========================================================================= DISCLAIMER: This is one part of a multi-part story. It has been modified as a .txt document for the Tenchi Muyo! Fan Fiction Archive (www.tmffa.com) and can be viewed with its original bold/italics at FanFiction.Net (www.fanfiction.net). "Tenchi Muyo!", Washu, and all related images and properties are (c) Pioneer and AIC Animation. This is a work of fan-fiction. The author has received no monterary compensation. Any attempt to profit from this document in any way is punishable by law. To leave feedback, send fan-art, or make arrangements to host this fic on your website, please contact me at takisjoh@msu.edu ========================================================================= WASHU'S LULLABY A "Tenchi Muyo!" Novel by John Takis ========================================================================= - PART IV - THE CHIMERA ========================================================================= Excepting the Imperial Suites, the Jurai district of the Royal Science Academy was generally regarded as the highest-profile residential zone. Towering structures that more closely resembled castles than mansions were fixed on the ground or hovered in the air, connected by ancient stone bridges, short-range teleportation devices, or even more unorthodox methods of transportation. This was where the elite of the Academy called home: department heads, student ambassadors, diplomatic envoys, and the like. Occasionally one of the smaller dwellings would become available for purchase at an astronomical price well beyond any salary the Academy paid out. These residences were nonetheless acquired. Sometimes they were genuinely bought. Sometimes they were awarded. Sometimes they were paid for by other means. A squat, heavily robed figure moved unobtrusively through the street, keeping to the shadows that hung at the fringes of lamplight pooling on either side of the avenue. In all likelihood, there was no one to see the figure as it slipped through the ebony cloak of night. And in fact, it would not have mattered; the figure was well within its rights and privileges, even considering the place and the hour. It was as if the behavior was a matter of instinct or pride rather than necessity. The figure stopped at a two-story house that hugged the ground. It was an elegant dwelling, with ornate sculptures running up and down the door- frame. The figure passed a hand in front of a small protuberance on the door, which hushed open. Sweeping inside, the figure removed its bowl- shaped hat, revealing his features as dark-skinned and wide-mouthed, with a beard that curved along the line of his jaw to join an identical ring of hair encircling the back of his head. Dr. Clay smiled smugly as he hung the hat by the door. Stealth always pleased him. No one had taken note of his passing, he was quite sure. Perfection. Always perfection. With a happy sigh, Clay walked up the stairs to his private study. He made sure to admire the craft of the banister and the fine artworks lining the walls. Truly, this was luxury. Did any of his rivals enjoy such exotic delights as were to be found in life? He thought not. Even Washu had been stuck living on a common farm, practicing her inane science that, while it had been wowing the public for years, did nothing to advance her career. Clay, on the other hand, had held quietly back. He had long given up trying to compete with his flashier and more sensational rivals on their own terms. No, Clay had embraced a science of making himself useful to important people. It had already won him steady acclaim. A superior working environment. Access. Clay hummed happily to himself as he entered his private study. Only he could enter the room. A thousand tricks and perils lay waiting for any other who dared, be they his servant droids or the Emperor of Jurai. It was a rare masterpiece of privacy and security. It was also a fraud. Clay walked around his desk to the bookshelf that rose up behind it. There was a small bust of unknown origin resting there. It was ivory- white, with a strong chin and noble brow; bearded and regarding the room with such sagacity that Clay often felt almost intimidated. It was an ancient relic. Clay liked to imagine that it exemplified all of the forgotten knowledge of its vanished culture, and that by its presence it somehow endowed him with its legacy of art and power. He had returned the gesture, emblazoning the sculpture's forehead with his personal emblem. He placed his hand against the bust's chin. For a split second, a golden glow filled the room, and then Clay was gone. The private office, master- piece of security, was merely an extremely well-disguised transporter. Clay materialized in the heart of his actual computer system. It was a wide room, filled with towering displays and control panels. A place where he could work. Where he could obtain sensitive information, safe from prying eyes. It was his supreme accomplishment; the source of all his power. He was not alone. It took him several seconds to realize this, and by then it was too late. Something pricked him painfully in the shoulder and he fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Struggling to move his suddenly sluggish muscles, he managed to roll onto his back to stare up at the figure which had taken him by surprise. It was Washu. She planted one small foot triumphantly on his belly. Beneath her white nurse's cap, she wore a demented smile, and she brandished an empty hypodermic needle in her right hand. Clay managed a low growl. "Washu! How did you ..." She only giggled, tossing the hypodermic off to one side. "It's true!" he continued, laboring to breathe. "You really have gone insane!" Still wearing her nurse's outfit, Washu stepped over to the nearest work- station and out of his limited field of vision. He quivered impotently as he heard her doing something. He managed to sneer. "I suppose you were bound to crack sooner or later," he spat, voice thick with an ire that overcame the drugs flooding his system. "So much rejection ..." "Relax, Clay. I didn't stop by just to play doctor." A moment later, she was leaning over him. He squinted to focus through increasingly bleary vision. What was she doing? "You've been enormously helpful, enormously kind, and ... well, mostly just plain enormous." She patted him on the cheek. "You sleep tight now!" Finally, he sank into a bitter unconsciousness. * * * "One more time," Naja asked. "Why do we have to do this?" The two of them were sitting in a pocket of Washu's private laboratory ... an immense dimensional network that was larger, even, than the Royal Academy suspected. They were not, for example, aware of the existence of the room that Washu and Naja presently occupied. No one but the two of them were; Washu had seen to that. The room was cube-shaped, three meters on each side. One entire wall was a visual panel. Two low and oddly formed chairs rested on the floor, dozens of pop-up windows and information banks hovering in front of them. Prying eyes -- and there were plenty -- would see an empty corner, where digital ghosts of Naja and Washu were playing cards and drinking moonshine. It was a masterpiece of technical trickery which Washu had developed for months. "We don't really have many options left," Washu said evenly. Her hands were a blur across the floating keypads. Naja shivered. "It's just ... she gives me the creeps." "Are you going to help me or not?" "This is a bad idea." "I know. You've told me a hundred times." "If the authorities find out ..." "They won't." "But Washu ..." Washu slammed a fist down on the end of one chair. "Hasn't it been long enough? We're never going to develop the technology through trial and error! At the rate we're going, Mikumo will be an old man by the time we get off of this rock! I'm not going to wait any longer than I possibly have to." Naja reached out and stroked Washu's hand gently. "I'm worried about you. You haven't been acting yourself lately. There's a ... randomness about the way you do things. It's impulsive, and a little imbalanced. All this shape-shifting and espionage ... I can never even tell if you're in a good mood anymore." Washu sighed. Naja was right, she mused. She had been a bit ... eccentric of late. It was excusable, perhaps. But Naja didn't deserve the stress. She squeezed her eyes shut, and for a moment she had an image of herself on Kanemitsu, throwing a temper tantrum, fists pounding against the earthen floor. "I'm sorry," she said, keeping her tone composed. "But this is important to me. I'm feeling time, Naja. Time like I've never felt it before. Life was never so painful or urgent when I was a child. I just don't have any time to waste anymore, don't you understand? And already gotten into the system." "That was a long time ago, Washu," came a third voice, high, female, and slightly distorted. The wall-screen flickered and a blurry image appeared. Washu could just make out the outline of a small head, framed by large, furred ears. "Yume." "Hello, Washu. It's been a while. My condolences." "Then you heard." The alien shape nodded. "I heard. It was all over the news networks. 'Genius's Sacrifice Brings Peace' and a lot of nonsense like that. I imagine your approval rating is still sky-high. How do you feel?" Washu sank back into her chair. "How do you think I feel?" "Well it been four years ..." "It feels like yesterday." "I thought it might." Yume paused. "It's the only reason I'm doing this, you know." "Then you know why I contacted you." The screen flickered. "I can't get you back into the core system. Not from the outside. They changed everything after I went through." "Stuck, eh?" Washu smirked. "So much for your master-plan." "All in good time." The figure leaned back. "After all, being the greatest scientific genius in the universe, there's no need for me to hurry." "Sure." The image shifted. "You seem awfully nonchalant. Aren't you the least bit concerned that I can't help you?" Washu shook her head. "I want a copy of all the data you trapped on your way through the system. I can work from there." "Transferring as we speak. You know, Washu, I must say I'm impressed by all this subversion and espionage. You may end up suiting my purposes after all." Washu smiled. "I understand, Yume. Don't worry. I'd never mistake you for a philanthropist. And thank you." The image winked out. Washu turned to Naja. "See? That wasn't so bad." Naja was watching information scroll across one of her screens. She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. This is useless to us without an admini- strative passcard. Where are we going to get one of those?" Washu just grinned. Reaching into a pocket, she pulled out a slim data- chip. Naja's eyes widened. "Where did you get that? They can't be forged!" "Courtesy of the good doctor. It seems Clay's one of the top hackers at the academy. His personal files turned up several good references." She tapped the datacard against the palm of her hand. "You can buy for the right price." "But where did you get the money?" Washu laughed. "Forging archaeological relics. You'd be surprised what some people will pay for a few old pots." A dataport opened in one wall and she inserted the card. "Try it again. It won't get us into the central system controlled by the Royal Trees. We'd need a Master Key for that -- which be forged -- but it will get us to the highest levels of the Academy." Naja blinked incredulously at her screen. "It's working! Burn you, Washu, I don't know why you never tell me this stuff in advance." "Great!" Washu said, jumping out of the chair. The wall-screen jumped to life. "Get into the Academy Defense Systems. Then find out whose graduate thesis we have to steal to get off-planet without being detected." "I'm working on it," Naja said, typing furiously. Washu watched as thousands of names and numbers flashed across the wall. "Wait!" she cried, jumping up and freezing the image. Her finger pressed against the screen, dimpling it. "This is one of Ikuma's files. Look at the name on it!" Naja squinted at the monitor. "Tatsuki Nishia Jurai. Do you know him?" Washu nodded. "From when I came to the Academy." "Oh, right! He was the member of the Imperial Family who saved your life when your ship came under attack." "Er ... yeah. Open it. Let me take a look." The file sprang open to fill the screen, and Washu scanned through it, flitting from sentence to sentence, whispering softly. "... forced pursued enemy vessels back to the Shank Guild's base following the attack on Hakubi Washu. The new Jurai Battleship was utterly crushed ..." "So that's why they were so upset," Naja whispered. Washu looked at her in surprise. "Did you know anything about this?" "Of course not!" Naja said. "But look at the date. This file was sent to Professor Ikuma for analysis just before he became the Director. I remember he looked pretty disturbed for a few weeks, but I never found out why. The top heads wouldn't tell me. They said it was a secret request and I should keep my mouth shut." Washu smirked. "Good advice." She continued reading. "It looks like the Jurai fleet turned up a planet-class Shank battleship, trading in food, clothing, supplies ... no wonder Kanemitsu was always under attack. There was a pirate outpost right next door! And look at this!" A video image appeared on the screen. It was the , utterly dwarfed by the Shank planet-ship. The larger vessel appeared to be powering up. "Look at these energy readings!" Naja marveled. "That's got to be nova- level energy!" A lance of energy shot out of the larger vessel. There was an intense flash of light, then the vanished in a white-hot explosion. "That's strange," Washu said. "Check the data. The beam from the Shank ship was powerful, but it was nothing compared to the energy the ship itself was generating. Where did all that energy go? It had to go some- where." "And the Shank beam itself," Naja mused. "It shouldn't have been able to penetrate even sub-Light Hawk Wings. Sheaplis was a third-generation Royal Ship. It should have survived with minimal damage. Instead it was completely destroyed." Washu nodded. "They eventually destroyed the Shank planet-ship. But it cost them eighty percent of their fleet." Naja reached over and pushed a button on Washu's control panel. "This must be the data they wanted Ikuma to research." Washu examined the complex graphical data representation that formed on the wall. "Look at that. There's a strange line of energy at the moment the Shank beam reaches the Royal ship." "Where? I don't see anything." "You must see it. It's right here." Washu walked over to the wall and pointed. Naja shrugged. "If you say so. I don't see anything." "That's impossible!" "You're joking with me, right?" "I wouldn't!" Naja called up a transparent panel, floating between Washu and the screen. "That's what I see. That's the hard data. Anything else is some- thing mind is adding to the picture." Washu frowned. "Why?" Naja shrugged. "I don't know. The same sort of thing happens sometimes to Jurai royalty when they witness a Light-Hawk event. You're not Jurai royalty, are you?" "No. No, I'm sure of that, anyway." A strange look appeared on Washu's face. "What happens when two Light Hawk Wings of different origin come into contact with each other?" "That's an interesting idea. I don't know. There's no record of such an experiment in any of the files I've seen. And what would space pirates be doing with Light Hawk Wings, anyway? It doesn't make sense. The Jurai are pretty tight lipped about how, exactly, they manifest." Washu chewed her lip thoughtfully. "During the attack, Nishia said some- thing about the power of the Light Hawk. And something else, but I can't remember ... try a high-level search on LHW phenomenon. See what comes up." Naja obediently resumed typing. After several seconds, the wall turned abruptly red. Naja looked up in surprise. "We've hit a block. If any more information exists, it's protected by the Royal Trees." On impulse, Washu unclasped the pendant that hung from around her neck and popped it open. The three gems glowed in the palm of her hands. She reached out as if to touch them, and a spark leapt out to touch her finger with an audible snap. Washu jerked her hand back. One of her monitors began to blink, and the wall turned white. Naja gaped in astonishment. "What did you do?" Washu snapped the pendant shut and tucked it back into her shirt. "I didn't do anything! What happened?" Naja's already pale face whitened further. "We're in," she whispered. "We're in . Washu, I'm not in control of the system!" "We've been hacked?" Washu hissed. "Cut them off! Now!" Naja's hands flew frantically. "I'm trying! I ... I can't! Whatever's happening, it's completely frozen my controls!" Washu's mind moved at an impossible speed as it assimilated the data virtually pouring out of the wall-screen. "Bio-data," she whispered. "All the bio-data of the Imperial family, from the first emperor of Jurai to the current Royal Houses. Genetics, astral signatures ... assembly, bio-enforcement ..." She looked at Naja in unabashed wonderment. "What are they creating with all this?" "Everyone knows the Jurai practice bio-enforcement. It's not uncommon anywhere in the galaxy." "Yes, yes, but just at this! This is unprecedented!" Naja examined the screen. "Do you remember the pirate that attacked you? According to that last report, they found out from what few cells remained that he'd been bio-engineered as a warrior. It had been in his genes for dozens of generations. But ..." "But he was no match for Nishia-dono." "Exactly. Nishia displayed exactly the same characteristics that this Jurai data describes. That kind of skill could only come from Jurai breeding." "So?" Washu frowned. "He was a member of the Imperial family. It makes sense." "He to the Imperial family," Naja corrected. "If we're to believe this data, the Jurai royalty have been sharing power with people outside the bloodline. People who marry into the family, for example. There are serious implications." "Try to go deeper," Washu suggested. But before Naja could touch any- thing, the wall went completely black. Adrenaline leapt through Washu's already charged system. "They got us!?" Naja shook her head. "No, they can't have. My controls just went back online, and the counter-attack procedures haven't activated. We're secure." Washu stared at the empty screen. "What happened?" Naja sighed. "Well, there's no way to tell now. And I am going to try that again!" "No, you're right. I don't think we'd get in anyhow. Either that was an accident, or ... or someone was trying to show us something. Someone very, powerful." "Well, anyway, what are we going to do with all this data?" Washu stared at her personal screens. "I don't know ... hey! It's gone!" "What?" Washu began typing, scanning through sub-directory after sub-directory. "All the information from the Royal Core ... it's gone. Not just wiped, it's like it never existed!" The pair stared at each other. Naja's face was tight with unease. "What's happening?" Inside Washu's mind, a theory was taking shape. "What if this has some- thing to do with the core of the First Generation Royal Tree ... the source of Imperial power." "Are you suggesting they've managed to tap into their power source through a physical or mental link, without genetics? What, like they were asking permission?" "Given what we've seen, it's possible that the Royal Family has a relationship to the trees on some level we don't understand yet." "But to what end?" Washu sat back down. Her mind was whirling. There was a riddle here that begged to be unraveled. Who or what was responsible for their miraculous and inexplicably brief access to the innermost secrets of the empire? What was the source of this power that had been displayed by the Shank guild. And what in the universe had the Jurai been working on so hard and for so long that remained such a carefully guarded secret? The questions called to her with an almost primal urgency, touching some part of her that went beyond mere scientific curiosity. "Washu-chan," Naja said gently. "This is all very interesting, but it has no relationship to the problem at hand. We still have a lot of work to do if we're going to get you off-planet." Washu closed her eyes. "Yes ... yes, you're right, of course." She pushed the thoughts and theories away. Her son was still out there somewhere, waiting for her. That had to take precedence. "Let's get back to work." * * * It was snowing on Seniwa: white, wet and cold, as it was nine months out of every year. Ohtori Kamise was glad, therefore, to have been assigned space duty. That is to say, he was glad for the first six weeks of his shift. After that ... well, the Seniwa Immigrations/Emigrations Star Juncture station was warm and dry, but it was as boring as nerg milk. It wasn't the landscape; what did it matter if you stared at endless black or endless white all day? It wasn't the work; his job was pretty much the same no matter where he went: papers, registration, and the occasional arrest. No; it was the leisure time. The network only provided so many hours of enjoyment before it got depressing. There were a finite amount of times one could bowl for digital asteroid-crabs before it ceased to be amusing. On the planet surface, one always had the option of going out- side. If one could tolerate the weather, there was much recreation to be had. Not so with the cold void of space. There were activities, certainly, but few of them were fun and none of them were convenient. Seniwa's omnipresence outside half of the station's windows was a constant reminder of how close temptation lay. Making things even more maddening was the knowledge that just down the hall from the main office was a dimensional link -- reserved for high-ranking officials and emergencies -- that led directly to the planet below. To distract himself from this proximity-torture, Kamise had taken to wandering the docking rings during his off-hours. There was always something new to be seen in the station's many hangars. Seniwa officials preferred to keep traffic to a minimum -- this policy had been especially emphasized in the four years since the most recent political power-shift -- but it was a large and important world, after all. At any given moment there were at least two-dozen ships of various sizes docked. That meant new people, new procedure, new vehicles ... un- remarkable to the average citizen, perhaps. But Kamise didn't mind admitting he was desperate. So he walked and watched and listened, and could occasionally find enough reason to pretend he was feeling entertained. Tearing himself away from the enticing sight of a vending machine, Kamise rounded a corner to face one of the anterior berths. He leaned up against the metal wall and crossed his arms. There wasn't much to catch his attention, but his eyes settled on a nearby shuttle: a small craft, adjacent to the docking gates. It was a familiar make and model. Why had it caught his attention? His eyes narrowed. There was some sort of odd modification to the ship's underbelly ... just barely visible. Probably an upgrade. His vision was momentarily blocked by a woman passing beneath the ship. She was carrying a baby. The vessel's owners? He didn't know. He didn't care. His eyes flitted across the bay to where a loader was inserting crates into the rear of a cargo jet. Then there was the sound of an explosion, and hot air whipped through his hair. Reflexively, Kamise drew his sidearm (a Seniwa Patrol Systems 007). For a long moment, the hangar was filled with a deadly silence. Then it gave way to panicky screams and the mass shuffle of feet. Kamise's head whipped around, pinpointing the source of the blast. It was the ship he had noticed ... now a smoldering ruin. He scanned the immediate area for anyone who might have been hurt by the blast. At first, he saw no one, and a cautious optimism began to creep over him. Then a spot of color caught his eye and his throat clenched. A tattering of ragged cloth was grafted to the charred floor where the mother and child had stood. As the on-duty officers dealt with the crowd and began the procedure for locking down the facility, Kamise walked slowly towards the burnt spot and holstered his weapon. He looked down, his eyes heavy with sadness and shock. He was surprised by the sound of crying. From behind a nearby slab of metal that had been driven into the floor came a keening wail. Quickly, Kamise ran to it. There, miraculously, lay the baby. It's hair had been blackened with soot; it's face was dirty and red. But it was alive, and grasping at the empty air. Kamise reached down and cradled the infant in his arms, gingerly, as if it might bend suddenly at an odd angle, or maybe vomit blood. It did neither, though, only coughed. From behind, he heard footsteps, and turned to the officer who was approaching him. Kamise looked at the tiny figure in his arms, trying to think of some- thing to say. "It's alive." "You off duty?" the officer asked. "Yes, ma'am." "Take it down to the clinical ward," she told him. "We'll send a nurse down from the emergency unit to look it over." Kamise nodded. The clinical ward wasn't far. He started walking. Just past the diplomatic transport wing, he opened a door and stepped inside. The reception room was empty, so he sat down on one of the padded chairs to wait. He set the baby on the chair next to him and wiped some of the soot from its cheeks. Being unmarried and childless, Kamise had never really spent much time around children. He'd certainly never desired kids of his own. But tragedies like this ... the helpless and now motherless infant staring back at him ... it made him think. "Don't worry," he whispered to the wide-eyed child. It's eyes flashed green. "We're going to take care of you." "I'll be fine," the baby said. Kamise blinked, stupefied. It spoke again. "Don't worry. This won't hurt a bit." And then the baby was not a baby, and before Kamise could react, he was draped, unconscious, over the back of the chair. * * * Washu brushed herself off and considered the prostrate form before her. For a moment, she regretted what she had done. The man had a career, after all. she reminded herself. But the twinge of guilt remained. The thought threatened to break her, so she shoved it away into a broken corner of her mind. Stepping across the room, she examined the opposite wall from where the guard lay. She summoned a scanning device and held it up to the flat metal. The device blinked green, and she pocketed it, exchanging it for a communications device. "It's here Naja. The planetary access portal." "Are you sure you can hack it?" Naja's voice crackled back. "I'm sure. Do you have the coordinates." "I'm transferring them now." "What's her name?" There was a pause. Washu's lips tightened. "I want to know her name." "Koyori. Do you want to know more?" Washu closed her eyes. "No." ... She filed the name away. Pressing one palm against the wall, she vanished. * * * The room was furnished as befit a mansion. The style of the furniture, the cut of the wood, were done in a grand, antique fashion that spoke to age and quality. In this, it was much like every other room in the house. The difference was the occupant. The maturity of design was offset by the size of the shoes, clothes and toys that lay strewn about the room. The size and grandeur of the bed which stood in the middle of the room was almost comically undercut by the diminutive frame of the child buried within. It was a little girl, stirring in her sleep. Her eyes were a brilliant blue beneath sagging lids. Her deep tan skin was pale around her cheeks, and her golden hair was slick with sweat where it fell across her brow. She coughed in a sickly fashion. Beside the bed, a woman sat, keeping watch over the sleeping child. She shared the girl's blonde hair and tan complexion, and her large eyes were deep with compassion. She hummed a quiet lullaby, knitting to pass the time. A modest knock broke the stillness, and the woman looked up. "Come in." The room's thick, wooden door creaked open. Tentatively, a small face peered in. It was a boy, only slightly older than the girl. Unlike the girl, however, he had light skin and large green eyes that seemed to shine. "What is it?" the woman asked. "Mother ... how is Miyuki?" Though he called her mother, the resemblance was small, so that an objective bystander might assume they were not, in fact, related. The one outstanding similarity was their bright golden hair. "She's all right," the woman said kindly. "Her fever is gone. She'll be fine in a few days." The girl stirred at the sounds. "Brother ..." A tiny hand slipped out from beneath the blankets and stretched towards the boy. He stepped forward, but his mother stopped him with her arm. "No!" she said firmly. "You might catch cold. Then you wouldn't be able to play for at least a week." The boy looked disappointed. "All right." His mother smiled. "It's late. You should go to bed now, too." "Okay. Good night." He leaned up to give his mother a kiss, then turned to his little sister. "Get well soon, Miyuki," he whispered, and went to leave. But before he shut the door, he felt a tiny chill and something caught his eye. He rushed back into the room, past the bed, to peer out the window. The woman rose. "What is it?" The boy stared into the night. "I thought I saw someone." She walked to the window with a graceful efficiency, careful not to alarm the children by appearing frightened. Her eyes searched the darkness, and she checked the security panel that was built into the window-sill. It was a high-ranking house, which meant dozens of stringent guard systems scattered across the estate. None had been breached. Satisfied, she turned back to the boy. "It's all right. There's no one there." She smiled. "I guess it's the snow elves, wondering where you've been and missing you. You two haven't gone out for a while. That's why you need to keep healthy." The boy relaxed. "I guess so. Good night, Miyuki," he said again. "Good night, Mother." He took one last look at the window, then bowed and left. The woman walked back to the bedside, sitting in the chair and staring down at her daughter. The child made a sad face. "I'm lonely," she whispered. "When you get well, you can play with him again," the woman soothed. The girl nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. "Oh, so you love your brother so much?" the woman teased, as if they were best friends and not mother and daughter. The girl nodded. "I want ... I want to marry him when I grow up." She blushed, pulling the sheets up to cover her face. "I hope so too," her mother answered in a small voice. Comforted, the girl closed her eyes and fell asleep. The woman folded her hands in her lap and felt a wave of melancholy break over her. Rocking slightly, she turned her gaze to the window, and the falling snow beyond. * * * Washu retreated into the darkness and vanished into the snow. It was a simple trick: the low-level field she was generating attracted the white haze, which whipped through the air, obscuring the space around her. It was merely an augmentation of existing defenses, of course, more necessary in the daytime, when sunlight interfered with the energy barrier that rendered her invisible to the naked eye. A host of other fields reduced her possibility of detection by Seniwa security systems to zero. It was a small comfort. , she thought, as she moved silently around the perimeter of the house. The image of the tiny silhouette blazed before her. The thought shocked her, against all reason. Of course he was older ... it had been four years. He had grown. Her breath became choked with momentary fear. Suppose he had forgotten her? But no ... no, it simply wasn't possible. Quickly, she regained control of her breathing and considered her options. Mikumo was a young boy now. The yard outside was vast, and she had seen children's toys in the snow. Certainly he would come outside to play before long. And then ... then perhaps she would have her chance. She nodded firmly. It was a good plan. Better yet, it did not require her to infiltrate the house. A light flashed across her face. Her eyes flitted upwards and she realized she had rounded a corner of the estate that lay close to the house. There was a small window that framed moving shapes, casting patches of shadow on the snow outside. The window was open slightly, and faint voices drifted through. The sound carried well in the cold air -- her augmented hearing could easily make out the tones. Her jaw clenched, and for a moment she could feel the chill through her protective field. It was the voice of her former husband. She drifted closer. "... saw something at the window today," came Koyori's voice. "Just jumping at shadows." "Of course. But he's seemed so distant lately. Sometimes I wonder ..." Washu could now see their shadows distinctly against the snow. Mikamo had moved up behind Koyori and taken her by the shoulders. The image caused a queerly electric feeling to run through Washu. She stared numbly. "Do you think he misses his mother?" Koyori finished. Mikamo stroked her hair comfortingly. "He doesn't even remember her," he whispered. "He'd have asked. You know how curious he is. Besides, you are his mother. Do you ever doubt that he loves you?" "No." There was a long silence. Washu shifted her gaze to a blank section of wall and tried not to think. Koyori's tone changed. "Do miss her?" Mikamo's shadow straightened. "I can't afford to miss her." "Can you afford to love me?" "For the sake of our children." Koyori relaxed. "I feel sorry for her sometimes." He sighed. "So do I." Something in Washu burst into flames. And then she was standing in front of the window, staring into Mikamo's eyes. Instantly, she became as still as a statue. Her heart seemed to stop -- her blood to freeze in her veins. He was staring . And he wasn't looking away. she thought. He stared at her (at her or her?) for several seconds. "Some- times," he whispered. "I can almost see her." Koyori's eyes shimmered, then she turned his head and drew him into a passionate kiss. He sank warmly into her embrace, pulling their bodies close. Washu could only watch. Her anger deflated like a leaky balloon, her mind drawing inward like a withering flower. Her movements evocative of a wind-up toy, she turned and staggered towards the woods. Half-thoughts spun through the fragments of her mind. As she moved, she began to stumble. Flesh began to sag beneath wrinkled skin. Her mind throbbed with analytical malaise. Limbs quavered as bones became brittle and muscles lost their power. She raised a trembling hand against the snow, brushing back ghostly hair from eyes that could no longer focus. Ancient lungs struggled to inhale the cold air. Her knees could no longer support her, and she fell into the cold blackness. There she lay, the moving blanket of snow covering her fallen body like a grave, until the sun began to touch the sky and the air rang with the distant laughter of children. * * * Mikumo danced and laughed and was alive in the snow. He capered across the whiteness, heedless of direction or consequence. There was nothing that could harm him in the yard, and his layers of protection sheltered him from the cold's worst sting. As he stomped and spun, his feet would break through the crusty surface, sending him plunging down to the ground, there to pick himself up and, giggling, brush himself off before beginning the cycle all over again. When he tired of his solitary dance, he turned to more constructive purposes. His initial intention was to build a snow fort. But fistfuls of snow were distracting, and before long he had succumbed to the lure of snowball-throwing. It was a freeing activity; with his sister sick in bed and unable to play, he didn't have to worry about restraining himself for fear of injuring her. He threw fast and he threw hard, as many as he wanted. There was no one to hold him back. Each ball seemed to fly farther than the next ... And then one snowball didn't come down. It hung, suspended above the snow, far from any branch that might be supporting it. The boy moved closer for a better look. To his astonishment, the snowball began to move away from him. He padded after it, faster. But the white orb only gained speed. Now it was moving into the tree-line. Determined not to let this adventure escape him, the boy began to run. Behind him, the snow began to fall once more. * * * Like a dream, Washu began to rise. Her son's laughter rang like music in her ears. It was the only thing in the universe besides her and the snow. Somewhere, people had hurt and abused her. Somewhere, in the darkness beneath the snow, was a world of pain and death. She broke through the snow, icy layers falling off new skin like a mask -- like a marble statue come to life. Cold, fresh air rushed into her nostrils. She closed her eyes and inhaled it with relish. She twirled, and the air around her shimmered and sparkled as tiny beads of snow spiraled out from her black fur coat. She smiled beautifully and opened her eyes to survey this new world that had been created for her, and for her son. Reaching out with her senses, she found him. Playing. So perfectly innocent. He was happy, and his joy touched off a paradoxical blend of desperate gladness and terrible yearning inside of her. She glided between the trees, reaching out with her mind. He tossed a snowball into the air and she called it to her; guided it through the forest. It fell to her feet. She turned. There he stood. Mikumo. Her son. The thought sang to her, siren-like. Son. What a bright and wonderful word! She paused. What was happening? Was this real? She could almost step outside her body. The way the falling snow melted when it touched his cheek ... the way the wind rustled the branches on the trees ... the tears she felt just behind her eyes ... And his eyes ... eyes! They were the same! How long since she had looked into those eyes? It didn't matter. They had not changed. She dove into them, swam between them, drank them up ... and was that a ghost of recognition she saw? Of course! How could there not be? She was HIS MOTHER! How should they not know each other, if the distance between them had been centuries! The boy's lips moved unconsciously: Washu read it all over his face. What did he see? Was he feeling what she felt? She bent down and picked up the fallen snowball, taking a step forward. The words came easily, naturally. "This is yours, isn't it?" The boy shivered. Tears of pure emotion appeared in his small eyes. Washu held out the ball and he took it, their eyes never parting. "Thank you ... very much," he whispered. Washu could see the tension and anxiety leaving him as their proximity increased. No alarm remained in his expression, only wonderment. She stretched out her hand. she thought. He nodded, as if hearing her. His tiny hand reached out for hers. "Brother!!" Washu looked up, confused. There was another? A tiny, tattered creature was crashing through the underbrush. "Brother!" It called again. The appearance of the strange being seemed to have some sort of effect on her son. He shook his head as if waking from a prolonged sleep. "Miyuki," he cried, and rushed to the shivering bundle, cradling it in his arms. "Brother!" it whispered again. The boy removed his cloak and draped it over quaking shoulders. "You should be in bed. Didn't mother tell you so?" "Brother!" she cried again, clasping him in small, strong arms. With hard, defiant eyes she stared up at Washu's face. "Don’t take him!" Washu thought again. For the first time, she realized that the tiny being was a little girl. she thought. Somewhere in her mind there was a sound like breaking glass. This was not her world after all. Grief filled her soul, a mourning beyond tears. She stared mutely at the children. The girl began to tremble as she stared into Washu's eyes. Grief leapt from woman to child like an electric current. Anger vanished from the girl's tiny features. She began to stammer. "I'm ... I'm ... so ... so-sorry ..." The guilt in her voice rang through Washu's head like hammer-blows. Her eyes moved down to the girl's bare legs. They were streaked with blood. Innocent blood. Why? Somewhere in the forest a woman was calling for her children. Somewhere near was the sound of harsh footsteps in the snow. "I'm sorry," the girl whispered tearfully. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She sank her chin against her brother's shoulder, repeating the apology over and over. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry ..." "I'm not mad at you," the boy said, bewildered. He gave her a comforting pat on the head. Washu thought. Her eyes drank in her pristine surroundings. she admonished herself. In a sudden moment of clarity, a mist seemed to lift from her eyes. The sadness she had struggled for so long to repress returned, and this time she did not resist its pull. It settled over and within her heart, and she knew that as long as she lived it would never disappear. It was a part of her now. Almost unable to bear the burden, she grasped at that last straw of happiness: the knowledge that her son had a family that loved him and would keep him safe. She had failed him, but he would not feel the sting of that failure. The consequences were hers to bear alone, she knew. It felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, only to settle in her soul. She smiled sadly at the children. Her eyes fixed on Mikumo for one final moment, and she was confident that it would be the last time she saw him in the flesh. "Good-bye, my son," she whispered. There was a wind. Then the snow surrounded her, and she was gone. * * * Upon arriving at the scene, the guards found only the two children. As Miyuki expected, she was severely scolded and her cold worsened to the point where she had to spend another week in bed. She was confined with her brother, who had also caught the cold. Lying dormant together, she would take his hand and listen to his rough breathing. "Brother, brother, brother ..." Warm feelings would fill her heart. She never told her parents what she had seen, though many years later she would tell her grandchildren. But the touch of his hand would always remind her of the Lady of the Snow. The kind, sad, beautiful snow fairy with the red hair who had given back her brother. * * * The snowflakes were still melting when Washu walked into the cockpit of the small vessel that now hung cloaked over Seniwa. Naja looked up from where she had been sitting, her feet propped up over the control panel, her hands holding an open book. She looked at Washu over her tiny glasses. Her face was etched with a deep concern. Washu ignored Naja's unspoken question, emphatically shaking the wet, overlarge coat as it hung loosely over her twelve year-old body. "Rotten fabric! Begone!" The winter outfit vanished, replaced by a dry, casual outfit. Naja blinked, feeling awkward. "Um ... how did it go?" Washu plopped into the co-pilot's chair. "Fine." Naja sat up, her face long with incredulity. "Fine? Is that all you have to say? What happened?" Washu raised a dismissive hand. "What's to tell?" "Did something go --" "Nothing went wrong! Just drive, okay? Get us out of here." Naja frowned. "Um ... you're not going back to the Academy like that, are you?" Washu remained silent, staring out the viewport at the stars. "Washu, if you're hurt ..." Washu's head turned sharply. She laughed. "Children don't know what real pain is!" Naja made a frustrated noise. "Washu, you're not a child! You're a professor!" Washu's face bent into a diabolical smile. "I can be both," she chuckled. "Children have a lot to teach. And I have lots of changes to make. This ..." She gestured at her body. "This is only the beginning. When I'm through, the Academy won't know what hit 'em!" Wild laughter filled the cabin, and for the first time, Naja looked at her friend with genuine fear. Big changes. Naja believed her. ========================================================================= CONTINUED IN: Washu's Lullaby - Part V: The Scientist =========================================================================