes, and softly drew the bow across the top string to create a note so high, faultless, and celestial that it seemed as if the gates of Heaven had opened a crack to give mere mortals a taste of paradise. Haruka caught her breath in surprise at the vision of loveli- ness. The combination of beautiful music and the even more beautiful musician was almost too much for her to bear. The song Michiru was playing seemed to be played only for her. Her face flushed in a sud- den un-Haruka-like burst of emotions, and she blessed the darkness that hid her expression from everyone. She's incredible, Haruka thought. Simply incredible. Hotaru's excitement level was reaching a peak. She was sitting in a plush velvet chair with a gigantic box of creamy chocolates in front of her, listening to the wonderful music that her Michiru-mama played. Michiru-mama. The name she had used in her childhood, and had not thought to use for years now, came back to her. Sweet memo- ries rushed at her as the violin played. The darkness of the symphony hall was enveloping, strangely comforting, completely unlike any other darkness Hotaru had experienced. This darkness held no fear, no hate, nothing unknown. She sighed in contentment, and focused her sharp eyes on the stage, not wanting to miss a note. The program for the evening was varied. The divine solo of the opening led to a fiery tango and from there to a sweet Bach concerto. After a brief intermission, the solo violin improvised a peaceful lullaby, which made Hotaru's head nod more than once as the song pro- gressed. Michiru ended with a selection from the Spring movement of Vivaldi's Four Seasons, a joyful call of new life and the awakening of hope. The audience was on its feet before the song had finished. As soon as the final chord had echoed and died away the applause and cheers began. Bouquets of flowers rained onto the stage, and a laugh- ing Michiru had to duck to avoid being hit by the single roses that appeared to fly through the air and land precisely at her feet. She bowed, once, twice, three times, and finally stood still and let the applause wash over her. Calls of "Encore!" were met with a modest smile and a small shake of the head. Haruka could see that she was exhausted. As she turned from the audience to walk offstage, a loud creak- ing noise from above suddenly surprised her and the crowd. She lifted her eyes to the catwalks in the rafters of the stage. One of the large, heavy flats of scenery was slowly swaying back and forth, and the frayed rope holding it up was sliding farther and farther away from the center. Someone screamed. The panic began. Michiru, frozen to the spot, could do nothing to move out of the way. Musicians fled in terror, throwing their expensive instruments to the right and left in their mad retreat. Hotaru shrieked, and Ha- ruka vaulted out of the box. She tried to run up the aisle to reach the stage, but her path was blocked by the onrushing horde of escaping people who had vacated their seats in the mezzanine. "Michiru!" she cried out. She leapt onto the back of one of the theatre seats, and flung herself toward the stage. Unfortunately, she misjudged the distance by a meter or so, and her lower right leg slammed into the first row of seats. She both felt and heard the bone break with a sickening crack; biting her lip until the blood came to stifle her cry of pain. She inelegantly landed halfway over the seat. Her stomach hit the seat back and she gasped as the wind was knocked out of her. Dazedly, she stared up at the stage. “Michiru...” she whispered hoarsely. "Michiru-mama!" Hotaru's agonized wail created an eerie echo of her first cry. The young violinist did not move. She placidly watched the rope slip off the flat, and gently shut her eyes. The flat quickly unrolled and fell to the stage with a resounding crash, crushing her beneath the weighted metal bar at the bottom. The glossy, golden wood of the beautiful violin was covered with a sticky, reddish-black-brown substance that slowly spread across the stage... * * * Tenoh Haruka slowly came to in the glare of bright lights and the pervading smell of antiseptic. She tried to shift her weight, but the pain that shot through her body was so great that the darkness fell again. It was almost a blessing to fall back into the silence, the comforting loss of feeling. When she awoke, she was lying prone in a hospital bed. Several bouquets of flowers were placed in strategic areas, covering up the drab décor of a private room. Faded curtains managed to dull the en- tering sunshine, but the light still gleamed off of the metal rigging that immobilized her plaster-covered leg. Traction. The force applied to put tension on designated parts of the body during medical treatment. She carefully turned the definition of the word over and over in her head. It began to lose all meaning, something that happens if a person stares at a word repetitively. Soon, it didn’t make sense. “Traction” just became a pair of meaningless syllables, not even a de- fined word anymore. She didn’t remember much of the concert. Things seemed to come and go in flashes, spasms, accusingly abrupt glimpses of a few seconds each. Consciously trying to remember only made the memories fade and recede. Perhaps it was just as well. Michiru was dead, that was the unquestionable fact. Haruka tried not to think about that. She tried not to think about anything. The only problem was that her immobility trapped her, and she had plenty of time to ponder. Thoughts came unbidden, flood- ing into her mind like a swollen river. The river always threatened to overflow, out of her mind and down her face in salty streams. That would never do. She had many visitors there to keep her company. It was nice to have someone there to break the tedium. Someone always seemed to be in the room with her, whether it was Ami with a pile of books to read, Makoto sneaking in food that was ten times better than the sterilized hospital cardboard, Rei and Usagi amiably bickering together, or Ho- taru sitting quietly by her bed and rubbing a fold of the sheets be- tween her fingertips. It was only when she was alone that the memories returned. Her chest would become tight in anger and hate and loss and grief, and she would clutch at the bedclothes. Once, she had ripped the top sheet in half and then tore it into thin strips, enjoying the feeling as the threads gave way and parted. For some reason, destruction felt good. Almost as good as the expression on the day nurse’s face when he walked in and saw the shredded linen. Nights were the worst. All she could think about was Michiru, everything they had done together, all they had suffered, all of the pain and the strife. Placing the mission above their lives, above even their love for each other. And now for her to die, not at the hands of an enemy, but by an accident. An accident. That was intol- erable, what Haruka could not bear. Her chest grew tight, and a single hot tear plowed down her cheek. She angrily wiped it away, cursing herself mentally for being weak enough to cry. Releasing that tear did feel good, though. The immobility en- forced by the traction apparatus had prevented her from attending Mi- chiru’s funeral. She had not cried, not even when the physical, emo- tional, and mental pain combined in hellish agony as the ambulance transported her to the hospital. Her broken leg would heal, given time. Time was one thing she seemed to have plenty of at the moment. She turned her head toward the calendar by her bed. Usagi and Mamoru would be bringing Hotaru up to see her today. Since the con- cert, she had been living in the apartment Mamoru and Usagi now shared. They would take good care of her for the time being. The only problem was what would happen after the time being. Setsuna had not been seen for a while now, and no one knew exactly where she was or how to get in touch with her. With both Michiru and Setsuna gone, Haruka was the only family Hotaru had. The tightness in her chest returned, but oddly did not fade away as it had before. Instead, it grew worse, and a dull pain shot through her arms and her neck. Moving her jaw was agonizing. Breath- ing was an absurdity; her chest was a sinking hollow that felt like a miniature black hole inside her body. She scrabbled feebly with her fingers for the call button, the emergency switch, but could not grab onto it long enough to press the button. At that ill-timed moment, Usagi, Mamoru, and Hotaru walked into the room. Haruka was not sure exactly what was going on. She knew that someone was screaming (probably Usagi), someone was shaking her vio- lently (probably Hotaru), someone was calling out for a doctor and a code cart (almost certainly Mamoru), but everything was veiled, dream- like. The hollow in her chest expanded, worse than any pain she had ever felt during a battle. She felt herself being sucked into dark- ness, pulled apart, all of her light fading into another place and time where she hoped Michiru was waiting patiently for her— The official medical report was that of a coronary occlusion. Ami had learned this from her mother, and took the time to explain the technical jargon to Usagi and the rest. Blood clots had remained from the broken part of Haruka’s leg. One of those clots had somehow de- tached itself and broken into a blood vessel, a major vein that led to the heart. That small piece of tissue and fiber had clogged a vein, cutting off blood flow to the heart muscles and stopping the pulse. The rest of the Senshi were dumbfounded. How could something so small and insignificant kill the one who was unquestionably the physically strongest of them all? Hotaru, speaking up for the first time in a week, answered the question in a voice that only quavered slightly: “I suppose that all things even up in the end...” * * * Aino Minako replaced the telephone in its cradle with a small sigh of relief, and rested her chin on her clasped hands. Working at a crisis hotline was exhausting. So many people with so many prob- lems, and all of them desperately needing someone to listen to them. Sometimes, all they needed was a cheerful, caring voice and a few words of encouragement. Others were so depressed that she automati- cally told them where to go to get the professional help she couldn't give. Minako enjoyed helping people, and felt wonderful when she helped someone work through their difficulties, but most of these ses- sions took a lot out of her. She was thankful when her supervisor poked his head in the door and told her to take a break. "You look like you need a change of scenery," he had said. Mi- nako couldn't argue. She stepped outside, pulling her coat on. The light breeze felt good on her face. It didn't have the metallic taste and sour smell that the wind often had nowadays, especially when it blew from the di- rection of the docks or the factories. Her stomach rumbled loudly, so she decided to head to the rooftop café a few blocks away. As she sat down to order, she began to think about some of the people she had talked to during the day. Anonymity was encouraged, but most of the time callers made up fictitious names. It made her job a lot easier when she could call the person by a name, any name. It strengthened the bond somehow, and was very reassuring. Only a few people had called during her shift. One caller in particular stood out in her mind. She sounded very young, and gave the pseudonym 'Hoshi' as her name. Her life was a serious mess. Her father drank, and in fits of drunken rage would beat her, her mother, and her younger brother. Her schoolwork had been slipping because she was too afraid to sleep, terrified that her parents' fights would es- calate into something worse. She had thought about running away, but she didn't want to leave her baby brother at the mercy of her father, and she certainly couldn't take him with her. The poor girl didn't know what to do. Minako had tried to calm 'Hoshi' down, and gave her a list of numbers to call to get herself and her mother and brother away from her father. Unfortunately, 'Hoshi' didn't sound very confident, and although Minako had tried her hardest, it was doubtful that the girl would gather up the strength to break free. Kami-sama, I wish that I could do something else for her. It's so agonizing, being on one end of a phone and not actually being there in person. Sometimes, I don't know why I even bother… She snapped herself out of the depressing trail her thoughts had taken. I'm probably just upset about the deaths of Haruka-san and Mi- chiru-san, she thought. It’ll be some time before I can get over it, before any of us can get over it. The waiter came, took her order, and left as swiftly as he had come. How will this affect our fighting strategy? Two of our strong- est fighters are gone—can we ever be as whole, as powerful again? It will be a lot more difficult to save the world from the assorted evils now. She absent-mindedly began to play with her long blonde hair, twirling it around her finger. To anyone looking at her at that mo- ment, she would have looked like a typical teenage girl, probably won- dering about a new dress she was thinking about buying. No one would have suspected that she was internally discussing the possibly grim future of humankind, the world, and the universe. A faint sound reached Minako’s ears. From her long training, first as Sailor V, then as the leader of the Inner Senshi, she immedi- ately recognized the sounds of screaming. Jumping to her feet, she ran out of the restaurant and followed the screams. As she ran, the wind whipping through her hair, she pressed the button of her communi- cator watch. Ami’s attentive face materialized on the screen. “Venus, what’s wrong? Youma attack?” asked Ami. “I’m not sure. I’ll try to keep you posted, but be on the alert. I don’t know exactly what I’m getting into.” Minako grimaced as she leapt out of the way of an oncoming bus. “Right. The audio channel will be open. Mercury out.” The screen went blank. Minako turned a corner, and saw a large crowd gathered at the foot of an immense apartment complex. They were all staring up at one of the upper floors. “What’s going on?” she demanded of a bespectacled young man who was gazing up at the building. The sunlight reflected off his glasses gave his eyes an eerie blank look, as if nothing existed behind the glare. “Someone’s on the ledge. They think it’s a jumper,” said the man callously, without turning his head to look at her. She shook her head in disgust, and mentally cursed him and his unfeeling attitude. Quickly looking up, she gazed at the small dot on the outside of the building, on the ledge of the forty-sixth floor. That small dot seemed to be rocking back and forth, although that might have been the result of her heightened imagination. The building’s entrance was not blocked at the moment. Minako pushed her way through the crowd, and shoved open the double doors. The security guard at the doors didn’t even have time to look sur- prised as she flew past him and up the fire stairs. “Do you need help? What’s going on?” Ami’s voice from the com- municator watch was almost drowned in a wave of static. “I can handle this,” Minako replied breathlessly as she took the stairs four and five at a time, bolting up the stairs at a speed that frightened her. “What? If it’s a youma, you can’t do it on your own. I’ll get the others—” “NO! I told you, I don’t need help!” “Minak—” Minako angrily pressed the button, closing the com link. I have to do this on my own, Ami-chan. I hope you understand. She burst into the hallway of the forty-sixth floor. She heard an elevator in the distance say, “Yonjugo kai” before closing and tak- ing off for floors unknown. Negative energy was pulsing through the corridor, but it wasn’t the dark force of an enemy. She realized with a gasp that all of the darkness was coming from a human, a human de- pressed and despairing enough to take her own life. Following the en- ergy was a simple task. Its concentrated power was enough to make Mi- nako almost nauseous. She jogged to the end of the hallway, to the door of an apart- ment. She tried the knob, praying that it would be unlocked, and to her surprise it opened silently and smoothly. At that moment, Minako knew that the suicidal thoughts and tendencies of the person were not as strong as she had previously thought. This precious knowledge, combined with the common sense that seeing Sailor Venus or any of the other Sailor senshi would not be the best thing for an unbalanced mind, prevented her from transforming. I’ll save her, but as myself—not Sailor Venus, not Sailor V. As myself. She walked into the apartment, and let the waves of negative en- ergy guide her. She stopped in front of an open window. The gauzy curtains billowed with the slight breeze that wafted into the darkened room. Minako carefully pushed the curtains aside, and looked out. A young girl, no more than fourteen, was standing on the ex- tremely narrow ledge that ran around the building at this height. She was pressed against the wall, clinging to the crumbling façade in sheer terror. Her eyes were closed, and tear tracks stained her oth- erwise pretty face. “Miss? I don’t think you should be out here.” Minako used her gentlest voice. “Go away.” The girl’s voice was shaking, but strong. “I just want to talk to you, okay? I won’t do anything, I prom- ise. My name’s Aino Minako. What’s yours?” She kept her sentences short, as she had been taught at the center. “Why do you care?” “I thought you’d want someone to talk to.” “I don’t.” “You think I’m here to stop you, don’t you. I’m not. In fact, just to show you, I’ll leave if you really want me to. All you have to do is say so.” Minako saw the girl’s face register puzzlement for a split second, but it quickly firmed again, and added a mask of non- chalance. “I don’t care. It isn’t as if anything I say matters to you, or anyone at all,” the girl said bitterly. “Do you mind if I come out there with you? It’s pretty lonely out here, don’t you think?” “I don’t think. At least, I won’t have anything to think about in a little while.” “You don’t have to do this.” Minako sat on the windowsill, and swung her legs out of the window. She began to edge slowly toward a standing position, taking care not to make any sudden movements and more importantly, not to look down. “Really? Then tell me, Aino-san, why are you out here to keep me from doing it?” “Because you don’t have to, that’s all. And call me Mina-chan. My friends do.” Minako noticed that the girl was reluctant to refer to her actions as suicidal. Her use of the phrase “doing it” was enough to indicate hesitation. Minako would have been more worried if she had actively said “suicide” or “jumping”. She took the next step tentatively. “You sound like you need someone to talk to, and it would be easier if you would tell me your name. It doesn’t have to be your real name; I certainly won’t know. It’s a little awkward to keep calling you ‘miss’.” “My name is Korematsu Omeko.” “That’s a pretty name, Korematsu-san. What do you friends call you?” The girl gave a harsh laugh, and quickly sobered. “My friends, when I had friends, used to call me ‘Hoshi’.” Minako’s sudden intake of breath caused the girl to glare at her. “What?” “Nothing. Gomen nasai. I...never mind.” She extended her hand cautiously. “Don’t touch me!” “Hoshi, please listen to me. I know what’s troubling you. I came to tell you that there are people who can help you, people who do care about you. When you called this morning—” Minako could have bit- ten her tongue off. The girl quickly turned her head to stare in unabashed astonish- ment. “I thought I...your voice, it...why did you…?” she whispered. “Please trust me, Hoshi. Like you did today. I know that it took a lot of courage to call the crisis center, but you aren’t being courageous now. The way down is the easy way out, and while it may seem like the best way, I know that it never is. Show me the courage that you had this morning. Let’s go inside now.” Hoshi nodded, and smiled a trusting child-like smile that was endearing and yet frightening at the same time. She grabbed Minako’s extended hand, and the two of them slid carefully along the narrow ledge toward the open window. The crowd cheered as the former jumper stepped inside. Their cheers quickly turned to gasps and screams of horror. Mi- nako, whose reflexes were sharper than all the watching mortals and most of the Senshi, had swiveled a little too quickly to help the girl inside. Her clumsiness made her lose her footing on the narrow ledge. She waved her arms frantically in an attempt to keep her balance, but the crumbling walls provided no handholds and the window was too far away to jump inside. To the horrified onlookers, the blond girl seemed to fall past the forty-six stories like a lead weight. As she fell, her body twisted and gyrated like a diver who knew that she wasn’t going to en- ter the water properly. The only screams heard were those of the more terrified members of the crowd. Most were too shocked to move or even cry out. After a breathless moment, they backed away en masse from the fallen girl, who had landed on her back on the concrete. The slight breeze ruffled her hair, its cherry-red bow still in place... * * * Hino Rei set her stiff bristled broom against the temple wall and leaned backward to stretch her cramped muscles. Now that school was finally over, she had more time to spend doing things at the shrine. Which equaled, at least in her grandfather's eyes, more time to do chores and keep the grounds tidy. Rei was thankful for the time she could spend in front of the Sacred Fire, concentrating on some- thing other than the in-ground dirt on the temple steps. She carried the broom inside, put it away, and went to her room to change into clean clothes. It was quiet for once; the tourists and visitors were strangely absent, and her grandfather and Yuuichiro were out, probably in search of pretty girls to work at the temple. Rei hoped they would find someone, not necessarily a girl, who could take some of the dirtier jobs off of her shoulders. As she washed her hands, she reflected quietly on the problems that the Senshi had been having. The tragedies had occurred too close together to be coincidental; it wasn't possible that three of them could die in the space of three weeks time. Yet the methods were com- pletely unrelated. It wasn't right. Rei pushed the thoughts out of her mind, not wanting to become too morbid. The silence of the temple grounds was nearly palpable. It was also incredibly uncomfortable, not to mention creepy. I suppose I'm just not used to it. If I'm not listening to the babble of the tourists here or the girls at school, then Usagi's bray- ing laughter is echoing through my brain as she messes up my manga collection, Rei thought wryly. Something else was troubling her, though. Her dai rokkan, her chokkan, had been giving strange feelings all day, but she couldn't pinpoint the cause. She decided to go and meditate, give herself time to think and clear her mind and focus on the deaths of her comrades. An idea might form, something might be revealed which could link eve- rything. She knelt in front of the fire, concentrating her mind and blocking out all other thoughts. She focused on the pure center, the heart of the flames. The fire almost seemed to encase her, to wrap her in a warm glow that soothed her troubled mind. Sacred Fire, what is troubling me? I know that these deaths should not be related, but nothing seems to make sense. Show me a sign. Help me figure out what to do. The mists floating through her mind whirled, cleared, wreathed in an unfamiliar pattern that puzzled Rei. Everything was vague, shadowy. After a while, small flashes began to emerge. Faces dis- torted in panic and horror. Spreading sheets of ice. Thick and chok- ing clouds hovering over the city. Cold, endless cold, the depths of the void, of black space… Rei screamed, and jumped up. She was shivering, freezing, her blue lips quivering around chattering teeth. The fire was blazing away in front of her, but she couldn't get warm. Her fingers were numb; her feet like blocks of ice. She grabbed one wall of the temple to steady herself, but it seemed to be shaking, too. Suddenly, she realized that the walls were shaking. In fact, the entire temple was rocking on its foundations as an earthquake tore its destructive way through the Hiwaka Shrine. Objects began to fly around the room, thrown by the collapsing of the walls. The sounds of sirens began to wail in the air, crying out to no one in particular that something bad was happening. The old walls and floors of the shrine crumbled and shook. Rei pitched forward, and half stumbled, half fell into the doorway of the room. She clung to the lintel, but it gave way and broke off in her hands. She dropped to the floor, her hands clasped behind her head, trying to remember what do in the event of an earthquake. Get away from the windows, stock up on bottled water and instant soup, hope to hell that you were someplace else. The old shrine simply could not take the strains of an earth- quake that was later reported to have reached 7.4 on the Richter scale. The roof began to creak, and little pieces of ceiling began to fall like hail. Rei heard a loud CRACK, and then a sudden flash of clarity erased the fear from her mind. She saw what was to come, what her death would help to bring about, and she smiled in true joy even as a tear ran down her face. "Gomen, Usagi..." she whispered. It took the police three days to sift through the rubble of the Hiwaka shrine. The broken body of the young girl was found after ten hours of searching. Strangely enough, the only object untouched by the earthquake was a stiff-bristled broom, still in immaculate condi- tion... * * * Mizuno Ami drove down the freeway on her way home from the hos- pital. Although she was still in her first year at college, she was using what little spare time she had to gain some experience on the inside. She was able to observe what the doctors and nurses did, and a pad of paper was always within reach to jot down notes. Her mother had told her that even a receptionist job would give her valuable ex- perience in procedure, which would make her studies less confusing and arduous. Even so, she thought, I’m still sitting behind a desk. It’s too bad that sitting is all I’m doing. I hate being on the outside look- ing in—I’ve done that far too long already. She glanced in the rear-view mirror, then cautiously shifted lanes. As she headed toward the nearest exit, she spotted smoke in the distance and a mass of traffic. She sighed. I hope I won’t be late for the meeting at Makoto’s apartment. We’ve got to discuss what’s going on—I don’t like it. Maybe there’s a connection somewhere...it could be a new enemy who’s trying to wipe us out one by one...or maybe I’m just trying to rationalize my grief. She snapped her attention back to the road, and slowed down as she approached what appeared to be a serious accident. As the scene came into her view, she gasped in horror. A massive tractor-trailer was jackknifed on its side, and beneath the twisted metal was a van, crushed like an empty soda can. People were slowing down, some to gawk, most to avoid hitting either the trailer or the van or those who had slowed down to gawk. Ami instinctively whipped out her mini-computer and scanned for signs of life. She picked up two readings coming from inside the van: one adult, one child. The readings for the adult were steady, but the child's signs were very faint and flickering back and forth. I've got to do something, she thought. I have to help. She braked quickly, flung open the car door, and ran to the mass of metal that had been a mini-van. With a feat of preternatural strength, she managed to wrench open the slightly crushed door and ex- tricate the hysterical woman from the front seat. The woman's nose was broken and bleeding, and her arms were badly bruised, but she ap- peared fine otherwise. Her eyes were racked with pain and hopeless- ness. Suddenly, the gas tank of the mini-van exploded with a violent flash. The engine quickly caught on fire, and the roaring flames rose higher as they fed on the abundant gasoline in the tank. "Save my baby! Please save my baby!" the frantic woman tear- fully begged as Ami forced her to lie down on the pavement by the guardrail. Ami swiftly used a tissue to staunch the flow of blood from the woman’s nose. She was tempted for a moment to transform and use her Shine Aqua Illusion to douse the flames, but she instantly realized that the time wasted by transformation and powering-up would jeopard- ize the lives of everyone around, especially the child. Steeling her- self, she stood up, stepped back, took a deep breath, and prepared to fight her way through the flames. This is it. I’m not a bystander now...Kami-sama, give me strength... A few minutes prior to Ami's arrival, a young businessman was sitting in the traffic jam caused by the collision. He was in danger of being late to work, a mistake that he could not afford to make. Drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, he leaned on the horn. As the other drivers turned around to snarl at him, his im- patience began to fester inside his soul, infuriating him to the point of recklessness. When he saw a small opening in the traffic, he vio- lently slammed on the gas and swerved around the cars ahead. The honks and curses of the drivers only served to fan his rage. He gunned the engine and sped down the only open lane. He didn't even see the blue-haired girl step away from the wreckage, directly into his path. Ami felt a sudden impact, a massive jolt that she hadn't pre- pared for. The driver of the car felt the collision, but its meaning didn't register automatically. It took his confused brain at least a minute to realize what had happened... * * * Kino Makoto, the young and ambitious sous chef at the brand-new French restaurant Le Cygne Gris, was having a very busy night. At the moment, the fickle restaurant-going set had declared the small eatery to be “hayatterunosa”—their highest honor. All of the restaurant's tables were booked for the evening, from 5:30 to 11:00. While not unusual on a Friday or Saturday, such an event was extremely odd for a Tuesday night. To make matters worse, a large party had re- served the restaurant's back room, seriously cutting down on the num- ber of people that could be seated at a time. The members of the large party were certainly getting their money's worth out of their night out. They were downing champagne by the crate, and eating any food brought to within a meter radius of their mouths. Waiters were staggering around, weighed down by massive trays of hors d'oeuvres. The average time for a tray to leave the kitchen full and return empty was somewhere in the nature of three minutes. The temperamental head chef, torn between the demands of the high-paying party and the equally high-paying customers out front, de- clared that he ‘could not create’, and had stormed out to have a ciga- rette and collect his nerves. Makoto, then, was in charge of the en- tire staff. She supervised the production of several dishes, and tasted the bouillabaisse that simmering on the edge of one of the stoves. All of the ovens, and several of the large burners, were in use as the staff tried to cope with the deluge of orders from the front. A special seafood soufflé was rising in a separate oven that Makoto would not allow anyone to touch for fear of a catastrophe—it was her homework for one of her classes at the prestigious culinary institute she at- tended by day. Waiters and waitresses shouted orders and returned with complaints, table clearers lugged heavy tubs of dirty dishes around, and the chefs were swamped with orders. To the untrained eye, it would have seemed like chaos. To Makoto, it was heaven. During one of the slower periods in between waves of seatings, Makoto quietly slipped outside, avoiding the chain-smoking head chef. She needed a brief moment to collect herself, even if it meant dodging the vast piles of refuse in the back. They really should move that stuff out of the way, she thought. It’s blocking the back entrance—not to mention the fact that it is disgusting. She didn’t let that bother her, though. She was doing one of the two things she loved best: cooking and fighting evil. She had an impressive resume on both accounts. She was thankful that her shift ended in an hour. Eight hours of constantly running around was not good for her, and her feet were swollen inside her white sneakers. All she wanted to do was go home, stretch out on her bed with a large cup of tea, and fall asleep to the gentle ticking of her clock. That picture was too appealing; she shivered slightly at the promise it held. She was glad that she had decided not to go to university. Spending hours over books just wasn’t her idea of proper education— hours over a warm stove was infinitely better. The culinary school she had applied to was very impressed by her entrance piece, a chocolate tart she had spent days perfecting. She could live at home and take classes during the day, which left her free to work at night and spend some time with her friends. Unfortunately, everything was falling apart. Her soufflé, her classes, her job, her friends—nothing was right in her life. Suddenly, she heard a panicked voice call out her name. “Kino-san! Kino-san! Hurry, there’s something burning!” One of the younger waitresses was frantically beckoning to her from the kitchen door. Makoto flew back inside, only to see a small plume of smoke rising from the oven containing her soufflé. She screeched. “My soufflé! I knew it! Oh, I could just kill myself—or someone else!” She angrily hit the oven door with a tightly clenched fist, leaving a dent. The rest of the staff backed off and pretended to be incredibly busy doing something else. They knew about her rapid mood swings, and instinctively realized that the next person to make eye contact with her risked grievous bodily harm. Makoto wrenched the oven door open, scowling at the remains of her homework. There would be no sleep tonight—it would take her two hours to prepare a fresh one and another nerve-wracking hour to watch it cook. She yanked it out and threw it, dish and all, into the gar- bage can. Just what I need. One more night without sleep. Sensei will have my head if it isn’t done by tomorrow. She slammed the oven door shut, knocking a stray bottle of cheap brandy off its top. The brandy, which was used to make the occasional crepes Suzette and other dishes requiring flaming liquor, fell onto a pile of cords clustered around an electrical outlet. The bottle shat- tered, dripping alcohol everywhere. With all of the ovens, stoves, blenders, mixers, and other appliances all on and going full blast, the brandy was the perfect flammable ingredient necessary to spark a fire. Which it did. Not many of the kitchen staff noticed it at first. They were too busy wrapped up in the pressing decisions of how much salt to add to the soup and whether or not the oregano was running low. The smell of burning was put down to the aftereffects of the soufflé disaster. Once the smell grew stronger, however, a few people began to look questioningly about in search of the source. The thick, acrid smoke rapidly filled the kitchen. “Fire! Fire!” cried one of the waiters, which started a mad dash for the doors. Most of the restaurant’s patrons, as well as the hostesses out front taking names, managed to bolt for the front doors. They escaped before anything happened. The kitchen staff, on the other hand, were blinded and disoriented by the choking smoke, and blundered about wildly trying to find a door. The young man who made it out first was hysterical, and ran straight into the heaps of gar- bage lying outside. A teetering pile of trash collapsed, blocking the back escape route for the rest of the people inside. Makoto, hearing the crash, shouted, “Go out the front! We can’t get out the back!” The shouting caused her to inhale a large amount of the smoke, and she collapsed, coughing and retching. The chefs and waiters ran around like the proverbial decapitated chicken, jumping on top of one another in their mad frenzy to escape. In the pandemonium, the sprinkler system activated. The water naturally short-circuited the out-of-control wires, and a fire erupted that would not be con- trolled. The sounds of the panic rang dimly in Makoto’s ears. She was fast losing consciousness as the fumes overpowered her. Just before she blacked out, she heard the fire sirens explode in her ears. Soon, the clamor of the bells shrank, then died away as she faded into noth- ingness. The fire consumed her body moments later... * * * Tomoe Hotaru leaned back against the pillows of the bed as an- other fit of coughing died away. Usagi brushed the hair away from the young girl’s hot forehead and reached for the glass of water by the bed. Hotaru sipped it feebly, clinging to the cool glass as if it was a life preserver. Sighing, she slid down between the sheets and closed her eyes. “I’ll make you some soup, Hotaru-chan,” Usagi said, smiling gen- tly. “No, Usagi-san, you don’t have to...” Hotaru’s voice faded. Speaking took too much energy. “I told you before, you don’t have to call me Usagi-san. Usagi- chan will do, or plain Usagi, or even Usako if you’d like. Besides, you don’t have to be afraid of my cooking. I can whip up a mean can of chicken broth if I have to. You just rest now, and the soup and your dose of medicine will be ready in no time at all.” As Usagi shuffled out of the slightly darkened sickroom, Hotaru tried to sink into the sheets. Her body seemed to be out of whack, one minute icy cold, the next minute burning like a furnace. Her lungs were tight, as the pneumonia wreaked havoc on her fragile sys- tem. She had been fighting the terrible disease for at least three weeks now—and no drugs the doctors prescribed had had any effect. Usagi-san...no, Usagi, she corrected herself...had taken a leave of absence from her part-time job at a day-care center to care for her. She had even switched some of her college classes to night classes in order to be there during the day when Mamoru was at work. Hotaru had often seen Usagi bent over a textbook late at night, some- times with Mamoru looking over her shoulder to check her work. Col- lege and Usagi work well together, she thought. She can set her own schedule to work and study. Or maybe I’m wrong, and she’s just ma- tured—however unlikely that might sound. She laughed to herself, and then stopped abruptly as it brought on a short coughing spell. Laugh- ing hurt too much. The sickness was partially her own fault. She had insisted on attending the funerals of each of her fellow Senshi. In a bizarre twist of fate, the weather at each had grown progressively worse, un- til only she, Mamoru, and Usagi had stood in a sheet of pouring rain to honor Makoto’s memory. She had caught a chill at Makoto’s service, which progressed into a cold and then deepened into pneumonia. It was a vicious illness, racking her body with spasms of pain and then van- ishing, creating an illusion of recovery. At least, until the next cycle of coughs came on. “The soup’s almost done! I’ll bring some green tea in, too.” Usagi’s cheerful voice bubbled over from the kitchen. “Now, if I could only find that kettle...here it is…I really wish Mamo-chan wouldn’t put it up so HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH!!!!!” The series of re- sounding crashes that followed indicated that Usagi was probably cov- ered with metal pots and pans. Hotaru smiled at the hilarious mental image. Usagi—the unfortunate girl was still prone to sudden fits of clumsiness on infrequent occasions. A sudden clutching pressure in her chest made her sit up sud- denly, and gasp in an attempt to drive enough air into her lungs. She flinched as she saw her reflection in a mirror directly across from the bed. Her lips were dusky and bluish, her face peaked, her eyes ringed by dark circles that looked remarkably like bruises. Lifting her hands, she noticed that the nailbeds were blue as well, and the blood vessels clearly showed through the skin. She was a wreck. Strangely, none of the drugs prescribed by the doctors had any effect on her illness. Penicillin, oxytetracycline, keflin, amoxicil- lin, erythromycin, even a few of the drugs given to late-stage AIDS induced pneumonia had all been forced down her throat. An oxygen tank had been wheeled in to the room in case of immediate need, but Hotaru knew that if throwing the entire pharmacy at her did not make a dent in her symptoms then oxygen was almost unnecessary. No, I can’t be thinking like that. She wished Setsuna would suddenly appear. She needed her calm- ing effect, her gentle touch. Usagi was a little too hyperactive for her taste, and Mamoru, while always ready to be with her and help her, had so much going on in his life that she didn’t want to disturb him any more. She knew that Setsuna would sit with her, not talking or moving. Hotaru had always enjoyed the unspoken communication that passed between them. They understood each other better than any of the other senshi, more than Haruka and Michiru had, more than even Usagi and Mamoru. Setsuna had left, though. Months ago. Hotaru recalled the morning...or was it evening...of her departure. ----------------------------------------------------------- She had been asleep for a good hour at least. In the middle of a very nice dream about Chibi-usa and ice cream, she was gently shaken awake. “Mmph...nyaaa...go away...” she had said. The shaking had con- tinued, so she had rolled over and looked up with bleary eyes. Se- tsuna was standing over her bed, in a strange dark-red wine colored dress that seemed to flow around her like a curtain of crimson liquid. “Setsuna-mama? What are you doing?” Hotaru had asked. “I have to...go away for a while, Hotaru.” The lack of the – chan suffix on her name made Hotaru wake up and take notice. Whatever it was had to be serious. “I can’t tell you where I am going, or why, but I didn’t want to leave without saying farewell.” “What did Haruka and Michiru say?” “About what?” “About why you’re leaving.” “I didn’t tell them I was leaving.” “What? Why?” “I’m sorry, but I really can’t explain. You must promise me that you won’t tell them of my departure. Or any of the other Senshi, for that matter. As far as you are concerned, this conversation never took place.” “I can’t tell anyone?” “Give me your word as Sailor Saturn, soldier of Death and Re- birth, that you will not tell them that I have gone, and that I never told you goodbye.” The look on Setsuna’s face had stifled all argu- ments Hotaru could think of. “I give you my word as Sailor Saturn, the sailor-suited soldier of Death and Rebirth, that I will do all that you ask of me.” “I thank you, my little firefly. In return, I will tell you something that will help you if you should ever feel alone. Remember this, Hotaru, Sailor Saturn: It is not the beginning of the end. It’s the return to yourself—the return to innocence.” With those cryptic final words, there was a blinding flash of light. For a brief second, Hotaru saw Setsuna, now dressed as Sailor Pluto, hold her Garnet Rod in the air in a formal salute. She then faded rapidly, dissipating like smoke into the air. ----------------------------------------------------------- That had been at least six months ago. Now, as possibly the last of the Sailor Senshi, Hotaru was in no condition to do any bat- tles. She slipped back down between the sheets, more tired than be- fore. Closing her eyes, she silently called out to her Setsuna-mama. Please, tell me what to do. I am alone, and sick, and tired with my life. If there is no reason for me to be living still, then release me from my pain and let me join my friends. Nothing happened. Desperation began to set in. O Guardian of Time who sees the future, tell me if I have a fu- ture left to call my own. A few tears dropped from her dark eyes, moistening the pillow she lay on. Am I deserted? Silence. Then this must be the end for me, for us, for our future. Then suddenly, a small voice spoke somewhere inside her. It is not the beginning of the end, Hotaru. What? she replied, frightened. It is not the beginning of the end, my child. It’s the return to yourself—the return to innocence. The voice was soothing, relax- ing. All of her fears were pushed aside. Tell me how, she begged. Watch, it said. A myriad of colorful images tumbled through her mind. One by one they flashed before her: all of the battles they had fought, flashes of happy times spent with her loved ones, Haruka and Michiru smiling at each other, Rei and Usagi having a tongue war with an exas- perated Mamoru looking on, Makoto, Ami, and Minako in the middle of a pillow fight at a sleepover, Setsuna and Chibi-usa laughing, her fa- ther picking her up as she squealed with glee. Everything was as crisp and bright as if it was happening all over again. As the images faded, Hotaru saw something sparkling in the dis- tance. The sparkle grew and swelled, until it took on the shape of a giant crystal palace that shone like a star. The return to innocence, she thought. She began to run toward it with a speed that astonished her. The crystal palace seemed to rush forward to meet her, looming larger with each passing second. Voices called out to her, urging her on- ward, faster and faster, until she could no longer tell whether or not her feet were actually touching the ground as she ran. It felt more real than most of her usual dreams. A moment later she knew why. Usagi’s voice piped up from the kitchen. “Hotaru, it’s all done. Mamo-chan brought home cookies, do you want one? Better have some before I eat them all!” She somehow managed to skip into the room carrying a tray of soup, two spoons, and a cup of tea. Mamoru followed with a bottle of thick pink liquid and another spoon. Usagi took one look at the still, gray figure in the bed, dropped the tray with a crash, and screamed so loudly that a crystal vase in the living room shattered as if hit by a sonic blast... * * * Chiba Mamoru slowly opened the car door, waiting a moment before stepping inside. He stared out across the cemetery shrouded in a thick blanket of not-quite-white snow. The soft flakes acted as a kind of insulation, protecting those above ground from those below. And maybe vice versa, he thought. He watched Usagi as she stood before the small grave. It was fortunate that Hotaru had been buried before the ground froze over— otherwise she would have been entombed in the impersonal mausoleum, or perhaps cremated to save both time and space. His Usako looked so fragile, like an eggshell thin china or porcelain cup. Her face was very white, faded, with eyes that were sunken and red from all of the tears she had shed. At the moment, she wasn’t crying. He suspected that she had no tears left. She placed a small bouquet of white roses tied with a bright purple ribbon at the base of the headstone, and propped them up so the snow wouldn’t hurt them. They shone like jewels against the snow; his ‘special’ kind of flowers he had produced especially for Usagi. She backed away from the small grave, and bowed low before it. Then she turned away and trudged through the snow back to Mamoru’s car. They were silent during the ride home, unsure of what to say. No words passed their lips until they had reached the apartment they shared. Usagi spoke first, watching Mamoru lock the door and toss their coats in the closet. “So that’s that.” “I suppose.” “It’s really almost amusing, isn’t it?” “What?” “Well, we’re the only two left.” “You make it sound like we’re the last people left on the planet.” Usagi gasped. “What? How could you—” “Stop it, Usako. You know as well as I do that wishful thinking won’t help. I’ve seen you cry in your room at night for the last three months, ever since Minako...well, I’ve been listening. You ha- ven’t cried at all for a week. I’m...I’m starting to worry.” “Mamo-chan, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I’m not suici- dal.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “You won’t say it out loud, but I know what you’re thinking...and it hurts me that you don’t trust me.” Her voice was dull and thick. “My love, you know I trust you. But no one, absolutely no one I know, has lost all of his or her friends unexpectedly within such a short time span. I just don’t know what that would do to someone.” “You did, Mamo-chan. You lost your parents. Mako-chan did too.” “Yes, and look what it did to me! I grew up believing that no one cared about me, that all I had to do was live from day to day and to hell with the rest of the world. That didn’t change until I met you. And you remember how hard it was for Makoto to open up to any- one. She had to keep up a tough exterior to protect her broken inte- rior. You don’t have that kind of personality or that kind of stam- ina...” The expression on her face quickly informed him that he had just made a terrible mistake. Even with that warning, he was unpre- pared for her seething wrath. “I had to watch my four best friends die in front of me, pro- tecting me from Beryl and her traps so I could get inside and defeat her. I had to restore your memory and your love for me more times than I care to recall. Heart crystals, dream mirrors, star seeds— someone is always trying to take something from us, from me.” She grabbed his wrist hard enough to make him wince. “This time I refuse to give it up! I’ve exhausted all of my patience, all of my reluctance to fight. And the most horrible part of this whole awful business is that there is nothing I can do.” “That’s where you are wrong,” said a soft voice that was strange and yet familiar at the same time. Usagi and Mamoru spun around in alarm. “Pluto!” they both exclaimed. Sailor Pluto rested her Garnet Rod on the wall and took a step forward. She bowed. “Princess Serenity, Prince Endymion,” she said with a strict formality. Usagi laughed bitterly. “What timing you have, Pluto! And what a choice of names! We’re the royals without a kingdom, as of about a week ago. Oh, I’m sorry, you didn’t know? I would have contacted you, but I suppose I just assumed that you already knew and simply didn’t care.” Mamoru saw Sailor Pluto’s normally impassive face waver. She suddenly looked weary and exhausted. The weight of the years showed plainly on her face. “Princess...” she began in a drained voice. “Why are you here? Something bad is always about to happen when you show up unannounced. Tell me, what’s the verdict? Has some new psychopath with an inferiority complex and really bad hair decided to waltz in and steal our energy for the millionth time? Is the world as we know it going to end in exactly twenty-three minutes and fifty- seven seconds? Or are you here to tell us that we have to die locked in a passionate embrace, and the ‘mystic circle’ will be completed and all of us can finally be reincarnated as tree frogs?” The vehemence and hate in her voice surprised Mamoru. He edged closer to her. “It is time,” Pluto said simply, ignoring the outburst. “Time to die?” sneered Usagi. Pluto’s jaw hardened and her eyes blazed with a powerful dark anger that Mamoru inwardly shrank away from. When she finally spoke her voice was measured, calm, and icy, her face a façade of glacial tranquillity. “Don’t be so callous, my queen. It is not polite to speak of your blessings before one who is not allowed to enjoy them. I would not take such a gift so lightly. In the words of your poet T.S. Eliot—a man after my own heart, I must say—‘I should be glad of an- other death.’” “Death?” Usagi’s crescent moon stood out on her forehead, glow- ing as the violent emotions surged through her. “What do you care about death? Look around you—in case you haven’t noticed, they’re all dead. All of them. Every single one, just dead. And you stand there, so cold, like it doesn’t bother you that your friends are gone. Maybe it doesn’t bother you; maybe you just don’t care. You’ve never cared about anyone before, so why should you start now?” “That isn’t true, and you know it.” “Go away. Just go away, back to wherever it is you go when you don’t want to take part in anything that happens. Get out before I hurt you.” “Usagi...” “GO!” she screamed. The pictures on the walls rattled, and a small framed photograph of Usagi surrounded by all the Senshi fell off the table by the door. When it hit the floor, the glass cover broke into a hundred tiny fragments. No one noticed. With two long strides, Sailor Pluto was standing almost on top of Usagi. Before Mamoru could react, she grabbed the collar of Usagi’s shirt with one hand and lifted her almost off the floor. The tips of Usagi’s toes just barely brushed the carpet. “I have had enough of this. Now you will listen to someone who has seen civilizations rise and fall, someone who has been around for nearly an eternity compared to you. As the person who literally holds the future of this planet in her hands, it would not take much to end the problem here and now. At the moment, I am having difficulty find- ing a reason not to. “However, I don’t think that having an itchy trigger finger, if you will, would solve anything.” Pluto slowly lowered the immobile girl to the floor, and released her. Usagi’s voice was dead. “I hate you.” “No, you don’t. You hate yourself.” That did it. Usagi’s legs gave way and she crumpled to the floor. “What it the purpose of your visit, Pluto?” Mamoru said coldly, shaken by what he had witnessed. “It is time for the coming of the cold, when the earth will sleep for a millennium and the thaw will bring a new age—Crystal To- kyo.” They stared at her. “What?” whispered Usagi in a voice that was almost inaudible. “You must leave here. Take nothing with you except the clothes you have on and the ginzuishou. Head for the hills outside of the city.” Pluto picked up her staff and turned to leave. “Wait!” shouted Usagi. “That can’t be everything. What do we do when we get there?” “You will know.” The air in front of their eyes seemed to waver for a moment, like heat rising from summer pavement, and Pluto van- ished. “Typical. She tells us half of everything and leaves. That’s Sailor Pluto for you,” Usagi said scornfully. “Usako, I’ve never heard you talk like this before.” Mamoru was seriously worried. “Let’s go. I want to get this over with.” She stood up and walked out of the apartment, leaving her boyfriend no choice but to follow. Mamoru found himself hurrying to catch up to her. He had abso- lutely no idea what hills to go to, or how to get there. Strangely enough, Usagi seemed to know exactly where she was going, so he de- cided to follow her. Partly because she appeared confident. Mostly because he did not know how strong her grip on reality was. He had never seen her talk to anyone, much less Pluto, with that degree of bitterness. He was very surprised. Considering the fact that Pluto was the only one of the Sailor Senshi left alive except for Usagi her- self, Mamoru would have expected Usagi to cling to her like a drowning man clutching at a life raft. Something was different. Something was not right. They reached a small group of hills several miles outside the city limits just before the sun touched the horizon. Climbing the slope looked easy at first, but the combination of cold air and lack of breath made it more difficult than both of them had originally guessed. Usagi, exhausted, sat down on a large rock at the peak of the highest hill. Mamoru joined her, and put an arm around her shoul- ders. She was shaking with cold. Their breath made little gray clouds in the frosty air. “Usako?” “Yes, Mamo-chan?” “What happens now?” “I haven’t the faintest idea.” They looked at each other for a long moment, and then burst out laughing. They grabbed each other and roared, rocking back and forth on the rock. Mamoru tried to take a breath, and in doing so lost his balance and fell off the rock, momentarily knocking the wind out of him. Usagi screamed with joy, laughing harder, and when Mamoru re- gained his breath he doubled over, his stomach aching and sides shak- ing. It took five minutes for their giggles to subside. “I really needed that, Mamo-chan,” she said. “Anytime, Usako, anytime.” They clambered back onto the rock and stared out over the city. Its lights were twinkling gently as the darkness fell. They gazed upon it in silence, wholly absorbed, drinking in every sight and sound and smell. The wind blew gently, not chilling their faces. All of their lives, they had waited, dreaded, anticipated this day. Its ar- rival was a shock, but a shock that they were well prepared for. For a brief second, time seemed to slow, and the sight of their home was blazoned across the memory like a living photograph. Only one word needed to be said. “Now?” “Now.” They embraced on top of the rock, entwining their bodies. Star- ing into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity, they si- lently communicated a final thought. Chiba Mamoru, Tuxedo Mask, Prince Endymion, my love, my husband, my Mamo-chan, my own. Tsukino Usagi, Sailor Moon, Princess Serenity, my love, my wife, my Usako, my own. We are together. For what is has been, and ever shall be, for- ever and ever. They kissed. Two tears coursed down two cheeks, and dropped to the ground. When the tears hit the ground, the earth instantly froze, and a sheet of ice began to spread. The ice grew slowly at first, covering only the top of the hill and the two lovers, but it soon spread faster. Covering the entire city of Tokyo took a matter of moments, and the ice encompassed everything on the planet within minutes. The planet Earth was encapsulated in thick layers of impenetrable ice, to sleep for a thousand years until... * * * Meioh Setsuna, or the woman who on the Earth was known as Meioh Setsuna, shivered as she felt an unmistakable feeling course through her veins. For the first time in nearly a millennia, she turned to face the Gate of Time, and with relative ease concentrated her mind on the picture of the desolate, frozen chunk of rock once home to bil- lions and billions of living creatures. The image swam into her thoughts, and she felt a twinge of sadness as she thought of the past— the happy, bitter, and fast fading past. But there was no time for that now. She, of all people, should know that. The Guardian of the Gate of Time was indeed getting senti- mental in her old age. Eons will do that to a person. She immersed herself in the vision of the frozen planet, sinking into its depths as if she was diving into a painting or photograph. She felt her sailor fuku dissolve and reform itself into a sweeping gown. She admired its rich color, something like red roses just after full bloom and just before they begin to die. The velvet felt soft and warm against her skin. A flowing burgundy robe draped her frame, swirling in the invisible breezes that neither chilled nor warmed the shadowy realm she guarded. Clutching her Garnet Rod tightly, she held it aloft. The Gate slowly opened, and she stepped through. Setsuna found herself hovering over the barren, ice-coated planet. The frigid winds of absolute zero did not touch her; she was impervious to the cold. She waited, patiently, for the first signs of the beginning. A newer verse of the ancient rhyme will redeem the future to create a new time. She liked the way that phrase rolled around in her mind. It was fitting, accurate, and eerily prophetic—her favorite combination of descriptive adjectives. She did not have long to wait for the beginning. A strange glow appeared on the horizon, a light with warmth the planet had not expe- rienced for many centuries. As Setsuna watched, the ice beneath her seemed to shift, to change. The cold blue-white of the frost lost much of its bluish tinge, as well as most of the white and gray also contained within. Small flashes of lush green, rich brown, and limpid blue materialized on the surface as the glacial wastes retreated. Then, with a sudden flash, all of the ice had melted or vaporized. The formerly bleak and frozen surface was transformed, teeming with grass and water, and the sky had acquired the perfect cerulean blue of a peaceful day and was dotted with soft white clouds. A slow rumbling shook the ground, and a landscape began to form. Rocks heaved and tossed, creating mountains, hills, valleys, and other topographical figures and landmarks. Foliage sprouted from the fer- tile earth; trees and flowers appeared from nowhere. Everything was new, fresh, pure. Animals seemed to sprout like the grass; every imaginable species of flora and fauna was renewed and reborn. She impassively watched the genesis begin, much like the Creator must have idly viewed the results of His handiwork. According to the old Christian faith, the earth and the heavens were created in six days. This time, the creation was taking less, much less, than six hours. The setting was in place. All that was needed were the actors. Setsuna mentally sighed as several small black specks material- ized on the horizon’s edge. The black specks came closer, and were soon recognizable as large crowds of thousands of people. Each group was preceded by a different colored mass of light that shone like a beacon. The people followed the lights en masse, being guided toward a designated spot in the middle of a large open field. The cast had arrived. As they came closer, the unseen Pluto could clearly observe the people milling about on the ground below her. Even though they had all slept for hundreds of years, they appeared unchanged in physical respects. Pluto recognized several faces in the throng—Usagi’s par- ents and younger brother Shingo, Rei’s grandfather and Yuuichiro, Ami’s mother Dr. Mizuno, Usagi’s good friends Naru and Gurio, Motoki and his younger sister, the clairvoyant Ryo, and assorted people who had all touched the lives of the Sailor Senshi in one way or another. All of them had a slightly bewildered expression on their faces, as if they were not sure where they were or what was going on. They waited patiently, expectantly, like young children who know that they will receive a gift if they behave properly at a serious function. That was the closest simile Setsuna could use to describe them. The colored lights that had led them there were now floating be- fore the crowd. Each light was a separate shifting mass of color. Aquamarine, gold, orange, red, blue, green, and purple hazes shone with a brilliance that was almost blinding. The lights spread out, forming a wide circle with the crowd ringed around the outskirts. Un- bidden, a hush fell over the multitude, as any small conversations taking place were silenced. Setsuna drifted downward toward the ground, stopping a few feet above the solid earth. As she sank, she let go of the power that had kept her hidden from the eyes of the people. She knew what they would see: a deep crimson light not unlike that of the multicolored lights. Finishing her descent, she took her place in the ring of lights be- tween the purple and the aquamarine, facing the red light directly op- posite. A second rumble shook the earth, lasting longer than the first. The people clung to each other in fear and alarm, terrified at the prospect of a second Armageddon. The rumble faded away, and the crowd relaxed, only to stand in open-mouthed astonishment at the scene that unfolded before them. The colored lights flared brightly, towering in vast pillars of vivid hues that blinded the people, who were cowering in sheer fright. When the light had returned to bearable levels, two crystal columns that had not been there before were in place in the center of the circle. One by one, each of the lights faded to reveal the shining fig- ure of a Sailor Senshi. Neptune and Uranus appeared almost simultane- ously, followed by Venus, Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, and finally Saturn. They looked around briefly, as if to ascertain their position and place, then smiled at each other. Only Setsuna noticed the obvious difference between the Senshi of the present and the Senshi of the past. Uranus and Neptune were close to bursting with happiness, but there were clear marks on their faces that had not been there before. The sadness, grief, and loss they had experienced had taken their toll on the two young women, and they stood close to each other, almost afraid to move apart. Venus seemed more serious and less flighty than her previous self had been, both in the carriage of her body and the expression on her face. She had slipped naturally into a leadership posture, as- serting herself as the head of the Inner Senshi, protectors of the Moon Princess. Mars had a contemplative look on her face, a quiet introspection that Setsuna found remarkably similar to her own carefully chosen fa- cial expression. She looked more like an experienced Shinto priestess pondering the moral dilemma of mankind than a born and bred warrior woman ready to fight anyone and everything. In Mercury, Setsuna discovered the most difference of personal- ity between past and present life. Her always-intelligent face now had a colder cast to it. The genius girl had lost some of her sweet innocence and naiveté in passing, and though she would seem the same to her good friends, those who did not know her would find her rather distant and unapproachable. Setsuna lowered her eyes briefly in memo- rial to innocence lost before scrutinizing the next of the Senshi. Jupiter, always the strong fighter, had developed into a virtual Amazon. Physical power and strength radiated from her, and yet the strength only enhanced her more feminine body that had lost many of its angles and awkwardness. She felt more at home with her abilities, a well-needed change. Saturn, like Mercury, had also undergone a severe personality shift. The girl who had always felt such a crushing weight of respon- sibility on her shoulders now stood easy, almost free, with her Si- lence Glaive loosely held in her left hand. The many changes, rein- carnations, rebirths and reawakenings she had experienced were finally at an end, at least for a long time. Much of the oppressive burden of destruction was lifted from her, and Setsuna noticed her new smile of joy mingled with relief. In all, the Senshi appeared older, wiser, stronger, more confi- dent, and above all, more suited to their coming roles as the leaders of this new age. Setsuna was the last to reveal herself, waiting until all of the others had done so. She whirled around; her robes billowing, and faced the multitude. The shock on their faces startled her for a heartbeat, until she realized what was going on in their minds. They think we’re gods. Taking advantage of this knowledge, she put on a stern face, and spoke in a formal, ringing voice: “People of the neo-Earth! You have been awakened after your frozen sleep. It is time for you to give thanks and homage to the one who has been the cause of your salvation. Through her love and good- ness, you have been redeemed to live in this brave new world, this Utopia of your savior’s creation. Before that, however, your new King wishes to address you. Bow low, people of the neo-Earth, before your new sovereign, King Endymion!” With those words, the eight Senshi descended to the ground. A bright white light shone from the smaller of the two crystals and with a resounding crack the crystal split in two to reveal the King. A small white mask covered the upper part of his face, leaving only his shining eyes uncovered. He stepped forward, staff in hand, dark lav- ender tuxedo almost glowing with energy. An unquestionable aura of authority hung about him, and the Senshi bowed low as he walked past them, toward the crowd. He stood next to Setsuna, who brought her Garnet Rod up to strict military present arms and bowed deeply. He then turned to face the people before him. In a flash, every head was bowed and every knee was bent. Even the Tsukinos. “People of the neo-Earth! I am your King, Endymion of the Earth, and your obeisance pleases me.” He looked around at the kneel- ing masses, then at the Senshi, then at Setsuna before continuing. “But I am not the one whom you should worship, whom you should praise and revere and adore with every fiber of your being. That honor be- longs to her Most Gracious Majesty, the Queen of Crystal Tokyo, Neo- Queen Serenity! Arise, my Queen, and restore this planet to its full beauty once more!” As the King spoke, the larger crystal began to shine. The Sen- shi turned toward it in anticipation, a happy expectation of reunion. Flashes of color leapt from the crystal’s many facets and a ray of soft white light slowly rose from its highest point. The light re- solved itself into a radiant figure, suspended in the sky... * * * Tsukino Usagi did not exist anymore, and never would exist again. The Queen of Crystal Tokyo opened her eyes to look upon the work that had cost her so much pain and energy to create. The sheer beauty of the land, freed from the crushing weight of the pollution and strife that had wracked it, made her heart sing. The ginzuishou, floating above her cupped hands, sparkled as it reflected her emotions like a burning glass. With a fluttering of feathers her wings un- folded from the back of her gleaming white gown. She looked down. Endymion and all the Senshi except Setsuna had dropped to their knees in the grass. The already kneeling crowd was gazing at her in awe mixed with fear mixed with wonder. She slowly lowered herself to the ground, the ginzuishou pulsing with life before her. She passed before each of the Senshi, placing a gentle hand on each of their shoulders to bid them rise and walk behind her. When she reached En- dymion, she knelt, lifted his chin with her hand, and kissed him full on the lips. The crowd cheered wildly, and the Senshi smiled know- ingly. They rose together, and turned to Setsuna. The cheers of the crowd quieted. “I thank you, Guardian of the Gate of Time, for protecting this future from the terrors of the past. You have done well,” said King Endymion. “Sire, there is no need for thanks. I must fulfill my duty and destiny, as I have always done and always will.” Setsuna’s reply was measured. She curtseyed deeply before the king, who stepped back to let his queen come forward. Neo-Queen Serenity and Setsuna faced each other. The queen had a beatific smile on her face, which nearly eclipsed Setsuna’s serious countenance as the moon hides the sun during a solar eclipse. Neither seemed to want to be the first to speak. After a slightly tense mo- ment, Serenity broke the silence. “Have we arrived?” “Yes.” “You are sure?” “As sure as I can be of an uncertain future.” “I would like you to stay, you know.” “I am afraid that your request is not possible.” “Someday, my friend, there will be a time when you will be free of your duty and your burden.” “Your mother made that promise to me long ago.” Serenity’s eyes grew suspiciously bright, but she drew herself up and spoke force- fully. “I intend to follow through on it. She never had the chance to complete all that she wanted to do, so I make it my duty to carry out her dreams of peace and harmony.” Setsuna drew her breath in sharply. “What is wrong?” asked the queen. “For...for a sudden flash...I could have sworn that I saw your mother standing before me.” Setsuna took a step back, then fell to her knees and bowed her head deeply. “My liege—your majesty. Neo- Queen Serenity. I am yours to command, madam, should you so will.” The queen let out a musical ripple of laughter. “You will never cease to amuse me, my friend. Always remember that—your sense of humor may be hidden deep within, but I can always find it.” She touched Setsuna’s forehead gently, and the Pluto sigil glowed in response. “Arise, my good friend.” Setsuna stood. “I must leave now.” “Go then. You never needed my permission before.” Setsuna raised the Garnet Rod into the air, and with a rush of wind a time portal opened. “I hope you will forgive my abrupt depar- ture. Time waits for no one, not even its Senshi.” She gave a small smile. “Tempus fugit. But I’m sure you already knew that.” She bowed once more to the royal court, then stepped into the portal and faded out of sight. “Tempus fugit,” said Serenity thoughtfully. She quickly looked around, her gaze finally resting on Sailor Mercury. “Please...” she asked softly, pleadingly. “Latin. It means, ‘time flies’,” Mercury said with an indulgent smile. Neo-Queen or not, Serenity was still the same person on the inside. “Indeed it does.” Serenity turned and walked over to the soli- tary crystal that remained on the ground. She held up her hands, and began to concentrate with such force that the crescent moon on her forehead shone. The crystal glowed. With a great thrusting motion, she pushed a massive beam of energy toward the crystal. It hit with a silent explosion, as if a bomb had exploded in a soundproof container. The crystal shook under the impact, and immediately began to grow. It spread out, away from and around the people gathered before it. Airy spires, tall peaks, razor-sharp edges pointed out from the center, which was located where the crystal had stood. In less than a heart- beat, an immense crystalline palace was shimmering in the golden light of the sun. King Endymion extended his arm and escorted Neo-Queen Serenity up the flight of stairs that led to the doors of the palace. When they reached the top, they turned and faced the people at the base. The Senshi followed suit, and took their places on the stairs leading up, the three Outer Planet Senshi to the King’s left and the four In- ner Planet Senshi to the Neo-Queen’s right. The fascinated crowd gazed up at their gods, and one by one began to kneel as they had done before. Once they had all knelt, Neo-Queen Serenity addressed them for the first time. They hung onto her every word. “My friends, we have saved you from apocalypse. That was our duty and mission. Now, we give you the power to shape your destinies as you see fit. You must not expect the second coming of anybody now, because this planet is yours and the future is up to you. The Sailor Senshi, King Endymion, and myself will do our best to protect you and help ease your transition into new lives, but you must choose your own paths. Do you think you can do that?” “We will try, Your Majesty,” came a timid voice from among the people. Serenity smiled gently. “No one can promise better than that,” she said in a slightly husky voice. Clearing her throat, she raised her voice slightly. “Be happy. That is all I ask you to do.” The crowd murmured an assent. The same voice that had spoken before was raised again, louder this time. “All hail the King and Queen!” The crowd responded. “All hail the King and Queen!” “Long live the King and Queen!” “Long live the King and Queen!” As the people cheered and shouted, a very tired Neo-Queen whis- pered to her King: “It’s been a good day, hasn’t it?” The King responded: “Yes, my love, it’s been a very good day...” Words taken from Rising Sun Hayatterunosa – very fashionable Chokkan – intuition Dai rokkan – sixth sense Yonjugo kai – forty-sixth floor