~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ M O N D A Y ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Yosho sat at his desk in the shrine office, addressing the endless list of documents and correspondence that seemed to come with his position. You would think a priest would spend his time sitting and meditating on the higher aspirations of life. Such was not the case, however. He shook his head ruefully. There was a knock on his office door, which surprised him -- it was still snowing outside. Who would bundle-up just to visit his office in this weather? "Come in." Ayeka entered and closed the door behind her, brushing snow off of her cloak and shedding her boots. Yosho admired her graceful movements, and watched silently as she made herself comfortable. She studied her half-brother discreetly. He had not restored his facade, and his youthful face was slightly tilted to the side. His arms were folded, patiently waiting for her. She seated herself in the guest chair. "What do you need, Little Sister, that would bring you out in such miserable weather?" "I wanted to talk to you privately," she replied. Yosho turned to the ever-present teapot, placing two cups on the table and filling them slowly. "It must be about something very important." "It is important -- to me." She accepted the cup and warmed her hands around it. "What was she like, Yosho?" "You mean Itsuki?" Ayeka nodded, sipping her tea. Yosho had been expecting this conversation, sooner or later. He rose quietly and entered his quarters, returning moments later with a framed photograph, which he handed to her. He settled back into his chair while she examined the photo. It was a formal portrait, taken over a century earlier. She recognized Yosho, even looking humorless and composed in his robes. Next to him sat an apple-cheeked beauty with deep dimples, almond-shaped eyes, and long, lustrous hair. Where Yosho managed to convey an austere dignity, she gave the image of restrained mirth. Her eyes twinkled, and the corners of her lips rose ever so slightly. They sat very close together. "She was lovely," Ayeka said, returning the photo to him. "Yes, she was. She liked to cook, and sing, and play practical jokes on people. She was much like Sasami." He placed the photo on the table, adjusting it so they could both view it. "How did you meet her?" "I was wandering the southern islands, performing various errands, when I sensed her Power. She had sensed mine, too, so it came as a pleasant surprise for both us when we finally met. We were married less than a year later." "Did you ever tell her about your past? Did she know who you are?" "Yes," he replied slowly. "At first she didn't believe any of it. It wasn't until I showed her Ryoko's crypt that she finally accepted the truth. We had many long discussions about it." "Did she ever express any interest in visiting Jurai?" Ayeka sipped her tea, alternating her gaze between Yosho and the photograph. "None whatsoever. She was happy living in this valley. I often wondered how Father persuaded Mother to leave this planet, what arguments he used. Had she wanted to go, I would have figured out some way to accomplish it." He shrugged. "Perhaps she would still be alive." "But Tenchi would not," she replied. "Your daughter never would have met Nobuyuki." "That is true." "Did Itsuki know about *us*?" Ayeka asked, watching his eyes. "Yes." "Didn't it concern her -- or you -- that you were breaking a betrothal bond?" "Yes, for a while. The passing years had a way of diluting that concern, however. We assumed that my absence would have been accepted, and adjustments made." Ayeka was silent for awhile, lost in thought. Yosho refilled their cups while waiting for her response. Finally, she said, "You must miss her very much." "As much as you would miss Tenchi, if he fails to emerge from his cocoon." "Do you still feel he should not sit on the throne?" Yosho shrugged. "He is very compassionate, very honorable, and very brave. But politics has a way of sullying a person's character, of corrupting their morals. With his high ideals, I'm afraid he could be very vulnerable to the darker elements. He lacks your trained instincts and skeptical demeanor." Ayeka raised one eyebrow. "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult." "It was an observation," Yosho replied. "A personal assessment. Perhaps with you there to advise him --" "I would have been your advisor, too," she interrupted softly. Yosho looked at her sadly. "We were never in love, Little Sister." "I was." "But I wasn't. Our marriage was arranged, based upon politics rather than sentiment. We could not have worked together." "I was happy with the arrangement." "We have discussed this before, Ayeka. We both know that a power struggle would have erupted eventually. What is really troubling you?" She studied her tea for a moment, hoping to discover strength or inspiration. "I feel that a great karmic wheel is about to roll over me again; that both times I have fallen in love it was with a man who would inherit the throne, who didn't want it, and then who was taken from me mere months before our wedding. I feel cursed." "It is an interesting coincidence," Yosho agreed, "but nothing more. I don't believe you carry any curse." "I wish I could be as certain," she replied, looking out the window towards the lake. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Washu found Ryoko sitting on the sofa, staring vacantly at the television. "What's on?" "I dunno," Ryoko replied absently. "I really wasn't paying attention." "Well, if you aren't busy, this would be a good time to continue looking for your trousseau." Washu ported her dimensional keyboard over to the sofa and sat beside her daughter. She placed Tenchi's monitor program into background and cleared the display. Fingers dancing across the keyboard, she tapped into the Internet and navigated to one of the search engines. "I'm not really in the mood, Washu." "I know, Ryoko. But it will help to take your mind off of Tenchi for a while, especially for something he's going to appreciate. Your wedding is the first one, and it might take me a while to assemble the components." "Oh, alright." Ryoko shifted across the sofa to sit beside Washu, for a better view of the displays. "Did you decide on any particular style? You were thinking about traditional Japanese the last time we talked, but you also saw a couple of French designs that caught your eye." What followed was a dispirited examination of designer websites and bridal registries. During the previous conversation on this topic, Ryoko had been highly animated and repeatedly dragged Tenchi over to the terminal to look at successive images; now, her heart simply wasn't in it. But Washu persisted, knowing this distraction would ease her daughter's worries (and her own, if truth be told). Finally, though, it simply ran out of steam. "I'm sorry, Mom, but I just can't focus on this now. I know you're just trying to help, and I really appreciate the effort. But let's do this later, ok?" Washu nodded and sent the keyboard back into the corner. On one hand, she was disappointed that they had accomplished so little. On the other hand, Ryoko had called her 'Mom' and meant it -- and that in itself was worth the effort. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mihoshi and Funaho were in the kitchen, preparing ingredients for lunch under Sasami's watchful eye, and exchanging frequent grins. It was probably the brightest spot in the house, and for a while no one mentioned Tenchi or glanced towards the dock. Funaho and Sasami had actually done this many times before, but there had been such a long interruption that Funaho was feeling out of practice. Mihoshi had more recent experience, and she discovered that she and Funaho worked very efficiently together. They were enjoying themselves. "Funaho, are you going to stay here for the weddings?" asked Sasami. She was watching a large kettle, and was determined not to let it boil over. "I really don't know, Sasami. I would like to, but there is much I should be doing at home. I hadn't intended to be gone for more than a few weeks." She stacked the vegetables she had been cutting into neat piles, reaching for more. "Well, the first one is only four weeks away -- and it takes over a week just to travel one way to Jurai. You'd just have time to get there, and then you'd have to turn around and come right back. Mihoshi, would you check on the rice for me? Thanks. It would be easier if you just stayed." "Well, I'm already imposing on your limited space...." "I can always go sleep in my ship, Lady Funaho, if space gets that tight." "I can always go sleep in my ship, too, if it comes to that." "In your shuttle?" Sasami asked. "No, my cruiser is in orbit. There's room enough aboard for everyone. Are there any more carrots over there, Mihoshi?" "There were a moment ago." There was a faint "Miya!" from the doorway, and the sound of scampering feet. "Oh, that Ryo-ohki!" Sasami scowled, looking around for the cabbit. "I should've known better than to leave any sitting out. Mihoshi, there might be some in the refrigerator, on the bottom shelf." Mihoshi giggled, and went to look. Sasami sighed with exasperation. "Some days..." She was stirring the kettle again, when a thought occurred to her. "Funaho, if your ship is so big, we could all travel aboard it to Mihoshi's wedding, and then on to Jurai!" "Well, yes, it is possible. I think I could squeeze her ship onto my hanger deck. Thank you," she said to Mihoshi, who was handing her more carrots. "For that matter," Mihoshi said, "I could stay on board Yukinojo and just escort your cruiser, if there wasn't enough cabin space. Regulations would permit that. How finely do you want these cucumbers cut, Sasami?" "About the size of a coin. Are Father and Mother coming to any of the weddings?" The smile faded from Funaho's face, and her shoulders slumped slightly. She put the knife down, wiped her hands on her apron, and turned slowly towards Sasami. Mihoshi stopped cutting to observe. "No, Sasami, they aren't." "Why not?" "Misaki can't come become she has to attend to her duties." Sasami's mother was head of the Imperial Bodyguard, which necessitated staying full time near the Imperial Body. "And Lord Azusa won't come because he doesn't like Tenchi." Sasami stopped stirring the kettle, looking at her half-mother with a wide-eyed, hurt expression. "But why? Tenchi is his great-grandson, and these girls are so nice..." "I know, Sasami, I know. Your father doesn't like Tenchi because Yosho broke tradition. It only got more difficult when Achika married Nobuyuki. And Tenchi made it even worse when he declared his intention to marry all of you. There has been no dishonor, but your father has lost 'face.' And it really hasn't helped any that Tenchi can summon the Lighthawk Wings." "But why should that matter?" "Because Lord Azusa cannot. For many generations, it has been the tradition for young princes to challenge their fathers for the right to rule. When the reigning monarch can no longer defend his throne, then it is time for him to step down. That is how your father became emperor." "You mean, Jurai's monarchs don't rule for life?" asked Mihoshi. Funaho shook her head. "No. That is the case with some of our neighbors, but not in Jurai. And the fact of the matter is, Tenchi is strong enough right now to claim the throne. Lord Azusa doesn't stand a chance, and he knows it. He's jealous, and nervous, and he's having to deal with some unruly barons who think this might be an ideal time to stir-up some trouble." Funaho smiled, and said, "Speaking of stirring, Sasami, you should attend to your kettle." Sasami did so, but she had lost much of enthusiasm. "What about Ayeka's wedding? It will be held on Jurai. Will they even come to my sister's wedding?" "I hope so," said Funaho. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ TUESDAY ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ayeka still couldn't decide if she was cursed. The storm had blown itself out, leaving several inches of fresh snow that sparkled in the early morning sunshine. The sky was an achingly beautiful blue, the breezes were gentle, and the Masaki household was infected with cabin fever. Ayeka was one of the first to bundle-up and trudge down to the dock. Her footprints crunched amidst the trampled residue of previous visitors, and the reflected glare from Tenchi's cocoon was blindingly bright. No snow clung to its surface, and it still felt warm to the touch. She hoped this was a good sign. She was reluctant to return to the house, and her feet automatically turned towards her private refuge -- her half-brother's Royal Tree, Funaho (christened thus to honor his mother). She struggled through the drifts, leaving churned snow and intermittent breath-clouds in her wake. Funaho's pond was frozen hard enough to support her weight, but prudence and habit confined her route to the stones connecting to the center isle. She brushed snow off of her favorite root, redistributed her cloak, and settled herself into a comfortable position. Funaho recognized her, emitting a friendly trill and a few beams of coherent light from the leafless canopy above her. Ayeka smiled warmly, and patted the root in greeting. "Good Morning, Funaho, I trust you are feeling well today?" The sounds and lights modulated slightly, and then faded. Ayeka sensed the great presence around her, now in a semi-dormant state. "Sleep well, Good Friend, I will try not to disturb you." Ayeka's smile melted as she considered the earlier question. She didn't feel cursed, but fate had a way of dealing her some cruel ironies. She had stumbled upon this world while searching for her half-brother, to whom she had been happily betrothed for many years. During her long sleep in stasis, he had met and married another woman, sired a daughter, who had in turn married and sired a son of her own. Ayeka faced a very rude awakening when she finally found Yosho; she had been devastated. But, oh that grandson! Her heart quickened just thinking about Tenchi, and their many quiet moments spent sitting on this very spot. The cruelest irony could well be facing her in the next few days: that she was doomed to repeat a cycle of heartbreak. Another whim of fate: after Yosho's disappearance, she had become first in line for the throne. She very much liked that idea. She greatly enjoyed being addressed as the Crown Princess. She had assiduously studied not only her father's techniques and machinations, but those of the successful monarchs before him. How very ironic, then, that her successful effort to find Yosho alive and well had resulted in her demotion. There had been a moment of hope, when Yosho acknowledged that he must remain on this world, but it faded with the realization that the title now fell upon his grandson. If she ever hoped to attain the throne, she must stand on Tenchi's corpse to reach it. She sighed, feeling guilty for failing to remain objective, and even more guilty at the result of her analysis. Yosho had been right: had he stayed, there would have been a power struggle -- she would not have been content for very long to remain in his shadow. And yet, the thought of assuming the same role with Tenchi did not disturb her greatly. She could not explain the difference, and yet there clearly was one. She had stated publicly that if her beloved truly wanted the throne she would stand aside...and now it looked like fate was going to take her at her word. Well, so be it; Tenchi would need guidance, and solid advice, and who better to whisper those words in his ear than his own wife? Political pillowtalk (the phrase brought a smile to her face) was a very old custom, indeed. Tenchi's greatest strengths were as a negotiator and consensus-builder, and his reign was liable to be very prosperous and peaceful. She liked the idea that history would record their rule as a beneficent one. Assuming he survived his present predicament, she corrected herself morosely. She watched the wind nudge the barren branches of the trees across the lake, sending clumps of soft white snow tumbling to the ground. It seemed a good analogy of her own life: innocent dreams unbalanced by the winds of chance and left to hurtle into oblivion. Her childhood fantasies had focused on handsome princes and daring rescues and royal weddings -- so far, she had accomplished two out of three. But she should also consider her options if that third dream never materialized. She only had one option, really: assume the throne herself (if Yosho's sole heir died, then the Line of Succession moved to Misaki's descendents). Suddenly, the thought of being crowned Empress lost much of its luster. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ryoko sat on the snowy rocks outside her cave and shivered. It wasn't the temperature that chilled her, since the biofield that encircled her (capable of shifting from her black battledress to her favorite teal housecoat to her environmental vacuum shield -- and even a tail when the mood suited her) had swathed her in a thermal jumpsuit. No, the chill she felt was caused by the ache in her soul that no amount of insulation could protect against. Deep in this mountain lay the cavern, and within it the pool, that had imprisoned her for seven hundred years. Yosho had placed her there, rather than killing her outright, sealed in the cold and dark and virtually forgotten about. During those centuries of isolation, when her astral body could disengage for short times and distances, she had wandered across this mountainside and watched the inhabitants. She had observed them out of curiosity, learning their language out of boredom, and brooded away the years. She had been harboring her energies, slowly growing another power gem. It would be fragile, of course, and modest in capabilities, but it would be sufficient to assist her escape and perhaps even settle an old score. The gem was nearly complete, and her scheming had reached a fever pitch, when *he* came into her life. Just an infant strapped to his mother's back, escorted later by his grandmother, he looked upon her astral form without blinking or cringing. There had been no judgement in those eyes, and no fear, either. And as his awareness altered with age, from visual sight to mental linkage, he kept returning to this cave. To be alone with his thoughts and dreams and triumphs and tragedies. And as she watched him, the bitterness in her life began to ebb, and she found other emotions creeping into her heart to fill the void. Her plans began to change. And when he freed her, she was awash in emotions. He released her in ignorance, and had unknowingly injured her with the tenchi-ken, and had fled in fear from her desiccated appearance. She was angry, and hurt, and confused, and inexperienced, and responded the only way she knew how. And even that failed her: the semi-sentient tenchi-ken retained its memories (along with her true gems), and not only recognized his DNA but the subconscious responses of an experienced fencer: she'd lost the fight and her gem as well. And in the aftermath, as she waited with baited breath to see what he would do, he actually bowed and apologized for the pain he'd inflicted. His eyes contained no deception, no arrogance, only sorrow for what he'd done. No one had ever treated her like that before. Looking back, that had been the pivotal moment, the turning point, when she'd fallen in love with him. And now that man was trapped in a sphere of his own creation. And she was powerless to help. And she had to wonder, what would become of her if he failed his task? What if he...died? Not only had the Statue of Limitations expired on her crimes, but Lady Funaho said she had been publicly forgiven for her sins. She could walk down any street of any town on any planet in the Juraian Empire with complete freedom. The thought actually frightened her -- she'd always been viewed with suspicion and fear, and treated accordingly. The only real security she had ever known, where she had felt welcomed and accepted, was right here. This place had become her home. And her family. And her mind recoiled at the thought of losing them. Of losing *him*. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mihoshi climbed through the woods and snowdrifts until she emerged into the meadow. She was panting, and vowed to ease back on Sasami's cooking and exercise a little more often. She wasn't worried about her figure so much as she was her readiness. The Galaxy Police performed routine physicals, and anyone not maintaining established norms would get reassigned to a desk job. She wanted to remain on active patrol. At least, in the past she had wanted to remain on active patrol. Until Lady Funaho had hinted that such long absences could put a strain on her upcoming marriage. How could she and Tenchi build a solid relationship when she would be gone for weeks or months at a time? Would his feelings for her change? Would her feelings for him change? Even though she loved the GP, she loved Tenchi more, and would resign if her career got in the way. She may be scatterbrained, but she wasn't stupid -- she could see and set priorities just as well as anyone else. She stood at the treeline and looked up the hill, where her ship hovered silently beneath its masking shield. From beneath the cloak she could plainly see Yukinojo and the shadow it cast, but from above the sleek GP patrol vessel was invisible. Yukinojo's architects had placed a large ventral fin in back near the engines, committing the ship to water docking and obviating the need for landing gear. Fortunately, the energy required to keep her ship levitated was minimal. Yukinojo recognized her and lowered the gangway from the rear airlock. Huffing and puffing, she entered her ship. The Artificial Intelligence greeted her perfunctorily, informing her that it had monitored no other traffic into this system other than Lady Funaho's cruiser, which was parked above them in a synchronous orbit, hiding from the locals behind a cloaking field of its own. And Yukinojo had received no communications from the sector GP office. If the AI had been programmed with anything more than rudimentary emotions, it would have expressed profound boredom. Mihoshi made her way to the bridge, shed her coat, and draped it over the navigation console. She checked the logs to verify that everything was normal, and then dropped into the pilot's seat. She opened her private computer directories and searched until she located the graphics file she wanted. With a few keystrokes, she displayed on the master monitor the image she had sent to her parents recently. It was a photograph of her and Tenchi taken last autumn by his father. They had been sitting on the front steps, talking quietly, when Nobuyuki had caught them by surprise. It was her favorite picture, and she had a hard copy printed and mounted down in her cabin. Her parents had been delighted when she'd told them about the young man she'd fallen in love with, and astounded when she told them his identity. She had sworn them to secrecy, at least for a while, and was pretty sure that they had kept the news to themselves; but knowing her mother, she had probably already started making plans for the wedding. She had so wanted to introduce Tenchi to them, as well as her brothers and sisters. She stared at the monitor for a long time, gnawing on her lip. She was worried about him. She didn't really understand what was going on, but nobody else seemed to, either -- and that's what scared her the most. "Yukinojo?" "Yes, Mihoshi?" "Can you scan that energy bubble down on the dock?" "Yes, Mihoshi. It is composed of a high-frequency energy field. It appears to be a containment structure, rather than a defensive shield. I have identified the sole occupant as Tenchi Masaki. He is in a reduced metabolic state, but otherwise unaffected. Logically, he is the source of the energy field, but I cannot locate any evidence of a portable generator or broadcasting device." "Can you locate any similar instances in your memory?" The AI was silent for a moment, scanning its extensive record system, before responding. "No, Mihoshi. There are no corresponding entries in the registry. However, I must remind you that the majority of my archival space is devoted to criminal profiles, rather than scientific or medical documentation." She sighed. There would be no easy answers. Down in the house, the concern for Tenchi's safety was palpable. There was a genuine (if unspoken) fear that he might not emerge alive from that bubble. And she had to face the fact that he might be gone from her life forever. Her career would absorb her grief, of course, just as it had when Kiyone disappeared. Just one more scar on her heart, and probably another mark on her service record -- somehow, it would be her fault. As usual. Maybe she really was jinxed. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Washu retreated to her lab. There was a special place she reserved for just such moments, when she faced an overwhelming problem or the all-too-frequent need to be alone. She went to her observatory The room was small, just big enough to contain a desk, a chair, a computer terminal, and a wall-mounted video display. The desktop contained a collection of 2-D and 3-D photographs of her daughter on one side, and only three items on the other: (1) A 3-D snapshot excised from a sensor log during last year's hypnosis experiment, showing Tenchi just after summoning the Lighthawk Wings. The photo brought a lump to her throat every time she looked at it. (2) A framed photograph of Tenchi in the fields, taken by his father. Tenchi was leaning on his hoe, wiping sweat from his brow and talking to Ryo-ohki. This photo brought a lump to her throat, too, but for a different reason. (3) A stuffed toy guinea pig, given to her by Tenchi at Christmas. Her most prized possession. The monitor was plugged-in to the subspace communication networks transmitting across half a dozen interstellar empires, including Jurai. She could look at real-time broadcasts from hundreds of planets, space stations, trade routes, and even research installations. Today, it was focused on the dock just ten meters from the Masaki's front door. Telemetry data was superimposed over the glowing sphere, telling her that nothing had changed in two days. In this room she could laugh mirthlessly, scream obscenities, and weep in frustration, safe from prying eyes. And in the past hour, she had done all three. She felt helpless, which she absolutely despised. Though her eyes were focused on the screen, her mind was focused on her memories. She had been hurt so badly in the past, once by a faithless husband and once by an invidious assistant, that she tended to dismiss most men as villainous or untrustworthy or incompetent or self-absorbed. Supplementary research (i.e., occasional affairs) between the two events had only confirmed her opinion that decent men were as rare as supernovae. So she had sworn off them. Probably forever. Until the young supernova in the photographs had rescued her from captivity. Suddenly, old feelings had re-emerged, and old dreams had come visiting in the night. The shock of reuniting with her daughter was nothing compared to the impact Tenchi had made on her. The Mighty Washu had fallen in love....and she was just flat-out giddy, an embarrassing reaction easily disguised by her eccentric behavior. She caressed the brooch she had worn for four days, trying to draw more comfort out of it. But the magic charm could not hide the fact that Tenchi may not survive his present circumstances. Fate had snatched happiness from her grasp twice before, and fate could do it again now. Her computers had sifted through the history of the Juraian Royal Family, looking for similar such incidents over the lifetime of the dynasty. Tsunami had been right: there were detailed accounts of the four monarchs who had successfully deployed the Lighthawk Wings. Those rulers had been prodigious Adepts, and just as able peacemakers. Each had overseen a Golden Age of sorts. There were also disturbing references to other family members who had attempted the transformation -- and then had disappeared abruptly from the public records. Next she had attempted to correlate the psychological profiles of the survivors with Tenchi's profile, but had failed due to insufficient data. She was, to put it simply, flying blind. She sat for a while staring at the screen, aroused only by motion captured by the camera. Lady Funaho and Sasami were walking down to the dock, placing their hands upon the cocoon, their mouths moving soundlessly. Washu could have turned up the gain on the microphone, but chose instead not to eavesdrop. This group of characters had become her family. Her *extended* family, she corrected; she wanted to start her own family with Tenchi. She hoped desperately that she'd get the chance. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sasami ran her hand along the cocoon, feeling its warmth and squinting against its internal radiance. It pulsed slowly, in rhythm with Tenchi's heartbeat, just like the Lighthawk Wings did. She had expected the surface to be smooth, but it had a grainy, pebble-like texture. It made her think of a giant egg, which lessened its ominous appearance somehow. Of all the people in the house, she was the least concerned. Not only could she still feel him through their link, but she had suffered no precognitive dreams about this event. Not one. Tsunami had made several appearances since Lady Funaho had arrived, but she hadn't seemed overly anxious about Tenchi's confinement. Sasami had a hunch that Tsunami was in contact with him, but just not revealing it. She shrugged; let Tsunami keep her secrets for now -- Sasami would learn them eventually. She looked over at her Half-Mother. Funaho was definitely worried about her great- grandson. Sasami was aware of some of the controversy surrounding Yosho, and Funaho's deep disappointment that Yosho could not (or would not) follow their father onto the throne. She had asked Ayeka about it a couple of times, but her sister had always dodged the question, as though Sasami was incapable of understanding the answer. Funaho was more willing to discuss such topics. And she generally did a better job of it. Even Sasami could see that Funaho had high hopes for Tenchi; well, they all did. Funaho had arrived at their doorstep expecting everyone to be ready to leave with her; their reluctance, and then this cocoon business, put quite a crimp in her plans. Sasami liked having Funaho around, and hoped that she would stay for the weddings. Sasami had been talking with Ryoko and Washu about what kind of wedding cakes they wanted, and refreshments and special meals. She was looking forward to these challenges, and had been told she could get any ingredients and assistance she wanted. And she fully intended to take them up on it. Sasami picked up a clump of snow and smeared it onto the cocoon. The snow sizzled off like a frying egg. She repeated the process several times, just because she liked to watch it. Her attention drifted over to the lake, where Funaho's shuttle lay semi-submerged in the steamy waters. It's engines were keeping the center of the lake warm, but she could see ice forming along the banks. Funaho was looking at the shuttle, also, contemplating something. She must have decided to wait, because she turned back towards the house. Sasami joined Funaho; while it was tense in the house, it was cold outside, and there was no visible change to the cocoon. Washu would let them know if anything changed, and asami had to think about starting lunch soon. She sent a message down the link to Tenchi, wishing him well. There was no answer, only mental static.