I have a message from another time...

                     Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
                               presents

                UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT
                      - SYMPHONY OF THE SWORD -

                     First Movement: Wounded Rose

                         Benjamin D. Hutchins

                  "Silver Thunderbird" by Marc Cohn
                    "Higher Place" by Schon/Blades
                          "B-Side" by Blotto
                  "The Second Coming" by W.B. Yeats

     Some characters created by Kunihiko Ikuhara and Chiho Saito
                (Character designer, Shinya Hasegawa)

	    Some other characters created by Hajime Yatate
	       (Character designer, Toshihiro Kawamoto)

                (c) 2001 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited


                      THURSDAY, AUGUST 26, 2404
                   WORCESTER PREPARATORY INSTITUTE
                   WORCESTER, MASSACHUSETTS, EARTH

        Kaitlyn Hutchins finished putting away the last of her books,
flattened the last of her boxes and put them out in the hall, and then
stood with her back to the door and surveyed the room with the
satisfaction of a job well done.
        Room 412 was a standard one, and nothing very fancy.  It had
incredibly boring, industrial brown, everything-resistant carpet, and
its cinder-block walls were painted with a rather rubbery white paint,
specially formulated to resist the attempts of generations of students
to hang posters on it.  Two sets of bulky, utilitarian wooden
furniture took up most of the space: desks, chairs, bookshelves,
chests of drawers, and large freestanding wardrobes to make up for the
room's lack of a closet - all in pairs, except for a mysteriously
present third desk.  The beds at least could be bunked, and had been,
in one corner of the room.  Kate had pushed the rest of the furniture
back against the walls, opening up as much of an area in the middle of
the room as possible; there was just enough clear floorspace for her
to put down the blue Persian rug, her favorite, that she'd brought
from home.
        It was a bit silly that there -were- two of everything, given
that Kate had managed to snag one of the much-coveted single room
assignments.  She'd been uncommonly lucky to do so, she knew; room 401
at the end of the hall, which was supposed to be one of the fourth
floor's two single rooms, was being renovated.  The Residential Life
Department had only reluctantly agreed to let her take one of the
regular rooms by herself rather than refunding her parents the extra
cost of her single reservation, but after last year, they owed her,
and they knew it.  So here she was, and now she was hoping she'd at
least be able to get rid of the third desk.
        She went to the window and looked down at the Quadrangle,
watching with a quiet smile as fellow students went here and there on
their errands across the grassy expanse with its three center-crossing
brick-paved pathways.  Having a room that faced the Quad could get
noisy from time to time, but that would be preferable to the odd-
numbered rooms on this floor, whose windows looked out on the football
field.  Being on the fourth floor was nice change from last year, too.
201 had been a shorter climb, but the view wasn't as good.
        As she stood idly watching the Quad, a splash of bright color
caught her eye, and she made a little surprised noise and focused on
it.  It was a student, a boy from the cut of his clothes, with the
most outrageously pink hair Kate had ever seen - surely an odd color
for a boy to have chosen, but who was Kaitlyn to judge people's
affectations?  At any rate, it was a most eyecatching shade, and,
being something of an aesthete, Kate smiled to see it bobbing across
the Quad, startling against the green, brown and brick red.
        A moment later, Kate noticed that this student, whoever he
was, was accompanied by no less a personage than Miss Claudia
Montaigne, the Dean of Student Life.  And carrying a suitcase, too.
That was interesting.  A late arrival?  Kate wondered who he was.
        Oh, well.  Nothing to do with her.  She picked up a book of
blank sheet music from her desk, climbed up into the top bunk, and
started jotting a short composition that had been rattling around in
her head for some time, humming bits of it softly to herself as she
scribbled.
        A minute or so later, there came a knock at the door.  Kate
wondered who it could be.  She didn't get many visitors, especially at
the beginning of term, when everyone was busy getting their class
schedules compiled, books acquired, and rooms arranged.  She put down
the notebook, climbed down, and answered the door.
        "Oh!  M-Miss Montaigne, h-hello!" she said, surprised.
Stepping back slightly, she said, "C-come in, won't you?"
        Miss Montaigne smiled but didn't enter.  She was a thirtyish,
short, slightly stout woman with a bun of strawberry blonde hair and a
sympathetic smile, and right now she looked a little harried as she
said, "Good morning, Kaitlyn.  I can't come in, I'm afraid - too many
things to do today - but I need to ask you to do me a big, big favor."
        "Oh?"  Kate cocked her head inquisitively.
        Miss Montaigne looked embarrassed.  "Look... I know you were
supposed to have a single room this year, and everything was all
arranged, and after last year I -really- don't have any right to ask
this," she said with a slight wince, "but... I'm really in a spot.
We've got a new student who arrived this morning, under... somewhat
special circumstances... and she needs a place.  There's nowhere else
we can put her without tripling up one of the Sanford Riley doubles,
and... well... "  The administrator sighed, lowered her voice a bit,
and continued, "... she's really been through the wars, poor girl, and
I think what she needs more than anything now is someone quiet who can
give her space.  I know how much you value your own, so... well... can
I impose?  Ironic, I know.  She's really a very nice girl.  You know I
wouldn't ask, after... well, last year, if I didn't think you'd be
able to get along with her."
        Kate considered.  She did know that - Miss Montaigne was a
very understanding woman, and she knew all about Kate's preference for
peace and quiet.  She really wouldn't have broached this subject if
she weren't desperate, and her final comment was telling.
        "A-all right," she said.
        Relief flooded the face of the Dean of Student Life.
        "You'll try it?  Oh, thank you.  Really, I'm in your debt.
I'll arrange for the fees to be refunded.  Well!"  She arranged
herself, smoothing at her tightly-held hair, and sighed, shrugging
into a brisker, more professional demeanor like an old coat.  She took
a half-step back and said, "It seems everything's settled.  Come and
meet your new roommate, dear."
        Footsteps came from the hall, and then another figure stepped
around the edge of the doorway.  Kate blinked.  It was the
suitcase-bearing boy, the new student she'd seen on the Quad!
        Except the new student most definitely was not a boy, and
could only have been mistaken for one in very poor light, or at a
sufficient distance - say, 200 feet.  No, though wearing what looked
like a black uniform jacket cut for a boy, this was definitely a girl,
and a very pretty one too, holding herself well despite the heavy
suitcase she carried.  She was a few inches taller than Kate's
five-two, and athletic, with a rather pointed face, alabaster skin and
wide, striking royal-blue eyes.  Her bright, lustrous pink hair was
cropped into a sort of disheveled Audrey Hepburn gamin, slightly
shaggy, as though it had already started growing back.
        Kate wondered why she'd had it cut.  Certainly if her own hair
were that color - for it seemed natural, even the girl's eyebrows and
the faint regrowing fuzz at the nape of her slender neck matched it -
and texture, she'd revel in it.  Kate's own hair was an unremarkable
brown, a shade or two lighter than her chocolate eyes, and she'd never
suffered it to be cut.  It hung loose about her shoulders and down her
back, with just the faintest hint of natural curl in it.
        She knew without really considering it that, wherever she and
her new roommate went, this girl would be the one drawing all the
attention.  She was everything Kate felt she herself wasn't - tall,
graceful, gorgeous, with an air of easy confidence in her movements
even in this awkward situation.  In her tidily tailored, wasp-waisted
man-style jacket, tight scarlet shorts showing an uncanny span of leg,
and red-laced black and white saddle shoes, this girl would command
the attention of every thinking creature with an even vaguely human
aesthetic sense within eyeshot, and pale, plainly-dressed, mousy Kate
would vanish into obscurity next to her.
        The thought didn't upset Kate.  She didn't particularly like
the spotlight anyway, and had always felt vaguely grateful that she'd
not received that sort of beauty.  Her mother had it, of a very
different type from this girl's, but of a similar distinction and
impact.  Kei Morgan also had the brashness of temperament that had to
accompany such beauty to make it bearable.  Kate felt she lacked both,
and was glad of it.
        "Kaitlyn Hutchins," said Miss Montaigne, gesturing, "meet
Utena Tenjou."
        Kate bowed.  "I'm v-very p-p-pleased," she said.
        "I'm very sorry to impose," said Utena with downcast eyes.
        Kate smiled.  "It's a-all right," she said.  "C-come far?"
        "Not really," said Utena, wondering why this girl was so
nervous.
        "Well, I'll leave you two to get settled in," said Miss
Montaigne.  "I'll look in on you in a little while and make sure
you're getting along all right."
        "I'm s-sure we'll be fine, M-Miss Montaigne," said Kate
cheerily.
        Once the door was closed on the administrator's retreating
back, Utena braced herself for the dissolution of her new roommate's
pleasant demeanor, but it didn't come; Kate only turned around to see
her standing in the middle of the room, feeling awkward.  She smiled
again, a warm and welcoming smile, and gestured with an open hand to
the unmade bottom bunk.
        "Oh... uh, thank you," said Utena.  She went to the bed, put
her suitcase on it, opened it, and then turned around with an unasked
question on her face.
        Seeing it, Kate nodded as though realizing that she'd
forgotten something, went to her desk, and took a note pad from the
top drawer.  With the tip of her tongue wedged into the corner of her
mouth, she wrote for several seconds, then tore the top sheet off and
handed it to Utena.  Puzzled, Utena looked at the paper.  Written on it
in a neat, upright hand were the words:

Please don't be offended if I don't speak to you much these first few
days.  I have a speech impediment which becomes especially bad when
I'm dealing with people I don't know well.  (I wrote this note
because, if I tried to say all this right now, it would take me half
an hour.)  I'm not nervous - I just talk that way.  It's nothing you
did or said, and there's nothing you can do to help, so please don't
worry about it.  As we get accustomed to each other, I'll start
talking more.  In the meantime, welcome to Morgan 412, and please
don't feel you're intruding.  If I need to, I can find my own privacy
in the middle of a crowd.

Kaitlyn

        Utena looked up from the paper to her new roommate, who stood
smiling pleasantly, waiting.  For several seconds she was silent, and
then her own face broke into a matching grin.  "OK, fair enough," she
said.  "I really am sorry about barging in like this, though."
        "Q-quit ap-p-polog-gizing," said Kate mock-crossly, "or
y-y-you'll m-m-make me m-mad."
        Utena raised her hands in surrender.  "Sorry - d'oh!"
        "J-just for th-that," Kate said, pointing to the window,
"-you- c-can t-t-try to get the w-w-window open."
        Utena obediently went to open the window, which was a
challenge, since it had been painted shut by several successive
generations of Plant Services employees.  Eventually, after trying it
from this angle and that for several minutes, she braced herself
against the UniVent, wedged her fingers firmly in the gap, and gave a
mighty heave.  With a tremendous CRACK, the window opened.
        An inch.
        Panting, Utena paused for a moment, then heaved again, and
with an ear-shattering creak, it opened another inch.  She paused,
looking at it dubiously, and said, "I don't think I should open this
any further."
        Kate came up behind her to inspect it, causing Utena to flinch
sideways and give her a sidelong look.
        "W-what?" asked Kate.
        "Nothing," Utena said.  "I thought you were going to - forget
it."
        "OK," said Kate, and went back to examining the window.  Well,
she thought to herself, Miss Montaigne did say she's been through the
wars.  I guess she literally does need space.  Glad I didn't try to
shake her hand... 
        Kaitlyn sized up the window frame, looking up and down both
sides; then she tapped experimentally at a couple of places on the
frame, carefully gripped the lower sash with both hands, tilted her
left wrist slightly, and pushed.
        The window glided smoothly up the rest of the way.
        "T-t-ta-da!" said Kate with a flourishing gesture.  Utena gave
a brave attempt at a smile, but something in the last few seconds had
veiled her face in a shadow that muted it.  She seemed to realize it
was futile after a moment, and silently went about unpacking.
        Shrugging inwardly, Kate climbed up into her bunk and resumed
her composition.  Nothing more was said in Morgan 412 for several
hours, as Kate composed her song and Utena unpacked her few
belongings, then lay on her bed and felt gloomy.
        The school was pretty, the people had been nice so far, and
Kaitlyn seemed pleasant enough.  She was a bit odd, but oddness
appealed to Utena, so that wasn't likely to be a problem.
        So that only left everything else about her life.
        She sighed, turned on her side, and tried to go to sleep.
        Above, Kate wondered what could happen to a person to make her
sigh like that at fifteen.  She'd heard her father sigh like that, but
he was over four hundred, and had seen more sorrow and felt more pain
in his life than anyone should have.
        Then she shrugged.  It wasn't her place to pry into things
like that.  If Utena wanted to tell her, she would.  If she didn't,
well... that was her choice.
        At six, Kate jumped down from her bed, put on her shoes, and
turned to Utena's motionless back.
        "Are y-y-you s-sleeping?" she asked softly.
        "Not really," Utena replied.  "Why?"
        "D-dinnert-time," Kate said, "i-if you d-d-dare."
        Utena rolled over, sat up, and looked at her.  "Is it that
bad?"
        "J-judge for yours-s-self," said Kate with a smile.  She took
her black wooden walking stick from its place next to the door, and
off they went.

        "You're right," said Utena, looking down with distaste at
something that was supposed to be Salusian shyam.  "This is barely
edible.  Why don't the dorms have kitchens?"
        "S-school c-couldn't s-s-soak our p-pa-parents f-for the
m-m-meal p-p-plan th-then," Kate replied.
        "Oh," said Utena, and the shadow passed over her face again.
"Of course," she added in a quieter tone, and she resumed pecking at
the flat noodles and unidentified meat.
        Realizing that she'd stepped in it with her mention of
parents, Kate scowled at herself and looked for an angle to take by
way of recovery.  She was saved from that trouble, however, by the
arrival of another student at their table.  Seeing his shadow fall
across her plate, Utena looked up - and up - and up a bit more, her
eyes widening.
        Standing behind and a bit to the left of Kate was a giant,
over seven feet tall and almost impossibly broad, with skin the color
of unleavened coffee, bright green eyes, a large and misshapen nose,
and no hair.  "Heya, Kate!"  he boomed in a voice that matched him,
deep and rich and resonant, with a touch of an accent that tasted of
islands.  "Budge up a little, willya?  Didn't think you were coming
back 'til Monday."
        Kate smiled and moved over.  "H-hello, Moose," she said.  "I
w-wasn't going to, b-b-but th-there was nothing m-much g-going on at
h-home, s-so... "  She shrugged.  Utena notice how much milder Kate's
stutter became when speaking to this fellow student.  She still
tripped over letters, but mostly just at the beginnings of words, and
she didn't have to stop and start over.  So it was true - she did find
it easier to speak to people she knew.  That was good.
        "Moose" grinned and plunked down a tray loaded with more of
the alleged shyam than Utena thought any humanoid could ever consider
consuming, then lowered himself carefully to the bench.  "I hear ya,"
he said.  "I was so bored back home I could hardly get outta bed.
Well, that and the gravity," he added.  Noticing Utena, he went on,
"Hello, you're new, aren't you?  Surely I'd remember if I'd seen your
face before."
        "Utena," said Kate, indicating the new arrival, "M-M-Moose."
        Moose's eyebrows, which were so bushy they gave the impression
that they felt a need to make up for the baldness of his scalp, rose.
Then he rose after them, unfolding to his full impressive height again
in order to bow and boom, "The Hon'rable J. Maurice MacEchearn the
Fourth, at your service, my fair lady."
        Bleak though her mood might be, Utena had to smile at that;
she rose as well, bowed in return, and said, "Utena Tenjou."
        "Utena is my new r-roommate," Kate informed Moose as the two
both sat.
        "Roommate?" Moose said wonderingly.  "Thought you had another
single this year."
        "So d-did I," Kate replied, "b-but things change."  Utena
opened her mouth, but Kate pointed her fork at her and added, "B-but
if she ap-pologizes f-for imposing one more t-t-time, I'm going to
th-throw her out."
        Utena actually laughed at that, raising her hands again in
mock surrender.  A moment later, someone else appeared at their
table.  This was another young man, much shorter and slimmer, with a
short brush of blond hair standing up from the top of his head and
thin, dark brows over intense blue eyes.  He was already grinning
when he arrived and plopped his tray down unceremoniously next to
Utena's.
        "Hullo all," he said in a voice that was rather reedy, if
strong enough to suit his needs.  "First meetin' of the IBGF for this
term already in session?"
        "W-we don't have a q-quorum yet," Kate pointed out.
        "Hmm, I guess that's true," he observed, looking around.
"I wonder where Azalynn and Amanda got to."
        "Well, I don't know where Amanda got to," said a slim dark
girl as she stepped up to the end of the table, "but Azalynn was
informing the cook that shyam noodles are -not- supposed to be fried
in used crankcase oil."
        "A-Azalynn!" Kate gasped.  "Y-you cut your h-h-hair!"
        The dusky girl put down her tray and twirled around, which
evinced little reaction from her shoulder-length thatch of more-or-
less-straight, wiry gray hair, and grinned broadly, her remarkable
gold eyes twinkling.  "Actually Mama did it," she said.  "She said it
was unseemly for a girl going on sixteen to still have her pouchling
stripes."
        Utena was looking puzzled, so the girl turned to her and said,
"I'm Dantrovian."  When that didn't clear things up any, she said,
"We're a marsupial species.  We're born with striped hair, but it
grows out solid-colored once we're unpouched."
        "Ah," said Utena, feeling vaguely more enlightened.
        "I don't think I've met you, by the way," the girl went on,
sticking out a three-fingered hand.  "I'm Azalynn dv'Ir Natashkan."
        "Utena Tenjou," said Utena for the second time, as she shook
the hand.
        "Are you new?"  Utena nodded.  "You're very pretty," Azalynn
declared matter-of-factly.  "I -love- your hair.  You should let it
grow out.  I hope you come to this year's Festival of the Falling
Leaves," she added with a sunny grin.  "We could have a lot of fun!"
        Utena reddened a little.  "Um, thank you," she murmured,
wondering what the Festival of the Falling Leaves was, and what sort
of fun it entailed.
        "Are you in the band?" Azalynn went on.
        Utena shook her head.  "I'm Kaitlyn's roommate," she
explained.
        "Oh!  Kate the Cave Dweller took another roommate?"  Azalynn
turned to her friend, hands on hips, and scowled.  "I thought -I- was
going to be your roommate if you ever decided to risk it again."
        "Circ-c-cumstances overtook y-you," Kate replied with a
smile.  "S-s-sorry."
        "Well, that's OK," said Azalynn, brightening again.  She
turned to Utena.  "Maybe next term we can get a quad!  We could take
one of the Ellsworth apartments, and each have our own room, and have
a living room to study in, and have our own kitchen, and not have to
eat this slop!" she added, jabbing her fork vindictively into the
central mass of her shyam.
        "Nobody moves into an Ellsworth in the middle of the school
year, Azamuffin," observed Moose placidly.
        "First time for everything, Moosecake," Azalynn replied.
        The blond boy made a retching sound.  "'Moosecake'?  I say!
Is that supposed to be an endearment, Azalynn?  Sounds like somethin'
you'd regret steppin' in while walkin' in the woods, what?"
        "You just say that because your soul lacks romance, Devlin,"
said Moose with a beatific grin that did entertaining things to his
charmingly ugly face.  "I think it's perfectly sweet."
        "I think I have to agree with the Earthman," said a fourth
arrival, this one a middle-height, athletic-looking girl with flowing
coal-black hair, pale blue skin, and faintly glowing red eyes.  "As
your endearments go, Azalynn, I rate it below 'Megamoose', but I do
have to admit that it certainly outscores 'Mooseco - '"
        "Amanda!" Moose boomed, effortlessly smothering her calm
contralto and causing people as far away as five tables to flinch
visibly as he surged to his feet and swept wide his great black arms
in an exaggerated gesture of welcome.  "How simply delightful to see
you again.  And how was your summer?  Suitably warlike, I hope?"
        "It was a little disappointing," Amanda replied.  "The
Vuldroni didn't put up much of a fight.  My wing didn't embarrass the
Homeworld, but that kind of war isn't much for building a reputation."
She shrugged.  "Maybe the Quadrinaar will be a challenge.  I just hope
they wait until I'm home for the Christmas holidays."
        Exchanging small talk among themselves, the four newcomers
arranged themselves at the table; then Moose cleared his throat,
tapped the side of his water glass with his spoon, and said with
exaggerated formality, "Now that we're all here, as Vice President of
the Student Band Association and the Institute Band Geeks Federation,
I call this meeting of the SBA officers and the IBGF - inasmuch as
those two organizations have exactly the same membership - to order.
Attendez-vous, s'il vous plait, our illustrious and duly elected
President, the beautiful and talented Miss Kaitlyn Hutchins."
        Kate reddened just a touch.  "Th-thank you, Moose," she said.
        "First, we will address old business from last term," said
Moose grandly.  "Item: Devlin still owes me twenty-three credits for
his ticket to Hyperzone."
        The blond boy dug into a pocket and handed across a wad of
bills.  "There you go, old sock," he said cheerily.  "Frightfully kind
of you to spot me, eh, what?"
        "I believe we may classify this item as 'concluded'," said
Moose with a satisfied grin as he tucked the money away.  "Item:
Amanda still has Azalynn's copy of 'The Forbidden Love Poetry of Surak
of Vulcan'."
        "I'm still reading it," said Amanda.  "I didn't have a lot of
time over the summer, what the the war and all."
        "I don't need it back right away," Azalynn replied.  "Go
ahead and finish."
        "Shall we say 'tabled' for that one, then?" asked Moose.  Kate
nodded, smiling.  "Very well.  Item: I was going to get a new axe over
the summer."  His grin broadened as he went on, "And I got it, and it
is bitchin' unto the supreme degree.  You will all get the chance to
admire it and envy me at our first rehearsal."  There was a round of
applause.
        "Item: Electronic dissemination of this year's room
locations," Moose went on.  "Before leaving for the dining hall I
checked the IBGF web page, and it seems all of us are registered... "
He swept his bright green eyes around the table before settling on the
blue-skinned girl.  "... Except Amanda."
        "You giant buffoon," Amanda replied, annoyed.  "I'm rooming
with Azalynn, you know that."
        "But how could I?" asked Moose piously.  "You never updated
the page."
        Amanda sighed.  "Very well, Moose, you win.  I'll do it when
I get back."
        Moose smiled a faintly, but falsely, patronizing smile.  "I'll
leave this item 'pending', then.  And finally, Item: ... "  He turned
to Kate and smiled a sly smile.  "... Mademoiselle President, the
Package has arrived."
        Kate smiled.  "Th-thank you, M-Moose.  I'll s-start setting
up f-for it right aw-way."
        Moose saluted.  "We, your loyal vassals, stand ready the
moment its place is prepared," he informed her.  "Now then, I believe
that concludes our old business.  We will now begin with new business.
Item: Mademoiselle President has acquired a lovely and charming
roommate, and we must welcome her to the Big W with an appropriate
display of our all-encompassing affection for our fellow beings."  He
indicated Utena with a sweep of one huge hand.  "Those of you who have
not, introduce yourselves, please, to Miss Utena Tenjou."
        The blond boy turned, seemed to notice for the first time that
he was sitting right next to someone he hadn't met, and declared,
"Tally-ho, the fox is sighted!  By George, I must be going blind.
Carter Devlin, dear lady.  Or Devlin Carter.  Take your pick, it don't
matter.  Think I'm related to some old Earth royalty, but I'm too
frightfully lazy to find out for certain.  Anyway I'm simply delighted
to meet you, Miss Tenjou, simply delighted!  Hope you'll have some use
for me in the future.  I'm not very smart, but my memory's good."
        Utena, who had been smiling pretty much continuously at this
group's byplay since they convened, said she was pleased to meet him.
        The blue-skinned girl elbowed past Devlin and smiled a bit
coolly.  "I am Flight Leader Amanda Elektra Dessler, commander of
Icewing Flight, 12th Gamilon Space Battle Wing, on His Majesty the
Emperor's glorious flagship Destiny's Fist."
        Utena blinked.  "You're a military officer?" she asked.
        Amanda nodded.  "I am a decorated starfighter pilot with a
command of twenty and sixteen and one-half enemy kills to my credit,"
she said proudly, "as well as three enemy warriors killed in single
combat."
        Utena looked impressed, but a little puzzled as well.  "Then
what are you doing here?" she asked.
        Amanda smiled.  "One does not learn all the things one will
need to be Empress of the Gamilons in battle," she replied.
        "Oh, Amanda, stop tryin' to impress the girl," said Devlin
dismissively.  "All that rot about killin' in single combat.  She's
goin' to get the impression we're all a bunch of bloodthirsty
duelists, eh, what?  Whereas nothin' could be further from the truth.
Why, I myself am a coward of the first and finest order!  I shrink
from the thought of danger or pain.  I flee from confrontation.  I
hide from - "
        "You'll hide from my fist if you keep prattling, Earthman,"
said Amanda darkly as she returned to her seat.  "Yours is a
degenerate branch of the species."
        "There's no need to be nasty," Devlin said, hurt.  "Whose
alphabetical knowledge of all the spaceline timetables in the Solar
system got you home in time for your flippin' war last summer?"
        "You were rewarded for that service already," said Amanda
testily, spearing a chunk of the mysterious meat on her plate.
        "Isn't love beautiful?" Azalynn asked Utena.
        Utena smiled, with only a flicker of that already-familiar
shadow visible to Kate in her eyes; Azalynn missed it completely.
        "Yeah," Utena replied.  "It sure is."

        That night, as she lay in the top bunk and tried to arrange
her thoughts for sleep, Kate heard the faint but unmistakable sounds
of grief coming from the bunk below her.
        Gods above, Utena Tenjou, she thought to herself, what
happened to you?

        The next morning, her first morning in this unfamiliar place,
Utena awoke disoriented.  As she worked her way up through the layers
of sleep toward full wakefulness, she knew immediately that she wasn't
in her own bed, but couldn't quite remember where she was instead.  A
momentary feeling of panic surged up, but couldn't pierce the veil of
recently-abandoned unconsciousness, and she relaxed into a sort of
fatalistic lassitude as she waited for her faculties to return.
        A moment later, with a mental feeling rather like the sound a
carbonated beverage makes when the last of the foam has gone, they
did, and she lay fully awake.  She didn't open her eyes yet, instead
simply listening.  She could hear faint day sounds, people talking and
calling to each other, a long way off.  Closer, there was a quiet
mechanical whir.  Buried in that, what sounded like a curious,
irregularly repeated sizzling sound.  Her nose caught the faintest
whiff of what smelled like hot metal.
        She sat up and opened her eyes to see... nothing much.
Herself, still bundled in bedclothes from the waist down.  A dark
shape at the end of the bed - the wardrobe that had been shoved
against the footboard to make more space in the middle of the room.
To her left, the blank white expanse of the wall.  To her right, a
gently rippling white barrier.  Fumbling with this, she stuck her head
out into the room.
        Sunlight, until now muted by the bedsheet hanging down the
side of the bunk beds like a fourposter's canopy, assaulted her.  The
blinds were fully drawn, the window open, and the light of the Sun
poured into the room, making the white walls glow.  Directly opposite
Utena's viewpoint, Kaitlyn Hutchins was sitting at the desk nearest
the window, her back to the beds, head bowed over something that
sizzled and smoked.  By the head of the bed, an atmosphere cleaner
hummed gently.
        After a few moments, Kate seemed to feel that she was being
observed; she paused in whatever she was doing and turned.  With a
smile, she flipped up the clear plastic face shield she was wearing
and said,
        "M-morn-ning."  She pointed with a soldering iron at a paper
plate standing atop the small brown refrigerator at the end of the
desk.  "M-m-muffin."
        Utena got out of bed, yawned, stretched, and put on her
dressing gown.  "I missed breakfast, huh?"  Kate nodded.  "What are
you doing?" Utena asked as she picked up the muffin.  While waiting
for her answer, she got a pint of milk from the refrigerator, sat down
in the other desk chair, and started on her belated breakfast.
        "B-building an ac-c-coustic d-d-damper web," said Kate as she
nodded her shield down and returned to work on the innards of the
little silver metallic box she had sitting before her.
        "Why?" asked Utena.
        "N-n-neighbors m-might n-not app-pr-appreciate the
p-p-p-piano," Kate replied matter-of-factly.
        Utena pondered this, took another bite of her muffin, washed
it down with a gulp of milk, and said, "What piano?"
        Kate nodded her head in the general direction of the mystery
desk, which stood near the door, blocking one of the wardrobes.  It
had been turned on its side, apparently preparatory to being removed
from the room to make space for something else.
        "You're going to - wait.  The package Moose was talking about?
It's a -piano-??"
        Kate nodded.
        "But why?  You've already got all this... stuff," Utena said,
indicating the rack next to Kate's desk with the two electronic
keyboards, the stack of processing and amplification below it, and the
guitar on a stand next to that.
        "N-n-not the s-s-s-same."  She finished a final trace, snapped
the back plate onto the box, and regarded it with satisfaction.
"There," she said, slotting the soldering iron into its place in the
rack of tools suspended inside the top side drawer of her desk, then
hanging the face mask on a hook attached to the desk's side.
        She carried the box and the straight-back chair over to the
door, stood on the chair, and affixed the box to the wall above the
door.  Utena noticed five more of the boxes, one on each of the room's
other walls, one on the ceiling, and one on the floor by the foot of
the beds.  They all had small amber lights on them.  As Kate pressed a
switch on the face of the one she'd just installed, an amber light
began blinking on that unit as well.  As it did, all the others
blinked with it, and then they all turned steady green.
        Kate grinned, then turned to Utena.  "D-do m-m-me a f-favor?"
        Utena tossed the plate and the empty milk carton in the
wastebasket and said, "Sure.  What?"
        Kate took her roommate's elbow and steered her out into the
hall.  As Utena crossed the threshold, she heard a very soft sort of
"phhhup!" sound.  She turned around to see Kate holding up a hand in a
"wait there" gesture.  The brown-haired girl trotted back to the stack
of musical equipment and switched a few things on, then picked up the
guitar from its stand and put its strap over her shoulder.  Then she
looked up, through the doorway, at Utena, and gave her a thumbs-up.
        Feeling rather foolish, Utena returned the sign, and Kate
grinned and started miming as if she were playing the guitar.  Utena
watched her do this with mounting puzzlement for a second or two, then
smiled as she realized what it meant.  She stepped back through the
doorway.
        phhhupWAH WAH WAAAAAH WAO WAH!  Utena flinched, assaulted by
the raucous, distortion-rich sound, and Kate stopped playing.
"S-sorry," she said.  She switched everything off and put the guitar
back where it belonged, then pressed the switch on the damper unit
mounted on the wall next to Utena's desk.  The lights on all six units
turned amber again.  "S-s-standb-by m-mode," she explained.  "N-no
n-need to w-w-waste p-power."
        Utena wanted to ask where Kate had learned to make something
like that, but the answer might have taken twenty minutes and cost her
roommate considerable aggravation and effort, so she skipped it and
just said, "That's cool, Kate."
        Kate grinned.  "Th-th-thanks."  Her wristwatch beeped at her;
glancing at it, she scowled.  "D-damn.  I have to g-go."
        Utena was puzzled.  "Why?  Classes don't start until Monday."
        Kate rolled her eyes.  "S-S-Student C-Council m-m-meeting."
        Utena frowned.  "You're on the Student Council?"
        "Unf-fort-t-tunately," Kate replied as she stuffed a notebook
and a couple of pens into a bookbag, then sat down to put on her
shoes.  "I'm b-b-band p-presid-dent.  Autom-m-matic s-seat."
        She wondered why Utena found that so upsetting - for there
were lines of alarm etched on the other girl's face that had sprung
there the moment Kate had mentioned the council.
        "It's a w-w-waste of t-time," Kate went on, trying to soothe
the strange tension that had come into Utena's face.  "A-all w-we ever
d-do is f-f-fight."  When that seemed only to worry her more, Kate
gave up.  "B-back s-s-soon as I f-f-find an exc-c-cuse."

        She was back after lunch, grumbling semi-intelligibly about
the meeting having gone on so long.  Sandwiches had been brought in,
but the general gist of the complaint, so far as Utena could follow it
from Kate's hang-fire muttering, was that she would much rather have
spent an hour at Table 11 in the Morgan dining hall with her friends
than an extra hour at the conference table in the Student Council
chamber with the rest of that august body.
        "... a-and if L-L-Liza B-Broadb-b-bank d-doesn't m-m-m-make up
her m-mind who sh-she's eng-g-gaged t-to, s-someb-b-body's g-gonna
die," Kate grumbled, throwing her council workbook into her desk
drawer as though it had personally offended her.
        Utena decided not to rile her roommate further by asking
questions, and instead busied herself rearranging her few belongings.
This led her into consideration of the Big W student uniform, which
she would have to go down to the campus bookstore and acquire several
of by the end of the day, since they had to be worn during class hours
starting with course registration on Monday.
        She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, leafing through the
glossy "student life" section of the year's course catalog, and
frowning at a photo of several carefree-looking kids (well, except for
the Vulcan, who was looking properly dour) crossing the Quad in a
happy little group, three girls and two boys.  Then she went to the
index and looked through that, but got no satisfaction.  Finally she
looked up at Kate - or at her back, anyway, since she was sitting at
her desk writing something in a notebook.
        "Hey Kate?" asked Utena.
        "Mm?" replied Kate.
        "Have you got a copy of the school rules?"
        Kate rummaged around in her top drawer, came up with a thin
black book, and held it back over her shoulder with her free hand.
Utena made a noise of thanks, took it, and started paging through it.
        "A-ha!" she said after a moment, grinning.  Kate turned to
give her a puzzled look.  "You'd think more schools would mention the
fact that there are two different uniforms in their rules," Utena
observed, "but they never seem to think of it."
        Kate swiveled in her chair, a puzzled look on her face.  Utena
explained, "At my old school, there was this one guidance counselor
who used to give me hell all the time for wearing a boy's uniform."
She indicated the black jacket she was wearing.  "But there was
nothing in the school's rules and regulations that said I couldn't.
All it said was that students must wear one of the approved uniforms,
and this -is-... well, -was- one."  She held up the little book with a
triumphant grin.  "This school's rule for uniforms is worded almost
exactly the same."
        Kate cocked an eyebrow at her.  "S-so y-y-you'll... ?"  She
trailed off, leaving the rest of the question as obvious.
        Utena flipped open the catalog to the page with the group on
the Quad and pointed to the boy on the left.  "That doesn't look too
bad.  It's not as sharp as the old Ohtori black, but with a little
tailoring it'll do."
        Kaitlyn looked.  She actually knew the boy in question, and
agreed with a private little smile that he didn't look too bad, though
that wasn't what Utena had meant.  As for the uniform itself, it was
the summerweight version of Worcester Prep's male uniform, a charcoal
gray blazer over black dress shirt and scarlet tie, with dressy shorts
that matched the blazer and low black boots with tab closures.  Kate
spent a moment envisioning her roommate so attired, made allowances
for tailoring, and nodded.
        "D-d-dang-gerous," she agreed, then plunged onward to make a
little joke: "C-c-campus a-accid-dent s-s-stats w-will r-r-rise."
        Utena smirked a little.  "You think?"
        Kate nodded.  "S-s-something ab-b-bout the t-t-t-tie."
        Utena considered the picture, nodded speculatively, and put
the catalog aside.  "I guess I better go get set up," she mused,
uncoiling her legs and hopping up from the bed.  "Hopefully they won't
put up too much of a fight.  Can I take this with me?" she added,
holding up the rulebook.
        Kate made a dismissive gesture, smiled, and went back to what
she'd been doing, and, armed for battle, Utena left the room.

        She was back two hours later, dressed in the first of her new
uniforms to come off the autotailor, with four more, one winterweight,
her old clothes and an overcoat slung over one shoulder, and as she
applied her key and shoved the door open, she swept in through the
doorway and struck a pose with a cheery,
        "Ta-da!"
        Applause erupted as the entire Institute Band Geeks Federation
shot to its feet as a single unit.  Azalynn gave a piercing wolf
whistle that was probably heard across the Quad.
        Blushing scarlet to match her new necktie, Utena toed the door
shut and went to one of the wardrobes to hang up her new uniforms.
Devlin Carter fell to the floor, clutching at his head and whimpering,
"My eyes!  I'm blinded!  Someone help!"  Amanda Dessler's notion of
helping seemed to involve a swift kick, but he rolled deftly out of
her line of fire and sprang back to his feet with a grin.
        Finishing her work, Utena turned back to face them, her
countenance still a bit pinker than normal, looking embarrassed at
Kate.  That person gave her a little shrug.
        "Y-y-your own d-d-d-damn f-fault," she pointed out.
        "I didn't know you'd have company," said Utena.
        "Wow!" said Azalynn, bouncing over and running a lap around
Utena to take her in from every angle.  "How'd you get the autotailor
to do that?  That's so -cool-!  Just look what the slope of the jacket
does for your bustline!  Dvhil, you're -gorgeous-!  I wish I had a
body like that."
        Utena reddened again and murmured something by way of thanks.
Moose MacEchearn, tapping thoughtfully at his chin, rumbled, "Gushing
about your fitness aside, how -did- you get the autotailor to do
that?  I never had it offer me a blouse and skirt."
        "Let's all take a moment and thank God for that," said Devlin.
        Utena giggled and replied, "Systems like that can be
overridden.  You just have to know where to apply the pressure."
        "And in this case," said Amanda, "that would be... ?"
        "The guy that runs the machine," Utena replied.
        "Ah," said Moose with an understanding nod.  "Social
engineering.  Well done!  You'll fit right in around here."
        Utena thanked him, then noticed what the five had been sitting
around when she came in.  On the floor was a big sheet of paper with a
crudely drawn map of something sketched on it in black Magic Marker.
Various colored markers lay scattered around, and cryptic notations
adorned the map here and there.
        "What's this?" she asked.
        "Operation: Install the Package has hit a bit of a logistical
snag," said Moose gravely.  "My van's broken down.  Bad alternator."
        "That's a problem," Utena concurred.  "How heavy is the
Package?"
        "About 600 pound, with the crate," said Devlin.  "And us at
the top of a beastly great hill, what?"
        Utena gave a wan smile.  "And I suppose the Package is at the
bottom?"
        "A-act-tually," said Kate, "i-it's at th-the P-P-P-Port
Auth-th-thority in B-B-Boston."
        Utena dropped her face into her hand.  "Oh."
        "The hill's not a problem," Moose mused, wryly, flexing one
massive arm, "but I'm not carrying a piano all the way from Boston."
        "Well, I still say there's nothing for it," Devlin said.
"We'll just have to put it on the train."
        "I d-d-don't think it'd f-fit through the d-d-doors, Devlin,"
Kate mused.
        "We could send a scouting party to take some measurements,"
said Azalynn.
        "Of every doorway between the Port Authority and Union
Station?" asked Amanda pointedly.
        "I'm not carrying a piano all the way from Union Station
either," Moose said.  "Sorry, Kate, but that's a couple of miles.  I'd
probably get arrested."
        "For what?" Devlin wanted to know.
        "How should I know?  Curfew violation?  Carrying a
suspiciously large box?  Being weird in a built-up area?  Anyway, I'm
not a -machine-, for Buck's sake."
        "N-no, M-M-Moose, th-that's OK," Kate said.  "W-we'll th-think
of s-something else."
        The door clicked, startling everyone, and then popped
unceremoniously open, admitting... well, a rather outlandish
creature.  Wiry and tanned, with a wild shock of blaze-red hair,
dressed in a white tank top, black bike shorts, and a wearable
computer that looked like it had been assembled in the dark from
dissimilar parts bins, eyes invisible behind a pair of green
datagoggles, this curious individual waved a cheery hand and declared
in a high voice,
        "Hiiiiii everybody!  Edward is sorry Edward is late.  Ein was
playing 'Intergalactic Diplomacy' and Edward couldn't get him to log
off until he'd finished conquering the Vuldroni."
        A Welsh corgi (also equipped with datagoggles, with a wearable
slung over his back) trotted into the room between the newcomer's
feet, barked, and plunked himself down next to Azalynn.
        "Silly dog," Edward continued with a fond smile.
        "I conquered the Vuldroni last week," Amanda said smugly.
        "Not much of an achievement, if a corgi can manage it in an
afternoon, what?" Devlin pointed out.
        "Be silent, Earthman," Amanda growled.
        "Anyway, Einy is no ordinary corgi!" said Azalynn, hugging
the dog gleefully.  "Are you, Einy?"
        Ein barked.
        "So what's the plan?" said Edward, who marched into the room
and looked down at the wrong end of the diagram.  "Super-emergency
meeting, serious stuff!  Edward is curious."
        "Katie's piano is trapped in Boston and Moose's alterthingy
broke," said Azalynn.
        Edward dropped into a catcher's crouch, surveyed the map, then
turned goggled eyes toward Utena.
        "Edward doesn't know you.  Who are you?" asked Edward bluntly.
        "Um, Utena Tenjou," Utena replied.  "I'm Kaitlyn's
roommate... "
        "Oh!  Edward didn't know Kaitlyn had a roommate again.  The
last one didn't work out so well... brr!  Anyway, nice to meet you."
Edward pushed up the green goggles, revealing eyes startlingly similar
in color to Azalynn's, though a bit lighter and not as oddly
reflective.  "Edward is Edward!  Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky the
Fourth!  And that's Edward's partner, Ein the Wonder Corgi."
        Ein barked.
        "A... are you a student?" Utena wondered.
        "Edward," Edward replied grandly, "is a student of Life."
        "And a moocher of unused meal-plan credits," said Amanda
disapprovingly.
        "And a Sleeper in the Wedge," Moose observed.
        "And the best hacker in the Quadrant," Devlin pointed out.
        "And a nice girl who has a great doggy!" Azalynn chipped in,
still cuddling the corgi.
        Utena, who had been suspecting Edward of being a boy, blinked,
adapted, and, moving her train of thought along, smiled.  "But not a
student -here-."
        "Well, not enrolled," Edward allowed.  "But I could if Edward
wanted to be!  The Admissions Department computer is a total joke.
Ein could crack it having the chasing-a-rabbit dream."
        "'Cause Ein is the smartest doggy in the universe!" Azalynn
added.
        "Can he help us figure out how to get a piano from the Boston
Port Authority to this room without getting arrested?" asked Utena
wryly.
        Kate cocked an eyebrow at her, intrigued by her automatic and
natural use of "us", and smiled.
        "Y-y-you m-might b-b-b-be surp-prised," she said.
        "Oh -that's- what this is for!" Edward said, plunking down to
have a better look.  "Let me think."
        Ein wriggled free from Azalynn, had a look at the map, then
ran across the room and tried to look out the window, but was thwarted
by being much too short.
        "What is it, Ein?" asked Edward as she got up to go take a
look.  "What's outside?"  Leaning, she looked out the window.
        When she turned back, it was with a sly smile.
        "Ein has an idea," she said.

        Utena didn't bother asking Kaitlyn if she were sure this was a
good idea, since she was pretty certain the answer would be too
complex for her roommate to render without paper and pen.  The light
was too bad for that here, down on the little courtyard to the side of
the Quad.  The only lighting came from the two weak floodlamps on the
end of Morgan Hall and the glow filtering over from the parking lot
lamps far across the Quad.
        The night was foggy and a bit chilly, and the five who had
been selected by committee vote to form the actual piano-retrieval
party - there being too many people involved in the operation to all
take part in the actual field phase - slunk along the side of the
dorm, dressed darkly.  Utena felt a bit foolish, back in her old
uniform jacket with the shiny bits covered by black tape, wearing the
dark gray pants from her one winterweight uniform, her hair hidden
under a black knit watch cap.
        For this phase of the operation, stealth had been deemed
preferable to power, so Moose and Amanda had stayed behind.  Devlin,
deeming himself "so cowardly I'd jeopardize the lot of you," had voted
to remain as well.  That left Kaitlyn, who had the paperwork for the
piano itself; Azalynn, who could talk fast and long, if the need
arose, to get them out of a jam; Edward, who had come up with the plan
in the first place; Ein, who always accompanied Edward and who was in
some way essential to the plan anyway; and Utena, who wasn't sure why
she was along, but Kate seemed to want her to come.
        They rounded the corner of the dorm, and there, parked in the
lone parking space under the tree at the short end of the building,
was the Student Council's activities van, a late-model dark red Dodge
with WPI's twin towers and the school's initials painted on the sides.
        "OK, Ein," Edward whispered.  "Open it up."
        The dog whined softly, cocked his head, and approached the
van.  Utena raised an eyebrow to Kate, who only smiled.  There were a
couple of muted chirps from the van's electronics, and then the doors
unlocked with a clunk.
        "Good dog," said Edward.  "Let's go!"
        As they approached the van, Kaitlyn slapped her forehead in
exasperation.  "Oh d-d-damn!" she hissed.
        "What?" Azalynn whispered.
        "W-w-without M-Moose or Amanda, w-who's g-going to d-drive?"
        Azalynn blinked - that hadn't occurred to her either - then
looked speculatively at Utena.
        "Utena, you look the oldest," she pointed out.  "Think you can
handle it?"
        "Drive?" Utena said, looking a little alarmed.  "Uh... "  She
went to the side of the van and looked in through the window.  Well,
the controls looked simple enough, and she'd seen it done.  If she
didn't, they'd have to go get Amanda - Moose would never fit behind
that steering wheel - and they already -had- the van unlocked... 
        "Sure," said Utena, climbing carefully into the driver's
seat.  Edward got into the front passenger side with Ein at her feet.
        Utena had a little time to look over the controls and get
ready for this grand experiment, since Kaitlyn and Azalynn spent the
next couple of minutes carefully and quietly removing the two rearmost
of the van's four bench seats, folding them up, and stacking them
neatly on the grass under the tree.  She was relieved to see her
initial snap judgment backed up by closer examination: it really
-didn't- look that hard.
        While she was fiddling with the directional signal lever and
such, Edward was investigating the ignition lock.  "Hmm.  Keypad
manufacturer's override on a '02 Dodge?  Ein?  Edward can't remember
the second number... "
        Ein nosed the onboard computer's keypad for a moment, then
pressed a switch with his nose, and the van's turbine engine whirred
softly to life, the gauges springing online.  Utena grinned, made sure
all were aboard, pulled the lever down into 'D', and stepped on the
accelerator.
        The van lurched violently, careening toward the sharp left
turn that would take it around the end of Morgan Hall toward Institute
Road, accelerating much faster than she'd expected.  Biting off a
curse, she straightened the wheel and applied the brakes, again too
hard.  The van skidded to a halt, depositing its rear seat passengers
into the gap.
        "Um," said Edward.
        "A l-l-little l-lighter on the g-g-gas, I th-think," Kaitlyn
murmured as she picked herself up off the floor and made sure she was
belted in this time.
        "And the brakes," Azalynn added, doing likewise.
        "Too much noise," Edward mused dubiously.
        "Sorry," said Utena.  "It was more sensitive than I expected."
        With her passengers looking paranoiacally out the windows,
trying to see if anyone had heard that noise and come running to
investigate, Utena tried it again, and this time the van accelerated
smoothly.  She took it easy around the corner and down the short
driveway that led down to Institute, braking to a halt there without
further incident.
        "Which way?" she asked.
        "Loading navigation program now," Edward replied briskly, her
fingers working in the intricate patterns that activated the fingertip
keypads she wore.  The VDU in the middle of the dash flickered, then
changed to a map, with a glowing red triangle indicating their
position.  On the head-up display projected inside the windshield
appeared the glowing red words,

                        LEFT ON INSTITUTE ROAD

        Thus directed, Utena found her way to Route 9.  This route had
been selected rather than the Massachusetts Turnpike because, though
slower, it would not require them to pass through tollbooths and thus
subject themselves directly to the scrutiny of law enforcement.  As
they went along, stopping for the numerous traffic lights, passing
through Shrewsbury and Westborough and Framingham, the new driver got
more comfortable with the van's operation.  It handled fairly easily
for such a boxy, ungainly vehicle.

        Moose sat on the floor in front of Kaitlyn and Utena's chests
of drawers, watching Devlin and Amanda play "Street Fighter Super
Gamma Plus Four Ultimate Turbo Galactic Championship Edition Mark III"
on Kate's old SegAtari Wonderbox, when suddenly, his brow furrowed
thoughtfully.  He rose to his feet and turned to look out the window
of 412, down at the empty space where the student activities van
should have been.
        "Oh -no-," he rumbled.
        "What?" asked Devlin, pausing the game.
        "Amanda," said Moose.
        "Yes?" said Amanda.
        Without turning around, Moose observed, "You and I are the
only ones with driver's licenses."
        Amanda looked a bit shocked.  "Great Kru, you're right!  Are
they still here?"
        "Nope."
        "Then who's driving?"
        "Well... Kate -can-, but she'd seem too nervous if they got
pulled over.  Azalynn can't... Ed -shouldn't-... the van doesn't have
rigger gear, so Ein can't... "
        "Ghu!  D'you think they got the new girl t'do it?" Devlin
blurted.
        Moose stood with his hands folded behind his back for a
moment, looking out the window at the lights of the Quad.
        "Yup."

        An hour after leaving WPI, Utena applied herself to the more
complex and demanding task of navigating to the Port Authority complex
near the Boston waterfront, through the ancient tangle of tiny streets
that made up the core of the city.  This entire area seemed to be
under construction, causing the already perverse layout to become
downright baffling in places, and as she picked her way through the
third or fourth unfathomable detour, Utena noticed flashing colored
lights in the rear-view mirror.
        "Oh, d-d-damn," said Kate.  "B-b-busted."
        "No bulletins out on the van," Edward insisted.  "Must have
done something wrong."
        "Well, I'm sure as hell not speeding," Utena grumbled as she
pulled the van over, rolled down her window, and waited.  "Now what do
we do?  I don't have any ID or anything."
        "Take that tape off your jacket," said Azalynn in an urgent
hiss as she whipped Utena's watch cap off from behind, "it'll look
suspicious."  Utena did as instructed, wadding it up into a little
ball and hurriedly dropping it to the floor of the van.
        The police officer, a burly fellow who looked to be in his
early forties, ambled up from his parked cruiser and shined his
flashlight inside.
        "Evening, kids," he said.  "Little late for you to be out,
isn't it?  You lost?  I noticed you've been wandering around a lot."
        Utena gave him a smile, fiercely squashing her nervousness,
and said, "Yeah, actually, I am.  I'm trying to find the Port
Authority, but all this construction... I'm not used to driving down
here at night."
        "What brings you down at this hour?"
        "There's an important package from offworld at the Authority,"
she replied, not missing a beat.  "Things for the Student Council.
Perishable, and they're already late.  We figured it was best to come
right down."
        "I see.  Can I see your driver's license, please, miss?"
        Utena nodded, reached into her jacket, then adopted a puzzled
expression and started patting down all her pockets.
        "Um," she said with an embarrassed grin, "it looks like I
forgot my wallet."
        The policeman frowned.  "What's your name?"
        "Broadbank," Utena replied unhesitatingly, "Liza Broadbank."
Behind her, she heard Azalynn smother something else with a sneeze,
and prayed the others wouldn't screw it up.  She was nervous enough as
it was.
        "And you're on the WPI Student Council?"
        "Uh-huh."
        The policeman - Sergeant Van der Kelt, according to his
nametag - shined his light around inside the van a bit more, going
from one to the other.  "And the others?"
        "O-only m-m-m-me," Kate said.  "Edw-w-ward and Azal-lynn a-are
h-h-h-helping.  I-it's k-k-k-kind of a s-surp-prise," she added in an
apologetically explanatory tone.
        Van der Kelt nodded, scratching thoughtfully at his chin.
"OK, wait here a second."  He went back to his cruiser, and Utena let
out a breath.
        "So far, so good," she murmured.
        "That was quick thinking, saying you were Liza Broadbitch,"
Azalynn said softly.
        "Uh-oh," said Edward.  "Utena!"
        "What?" Utena said, turning to face Ed, then recoiling with a
startled exclamation as the flash of a digital camera went off in her
face.  "What the hell was that for?!"
        "He's running the plates again, making sure the van's not
stolen," said Edward from her datatrance, jacking the digicam into her
harness.  "1-Adam-12, 1-Adam-12, Lincoln X-Ray Ida four three two, no
want, no warrant, a-ha!  Now he's running Liza Broadbank's name."  She
tapped the camera.  "Her photo looks like you.  Her record's clean."
She grinned.  "For now."  A beat.  "Ein just had her sign the van out
for the night.  Don't forget to change the timestamp to this
afternoon."
        The dog yipped in a faintly indignant tone, as if offended
that he could be thought so stupid as to miss a thing like -that-.
        "Think he'll call the school?"
        "W-w-why sh-should he?" Kate said.  "W-w-we're n-not
act-t-tually d-doing anything w-wrong."
        "Yeah, we just looked suspicious 'cause we're lost," said
Azalynn hopefully.
        The sergeant got out of his car (chuckling a little at the
file photo of the Broadbank girl he'd pulled from the RMV central
computer - she looked like someone had just called her name and then
snapped the picture when she turned to ask "what"), walked up, and
shined his light around a little more inside.  Utena held her breath
and tried not to look anywhere near as nervous as she felt.
        "This construction's a pain," said Sergeant Van der Kelt
sympathetically.  "If you take a left down at the end of this street,
then your first right, and then bear right at the lights, you'll get
to the Port Authority.  Getting out is easier."  He smiled, flicked
off his light, and touched the brim of his cap.  "Have a good night,
Miss Broadbank, and drive safely."
        Then he turned, went back to his car, and cruised away into
the night.
        Utena exhaled until she thought she might pass out.  Azalynn
jumped up, leaning over the back of the seat, and hugged her from
behind.  Kaitlyn applauded quietly, smiling.  Edward looked smug.
        "Way to go, Utena!" Azalynn said, giving her a kiss on the
cheek before subsiding into her own seat.  "You foxed a city cop
without even breaking a sweat.  You're -so- cool."
        Utena grinned, a little sheepishly.  "Thanks," she said, and
started the van going again, "but hold the victory celebration until
we get -home-, huh?"

        They got home.  It can't be said that they did so with no
further incident; getting the piano into the van had been quite an
experience without Moose along to help, given the indifference of the
Port Authority's night shift to their plight.  Utena thought she might
have strained her back slightly helping to heave the monstrous crate
into the van.  On the other hand, that might just have been stiffness
caused by having sat bolt upright, tensely watching the mirrors, all
the way home.
        They almost hadn't been able to fit it in; getting the rear
doors closed had required the removal, folding, and stowing-alongside
of the last bench seat, which meant Kate and Azalynn had piled into
the front while Edward and Ein volunteered to ride with the piano.
Getting pulled over again in -that- configuration would definitely not
have been a simple matter to extricate themselves from, and the hour
was late, so Utena had used extra caution all the way back.
        When they arrived, she killed the turbine on the last leg of
the perimeter road around the Quad and pulled the van silently into
its place on reserve power, then shut it down altogether, and they all
sat there for a second gathering their energies for Phase Three.
        This part was going to be a bit tricky too; it was now past
one in the morning, well after curfew, and getting bagged by the
Campus Police for up after doors-locked with a crate tagged as having
been released by the Port Authority at eleven-forty PM would give up
the game with the van as well.  For that matter, they weren't supposed
to be able to get inside at this hour; anyone roaming around outside
the dorms after 11 would find the doors unresponsive to the student
keys, to be left with the unpleasant options of sleeping rough or
reporting to Campus Police for a bollocking.
        That was easy enough for Edward to change, and she'd done so
for herself and others on numerous occasions, but in this case, it
wasn't necessary.  As student orchestra director, Kate had access to
the band facilities in Alden Hall at any hour of the day or night,
which meant she held a special key with no curfew restrictions.
        They got out of the van, and as they did, a shadow detached
itself from the other shadows near the doors to the Wedge, glided
across to them, and revealed itself to be the enormous form of Moose
MacEchearn, clad all in black.  With an eerie silence about him, he
reached into the back of the van and pulled out the piano crate as
though it were a packing case full of comic books, perching it on his
massive shoulder.  A white slash split the dark of night where he
showed his teeth in a grin, and then he was off toward the Wedge while
Azalynn and Kate put the seats back into the van.
        Silently, breath held, they locked up the van and followed
Moose into the Wedge.  Once inside, with the doors locked behind them
again, they were home free.
        Still, they held their celebration until they reached the
fourth floor, where Moose was just emerging from the freight
elevator.  That elevator was supposed to be operable only with a
special key, issued to students with special mobility problems.  Right
now, the keylock was being operated by Devlin Carter, who knelt next
to the elevator with headphones on, a small microphone taped to the
lock plate, and a pair of metal probes inserted into the keyhole, a
thoughtful frown on his face.
        Moose carried the Package out of the elevator, put it down
softly in the middle of the hall, then turned to Devlin and tapped him
 gently on the shoulder.  Devlin blinked, looked up at him, then
grinned and withdrew the probes.  The elevator sighed shut and
returned to the ground floor.
        "Jolly good, what?" Devlin remarked as he detached the
microphone and slung the earphones around his neck.  "I'm not very
good with computers, but locks like me."
        "Shh," said Moose as he carefully carried the piano between
his hands - the ceiling was too low in here for him to put it on his
shoulder again - to the door of room 412.  Those left behind had
prepared the way; the third desk was now standing all the way down at
the end of the hall, in front of the blocked door to room 401, with a
sign that said "401 PLEASE REMOVE" taped to the top.
        The room door was opened for Moose by Amanda, and the whole
group trooped inside after him.  Once the door was closed behind them,
Kate went to the acoustic damper next to the beds, smiled, and pressed
the activator.
        When the green light came on, the cheering began.  Azalynn
tried to tell the story of how cool Utena had been when they got
pulled over, but she talked so fast no one could understand her and
had to start over.  Moose and Kate demolished the crate, pulled the
packing materials off the piano (revealing it to be a gleaming black
upright model), and wheeled to its place along the wall by the door;
then Kate set about assembling the bench.  Amanda got Mountain Dews
for everyone out of the refrigerator, and Utena's bravery was toasted,
followed by Edward's hacking skills and then the Package itself.
Devlin busied himself by collapsing the crate into the smallest pile
of debris he could manage, then bunging it into the hall trash barrel.

 /*  Toshihiko Sabashi  "Run Down"  _Big-O: Original Sound Score_  */

        Kate sat down, stretched her fingers for a moment, then played
a short test piece, fast and furious, to test the tuning of the piano.
Once finished, she pronounced it adequate for tonight.  Utena,
unnoticed by the others, stood and stared.  It had only been thirty
seconds, but still, she had only ever met one, maybe two people who
could play a piano like -that- before.  Kate was revealing new
dimensions of herself all the time tonight.
        "I'll h-have to t-tune it p-properly tom-morrow," she said,
"b-but for right now it's f-fine."  She smiled.  "Th-thank you all
f-for your h-help.  Especially y-you, Utena," she added.  "I
c-couldn't h-have done th-this w-without you.  After all," she went on
with a grin toward the Gamilon princess, "A-Amanda sure c-couldn't
have p-pretended to b-be Liza B-B-Broadbank."
        "That was so -cool-!" Azalynn repeated.  "Just as smooth as
you please, like passing in a term paper on time.  Ohh, I get chills
just remembering it.  Now I -really- hope you come to Falling Leaves."
        "Uh, I'll think about it," said Utena, resolving to find out
from someone what that -was- as soon as possible.
        The celebration went on for another hour or so, as those not
fortunate enough to go insisted on details of the travail from those
who had, and then Kate was prevailed upon to play a few numbers,
mostly classical pieces with one ragtime thrown in.
        During the rag, Azalynn drew Utena aside and asked her, "Did
you notice?"
        "Notice what?" Utena replied, puzzled.
        "Kate's stutter.  It's no worse now when she talks to you than
to any of us."
        Utena blinked.  She hadn't noticed that, but thinking about
it, the Dantrovian was right.  When had the change happened?
Gradually, she realized, over the course of the evening.  It had still
been fairly bad when they were stopped by the policeman, but then,
that was a tense situation all the way around.  But her instructions
during the geometric exercise at the Port Authority had gotten
smoother and smoother, and now... Azalynn was right.
        "Well, I'll be," said Utena.
        Azalynn grinned and patted her on the shoulder.  "She's never
accepted somebody into her inner circle so fast before," she said.
"And it's not just because of what you did, either.  You're very
special.  You should feel honored."
        "I do," Utena said, and meant it.  Having seen the way these
talented people flocked to Kate, the way she'd handled herself during
the course of the evening, Utena was starting to feel the same way
about -her-.  At first blush she seemed so unassuming and harmless,
but she was obviously the leader and driving force behind this group
of individuals - and her simple request for help had been enough to
make Utena take risks over the course of the evening that only now, in
retrospect, startled her.  Kaitlyn tried to hide it at times, but she
had that brightness about her that really special people - people who
are in some undefinable way important to the scheme of things - have.
        Utena smiled and sat down to listen to her new-minted friend
play the piano.  It gave her a pang of nostalgia - the piano had been
important in her old life, too - but with this happy group of friends
around her, she could control it, and enjoy the warm heart of the
memory instead of recoiling from its edges.
        She stretched, rolled her shoulders, and winced.  "Man, that
drive home was a nerve-wracker.  I'm still tense."
        "Let Devlin take care of that," said Azalynn.  "He has
terrific hands."
        Devlin, hearing his name, turned.  "Eh?  What?  Discussin' me
behind my back, Azalynn?"
        "Utena's back is sore from driving tense," Azalynn told him.
        Devlin smiled.  "Well, Doctor Devlin can help with that, if
the lady's willin'," he said.  "No come-ons, no cheap gropes, no silly
excuses for takin' things off - satisfaction guaranteed or Princess
Dessler breaks my fool head, what?  I'm not very rich, but I am a
gentleman."
        Utena considered it, looking speculatively at him, and then
decided, well, what the hell.  His long, thin hands did look strong
enough to make inroads against the knots she felt.  Might as well let
him try.  She got a pillow from her bed, lay face-down on the floor,
and let him go to work.
        He was dexterous, strong, empathetic, and honorable.  In ten
minutes, she felt a world better, and he'd been, true to his word, a
perfect gentleman.  She filed that all away for future reference,
thanked him, and sat up, doing a couple of side-to-side stretches
before settling cross-legged to listen to Kate play and talk with her
other new friends.
        In another half-hour, the others departed, leaving Utena and
Kate alone with the Package and the late hour.  Kate, up making
herself some herbal tea with her spirit lamp, was actually considering
calling it a night when she noticed that Utena was standing next to
the piano, her hand resting gently on the keyboard, gazing
thoughtfully at the Yamaha nameplate on the front.
        "D-do you p-play?" she asked, sipping her tea.
        Utena started a little, jolted out of a reverie, and pulled
her hand away from the keys as though they were hot.  "Oh... no," she
replied.  "Not me."  She grinned, folding her hands behind her back as
she stepped away from the piano.  "I'm not very musical.  I just like
to listen."
        Kate smiled.  "W-well, then, I'll p-play you something before
w-we go to bed."  She finished the tea, switched the dampers back on,
sat down, and flexed her fingers.  "Do you h-have any f-favorite
songs?"
        "Um... none you would know," said Utena, looking away
uncomfortably.
        Kaitlyn sighed inwardly.  This minefield was getting trickier
all the time.  Well, nothing for it.  Maybe some good would come of
it.
        "Well, a-all right, if you're s-sure," she said.  "I'll
p-play you an old s-song from Earth.  I l-like it... it m-makes me
think of my f-father."
        She sat for a moment as if gathering herself, and then began
plying the keys.  It wasn't an intricate melody, but it was pleasant,
a bit percussive; after a few moments, it tapered off, and then, to
Utena's surprise, Kate began to sing, accompanying herself as she did:

"Watched it coming up Winslow down South Park Boulevard
Yeah it was lookin' good from tail to hood
Great big fins and painted steel
Man it looked just like the Batmobile
With my old man behind the wheel
Well you could hardly even see him in all of that chrome
The man with the plan and the pocket comb
But every night it carried him home,
And I could hear him saying:

"'Don't you give me no Buick
Kate, you must take my word
If there's a God in Heaven
He's got a silver Thunderbird
You can keep your Eldorados
And the foreign cars, absurd
Me, I want to go down
In a silver Thunderbird'"

        Kaitlyn's singing voice was so completely different from her
speaking voice that, for a moment, Utena had a hard time believing it.
Her speaking voice was soft, a bit husky, and tentative, with that
ever-present stutter.  Her singing voice was pure, clear and
beautiful, her enunciation smooth and unruffled, and it rippled with
emotion.  As her initial shock faded and Utena started paying
attention to -what- Kate was singing along with -how- she sang, the
song, even with her limited understanding of its context, began to
affect her, evoking the piquant warmth of Kate's thoughts of her
father in Utena's own heart, though she had never met the man.

"He got up every morning while I was still asleep
And I remember the sound of him shufflin' around
Right before the crack of dawn
Is when I heard him turn the motor on
But when I got up they were gone
Down the road in the rain and snow
The man and his machine would go
Oh the secrets that old car would know
Sometimes I hear him saying,

"'Don't you give me no Buick
Kate, you must take my word
If there's a God in Heaven
He's got a silver Thunderbird
You can keep your Eldorados
And the foreign cars, absurd
Me, I want to go down
In a silver Thunderbird'"

        As Kate played a quiet piano solo, punctuating it with
occasional soft, wordless calls, Utena sat down on the floor next to
her desk.  After a bit more of that, Kate repeated part of the last
verse.

"Down the road in the rain and snow
The man and his machine would go
Oh the secrets that old car would know
I still hear him saying... "

        Here, she suddenly simplified the piano line considerably,
playing only a figured bass with one hand and a soft arpeggio with
the other, and sang the chorus in a hushed, emotion-packed tone:

"'Don't you give me no Buick
Kate, you must take my word
If there's a God up in Heaven
He's got a silver Thunderbird'"

        Just as suddenly, she broke back in with the full line,
returning her voice to its full volume.

"'You can keep your Eldorados
And the foreign cars, absurd
Me, I want to go down
In a silver Thunderbird
Me, I want to go down
In a silver Thunderbird'"

        She played the melody line a couple more times, softening and
slowing it each time, and then left the last note to hang for a moment
before letting the piano fall silent.
        "D-Dad's really m-more of a black C-Cadillac man," said Kate,
"b-but I - " She stopped as, turning to face Utena, she realized that
her roommate wasn't listening.  She was sitting cross-legged on the
floor, arms wrapped around herself, tears tracking her face, and
whatever she was looking at, it wasn't in this room.
        Kate made an irritated little sound, at herself rather than
Utena.  "Silver Thunderbird" wasn't a sad song, but it was emotional -
nostalgic - and she felt she should have recognized the other girl's
mood better, left it alone until another time.  Kaitlyn knew well the
power of the early-morning hours to amplify the sadness in a human
heart.
        The sound seemed to snap Utena back to the present; she
focused her eyes, blinking away tears, on Kate.
        "I'm s-sorry," said Kate.  "I sh-shouldn't have p-played such
a s-sentimental song."
        Utena got up, dashing at her tears, annoyed with herself.
"No, I'm sorry," she said.  "It was beautiful, really.  Thank you.
You... you must really love your father.  I could hear it in your
voice."
        Kate smiled softly.  "Well, it's o-obvious I c-c-can't talk
very w-well... s-singing is the o-only way I can r-really express
myself with m-m-my voice," she said, "s-so I p-put everything I c-can
into it."  She covered the keys, got up from the bench, and said
hesitantly, "B-but I'm a g-good listener, if y-you want to
t-t-talk... ?"
        Utena gave her a long, searching look, as though considering;
then her eyes filled again and she turned away with a soft growling
sound, swiping the back of one hand angrily across her eyes.  "No...
no, Kate, I'm sorry, it's sweet of you, but I can't.  Not now.  It's
too soon."
        Kate fought down an urge to reach out, touch Utena's shoulder,
try, however gently, to get the sufferer to face her.  Instead she
asked, "T-too soon since you m-met me... or too s-s-soon since it
h-happened?"
        "Both," said Utena.  Without turning around again, she went to
her wardrobe, changed into pajamas, and got into bed.  "Good night,"
she said.
        Kate conceded defeat gracefully.  "G-good n-n-night, Utena,"
she said.  Sighing a little to herself, she switched off the dampers
and the lights, undressed in the dark, and climbed up into her own
bed.
        Dad would have handled that better, she told herself,
annoyed.  Under the circumstances, her father might have begged to
differ, but then, he wasn't there.

        The next day, Utena was up in time for breakfast, and all
smiles.  How much of it was the healing touch of daylight and how much
bravado, Kate didn't feel qualified to guess, but it pleased her to
see it anyway.
        Still, she made a mental note to be certain and play only
upbeat, happy songs on the piano when her roommate was in - especially
at night.
        A week blended into another, and then another, and A term
raced past as though in a hurry to be over with.  Kate and Utena
bumped along comfortably enough, settling easily into a pattern that
suited them both.  Their interactions were harmonious, if not
particularly deep.  Kate had the uncomfortable feeling that she was
being kept at arm's length after that one glimpse of the raw and
bleeding place in her roommate's heart, but she didn't press the
issue.  These things came at their own pace, or never did, as it
suited them, and she liked Utena well enough as a roommate and a
person not to risk making her angry by trying too hard to help.
        Still, they were friends now, and did the things friends did.
They talked at night and on the weekends about this and that; Kate
said a lot about her family, her three brothers and one sister, her
parents.  The last were famous in some way Utena hadn't studied enough
galactic history to understand yet, but Kate talked about them as
though they were just regular folks, and sang little songs she'd
written about them to illustrate various points when her powers of
speech failed to convey her meaning well enough.
        Over the course of one dull Saturday afternoon's
conversations, Kate learned that Utena was in fact -fourteen-, not, as
Kate had assumed, her own age of fifteen.  Though they were born in
the same year, 2389, Utena's birthday wasn't until December.  She was
a sophomore because, her records from her previous school being
unavailable owing to some sort of disaster, she'd had to test into the
Institute, and had scored very well.  She still didn't talk about her
background, and Kate didn't ask.
        Some days, they walked down the hill into Worcester and
shopped.  Outside of her school uniforms, Utena had no discernible
fashion sense (which appealed to Kaitlyn for some reason), so mostly
they bought books and things for the room.  Utena liked teacups and
little decorative things, and had a fondness for rose motifs.  Kate
preferred tiger stripes on things, having a soft spot for the animals
themselves (Utena had pronounced the pajamas that fit into this
personal style choice "garish"), but agreed that such a motif really
wouldn't fit on a tea set very well.
        One weekend they borrowed the Student Council van
(legitimately, this time) and brought a couple of comfortable if ugly
armchairs and a battered but serviceable tea table back from the
Salvation Army thrift store downtown.  Utena demonstrated herself
handy with tools by building a set of shelves to house Kate's stuffed
tiger collection, which was threatening to evict her from her bed, and
her own growing collection of teacups.
        Utena started hanging around Alden Hall for orchestra
rehearsals, as well as the meetings of Kate's own small band.  That
group's membership consisted of the IBGF, Edward as engineer, and
occasional guest vocals by Ein, whose many skills included yodeling
hilariously along with their cover of the Mavericks' version of "Blue
Moon".  Kate took to spending her afternoons sitting on the grassy
bank near the track and field complex, composing new pieces for the
student orchestra and her own band, while Utena amused herself by
running, jumping, vaulting, and refusing to consider competing in any
official capacity.
        They went to the school library to study and use the five-cent
copier in the basement, and because the computer room next to that
copier was always emptier and quieter than any of the ones in the
actual computer science center, Fuller Laboratories.  Utena learned
how to use the school's computer systems and the galactic Internet,
and Kate taught her the correct way to handle "R U a girl???/?"  They
played video games and took each other's money at cards.  Utena was
prevailed upon to join Devlin's "Dungeons and Dragons" campaign, and
shortly became renowned in certain circles for being the only player
any of them had ever seen who could make a paladin interesting.
        The IBGF put together a pickup basketball squad and proceeded
to dominate the intramural standings in a haphazard but effective
fashion for most of the term.  Baseball was harder to organize
(especially in the fall), which was a shame, as Utena was quite keen
on it, but her hoop skills were far from unwelcome either.  She kept
her pitching skills sharp anyway, with Devlin Carter's help as
catcher, hoping for a chance to use them sometime.
        The two denizens of Morgan 412 weren't inseparable, far from
it.  Kate vanished every afternoon from four to six on some mysterious
errand to the Alumni Gym which Utena seemed reluctant to ask her
about.  Their course load diverged somewhat, Utena concentrating on
historical studies and current affairs while Kate plunged into
mathematics and music theory.  The last was kind of a formality - Kate
could, and often did, take over the -teaching- duties in the
Institute's music theory courses - but she loved it and wouldn't
consider dropping it to make way for anything more practical.
        All in all, it was a comfortable life, full of contentment and
quiet, pleasant moments, if not many peaks of joy.  Utena bore up well
under the weight of whatever had happened to her before her arrival at
the Big W.  By day she was cheerful, funny, and friendly, if sometimes
a little distant.  At night she kept to herself, and only because
Kate's hearing was so very sharp did she know that, whatever Utena's
demon was, it still gnawed at her in the dark.
        One Thursday morning toward the end of A term, she came back
from the shower, shut the door, and stood regarding herself critically
in the mirror hung on the back of it.  Kate, at her desk going over
the previous night's precalc homework, looked up and made a querying
sound.
        "I think I'll grow my hair back out," Utena said in response,
doing her best to look at her profile in the mirror.  "Cutting it off
when I came here was kind of an experiment, and I don't think it
worked.  It used to be a little longer than yours."
        "Mm," Kate said.  "W-what a sh-shame.  L-looks l-l-like it
g-grows f-fast, though.  W-when you g-got here I c-could s-still see
the b-back of your n-neck."
        Utena pushed a hand through the thick growth at the back of
her head.  "Yeah," she said.  "It grows fast to a point, and then it
basically stops."
        Kate nodded.  "D-Dad's does th-that.  D-drives him n-nuts
'c-cause it stops a l-l-little short of w-where he'd r-really l-like
it t-to b-be.  S-somet-times he shaves his h-head."
        Utena shivered.  "I don't think I'd go that far."
        "G-good," said Kate.  That conversation over, the room was
ruled by silence for the next few minutes, while Utena brushed her
hair and got dressed for the day.
        "So," Utena said as she sat down on the edge of her bed to put
on her shoes.  "You're not going to be around this weekend?"
        "Mm," said Kate.  "D-Devlin got the b-band a g-gig in
T-Toronto on S-Saturday."  She put down her pen, closed her notebook,
and swiveled.  "W-want to c-come along?"
        Utena blinked.  "Toronto, where's that?"
        "C-C-Canada," Kate replied, gesturing vaguely northwestward.
"M-maybe eight, n-nine hours."
        "Well, sure, but... I'm not really part of the band or
anything... "
        Kate made a dismissive gesture.  "You c-can help c-carry
stuff, l-like you d-did when we p-played Sir M-Morgan's D-Dive."
        Utena shivered.  "I hope the place you're playing in Toronto
is better than -that- hellhole."  The hellhole in question, more
formally Sir Morgan's -Cove-, was in downtown Worcester.  After
booking them into it one Thursday night, Devlin Carter had nearly been
killed by an extremely irate and rather beer-spattered Amanda Dessler,
who had emerged from the place in the hands of the Worcester Police
Department with blood on her knuckles and a greasy handprint on the
seat of her jeans.  (No charges were filed, nor were any of Devlin's
bones broken, but the band were advised that they probably ought to
stop playing in places they couldn't actually enter legally, at least
in Worcester.)
        Kate chuckled.  "D-Devlin isn't ab-bout to m-m-make THAT
m-mistake again," she assured her roommate.  "It IS a b-bar, but
it's n-near the University.  I've e-m-mailed a c-couple of other
b-bands I know who've p-p-played there and they s-say it's n-nice."
        Utena wavered, wary of becoming a seventh wheel, and Kate went
on, "B-besides, I c-can't leave y-you alone all w-weekend.  You'd g-go
c-crazy.  You h-have a p-passp-port, right?"
        "Sure," Utena said, nodding toward the top drawer of her
desk.  "You need one to go up there?"
        "They d-don't usually ask, b-but you're s-supposed to h-have
one, yeah," Kate said.  "C-c'mon, it'll be f-f-fun.  I l-love
Toronto.  D-Dad used to t-take me there every time w-we came to
Earth.  It's an exp-perience I w-want to sh-share."
        Utena smiled.  "OK, if you're sure I won't be in the way."

        Saturday morning after breakfast they set out, seven people, a
dog, and a slightly frightening amount of equipment, crammed into the
vehicle Moose MacEchearn euphemistically referred to as his "van".  It
was, in fact, a small school bus, twenty years old and a bit battered,
painted in several different shades of gray and brown primer.  He had
to park it in the back yard of an acquaintance who lived at the bottom
of the hill, because only seniors were allowed to have -cars- on the
Big W's campus, let alone utility vehicles.
        Half of the seats had been stripped from the bus's interior,
leaving a large enough space for the big but tidy pile of amplifiers,
monitors, mixing equipment and instruments that powered the Art of
Noise experience.  (Kate said she'd named the band after a
twentieth-century group she was fond of, but nobody else in the galaxy
seemed ever to have heard of any more.  Utena certainly hadn't, and so
couldn't argue the point.)  The other half of the seating space was
still intact, if not particularly comfortable: four bench seats, each
rated by some cruel and sarcastic authority for two high school
students each.
        Edward and Ein eschewed the seats in favor of nesting in back
amid the equipment, surrounded by the piles of patch cables and
whatnot, still linked by satellite to the vast electronic world
beyond.  Devlin established himself in the right front, Amanda
opposite him.  Kaitlyn sat behind him, Utena across from her, and
Azalynn circulated.  With only one person in each seat, they could at
least bundle jackets and the like behind them and lean against the
wall, feet pointing toward the aisle, and achieve some semblance of
comfort.
        Despite the rather harsh conditions, the atmosphere aboard
AON-1 (for so Moose's custom license plates read) was festive as they
pulled out from the Quad and headed for I-290.  Moose put some Bach on
the van's overheads, turned down so conversations were still possible,
and the friends chatted, did their homework, and read.  Eventually, as
the day went on, the last two activities went by the wayside, and
they just talked, or looked out the windows.
        In upstate New York, near Albany, someone mentioned hunger.
Devlin noted that he knew a little place up in Ballston Lake, only ten
or so minutes out of their way, that had good sandwiches and
spectacular apple-cider donuts.  Moose followed his directions, and
after one false start at the wrong highway exit ("Well, it's -in-
Ballston Lake, why shouldn't it have been the flippin' 'Ballston Lake'
exit?"), they found Lakeside Farm, home of the original apple-cider
donut.  After the sandwiches were consumed, three dozen sugared donuts
joined the rest of the luggage, stacked up high on one of the overhead
shelves so that Ein couldn't just devour them all outright; and then
it was back to the Thruway and the long westward haul.
        Utena, who had never traveled this way before, slipped into
the curious rhythm of traversing the New York Thruway, where, from
Albany west, there is another interchangeable small city at intervals
of approximately one hour.  The time wandered past in a comfortable
sort of lassitude.  Kaitlyn seemed to be full of thoughtful smiles
this afternoon, over a book of twenty-first-century poetry.  Sporadic
conversations and games of cards broke out here and there, then
disappeared again, like small fires at a campsite.
        They reached the Rainbow Bridge at a quarter past five in the
afternoon, as the shadows lengthened toward evening, and spent the
next hour sitting in a too-brightly-lit waiting room with a vending
machine in the corner while the RCMP went over their documents and
poked around in the van.  Utena thought she probably should have been
slightly nervous - this was the first time she'd tried to cross an
international border with the documents she'd been provided - but for
some reason she wasn't.  She stifled a yawn and stood surveying the
selection of items on the vending machine's touch-sensitive display
panel.  Toothbrushes with toothpaste.  Cheap pocket combs.
Birth-control devices.  Socks.  Soap.  Handkerchiefs.  Small sewing
kits.  Welcome to Canada, we don't have snack food?
        "Miss... er, Natashkan?" asked a uniformed woman in the
doorway, placing too much emphasis on the last syllable.
        "That's me," Azalynn said, standing.  "It's pronounced
'd'-VEER Na-TOSH-kin', the middle name goes with it."  She didn't
sound annoyed, just informative, as she stood looking attentively at
the customs official.
        "Ah, thank you," said that official, making a note.  "Miss
dv'Ir Natashkan, my name is Marie, and I have to ask you a couple of
questions."
        "Go ahead," said Azalynn affably.
        "Wouldn't you prefer to do this in private?" wondered Marie.
        "Not particularly," said Azalynn plainly.
        "Er... all right, then... you're Dantrovian?"
        "That's right."
        "Do any of your, er, traditional holidays fall within your
planned stay in Canada?" asked the official.
        Azalynn thought for a second.  "Only two," she said.  "The
Time of Thankfulness for the Setting of the Sun is tonight at dusk,
and tomorrow is the Day the Colonists from Earth Finally Understood."
        "I... see," said Marie uncomfortably.  "And are you planning
to celebrate either holiday in the, eh, traditional manner?"
        "Well, Thankfulness isn't much of a celebration, it's just a
short song at nightfall and a sacrament," Azalynn said.  "Colonists
Day is usually a big deal, but I'll probably have too much to do this
time to really give it what it deserves, so that'll be a short
observance too, most likely."
        "Ah... hm."  That didn't seem to be the answer Marie was
looking for, but she jotted anyway, and then said, "Well, thank you.
I must remind you that the relevant age here in the Dominion of Canada
is eighteen Standard years."
        "Oh, sure, no problem," said Azalynn cheerfully.  The whole
conversation, weird as it struck Utena, seemed to have rolled right
off the Dantrovian's back, and as the rather uneasy-looking customs
agent left the room, Azalynn trotted over to survey the vending
machine herself.
        "What was -that- all about?" Utena wondered.
        "Oh, being Dantrovian, I get that kind of thing all the time
on Earth," Azalynn replied breezily.  "Just because some of our
celebrations can involve a meeting of the flesh, they automatically
assume I'm planning to go out in the street and fuck some hapless
citizen at random."
        Ordinarly, Utena thought she would probably have blushed at
Azalynn's blunt response, except for one thing: she was too busy being
shocked by something else.  The hard core of bitterness underlying
Azalynn's breezy tone, so unusual in the sunny Dantrovian, shook Utena
for a moment before she thought long enough to understand it.  Azalynn
was deeply offended by her treatment - by the customs agent's
assumption that her religion was just an excuse for casual sex, or
that the sex involved with her religion was casual, or both - but was
fighting not to show it.
        The spasm of anger passed as rapidly as it had come on, and
when Azalynn spoke again, it was with a tone of plain, outright
irritation.  "What, no snacks?" she said, scowling at the machine.
"They tell you when you enter the country not to have sex, then they
want to sell you contraceptives, and they don't offer you anything to
eat.  This is a whacked culture."  She turned to Utena.  "Want to help
me with Colonists Day?  You don't have to do anything you don't want
to do, that's not what it's about."
        "Um... "  Now Utena did redden a little.  She didn't want to
offend Azalynn, especially after her insensitive treatment by the
customs agent, but on the other hand...  "Uh, I think I'd probably
better not."
        "Oh."  Azalynn didn't seem upset; she took the rejection
matter-of-factly.  "Oh well.  Waiting for somebody somewhere, huh?
Back home someplace, far away?"
        "Very," Utena replied automatically, then realized what she
was saying.  "Um, look... Azalynn... "
        "Don't worry," Azalynn said softly, her face suddenly
completely serious.  "Kaitlyn's that way too, only in her case she's
waiting for somebody she hasn't met yet.  It's not my way, but I
respect it.  I won't ask you anymore - and I wish you a speedy reunion
with the one you love."  Her mood brightened again as if someone had
thrown a switch, and, the whole thing behind her, she punched a key
she had just noticed on the front of the vending machine, changing its
selections from the travel items to a wide range of snack foods.
"Aha!  They -hid- the food.  Nasty mean of them."
        Utena stood looking at the Dantrovian with an expression of
mingled amazement and relief, then smiled and fished in her pocket for
some change.

        Azalynn ate the second of the two candy bars she'd bought very
ceremoniously at nightfall, as they rolled along the Queen Elizabeth
Way with Lake Ontario to their right, and sang a short and beautiful
little song in her native language as the sun dipped below the western
horizon and vanished off somewhere beyond Hamilton.  They arrived at
the limits of Toronto at seven-fifteen, and, as the bus approached the
city, Moose announced, "OK, now where are we headed?"
        Devlin slid over to the edge of the seat nearest the driver's
station and rummaged in the pockets of his trenchcoat.  He had been
looking a bit peaked at Customs, possibly a touch of motion sickness,
but had settled nicely after they were on their way again, and now
looked positively relaxed as he pulled a sheaf of papers out of his
pocket and spread them open.
        "Right," he said.  "We're playing a place called Sneaky Dee's,
which is at a place called Batherson's College."
        "And that is... ?" Moose wondered.
        "Well, I'm not entirely sure," Devlin said.  "So that's why I
brought this map."  The second sheet of paper proved to be, indeed, a
map, albeit a rather grainy one all in shades of gray, and not showing
very much detail.
        "Where," Moose asked levelly as he surveyed this
cartographical wonder by the light of his driver's lamp, "did you get
this map?"
        "It's the inset map from the Rand McNally road atlas page for
Ontario," Devlin replied.  "Blown up to 250%.  Not a bad trick, eh,
what?"
        "Why," Moose asked levelly, "didn't you bring the whole
atlas?"
        "Well, I couldn't, could I?  It's not mine, is it?  Belongs to
the school library.  Reference only, don't you know.  Not to be
removed."
        "And what year," Moose asked levelly, "is the library's atlas
from?"
        "Er... "  Devlin considered this for a moment.  "2384, I
think."
        "That," Moose remarked levelly, "was before any of us was
-born-."  He raised his voice slightly.  "Edward?"
        "Edward is awake!" cried Edward, jolting upright and causing a
minor cascade of coiled patch cables.
        "Can you find out where Batherson's College is in Toronto?"
        "Um... "  A pause.  "No.  Edward didn't pay for the Canada
add-on pack to the navigation software."
        "Well, -steal- it, then," Amanda snapped.  "Surely your
larcenous soul can support such a gesture in a time of need."
        "You don't have to yell at Edward," Edward pouted.  "Anyway
there -is- no Batherson's College in Toronto."
        "What?!" cried Amanda.
        "Edward said you didn't have to yell."
        "You half-witted, inbred toad of an Earthman!" Amanda barked
across the aisle.
        "It's not my fault!" Devlin protested.  "That's what the chap
said on the phone!"  His accent suddenly and dramatically mutated into
a Middle Ontario drawl with a hint of a whine in it.  "'You can't miss
us, eh?  We're right on Batherson's College.  Big neon sign 'n all.'"
        "M-m-maybe it's a d-d-department of the Univ-v-versity,"
Kaitlyn mused.
        "OK," said Moose, still equable.  "I'll go up there and look
around."
        They cruised around the University district for half an hour
and found nothing.  Moose, still calm, started expanding their search
grid.  The others crowded into the two front seats, all straining
their eyes.
        "Hey," said Utena after another half-hour, "I think I've
figured something about about the way they name the streets here."
        "Please," Moose said in a desperate tone, "share."
        "It looks like all the north-south streets are Something
Avenue," Utena told him, "and all the east-west streets are Something
Road.  If that's true we can at least keep track of what direction
we're going in."
        "Say, that's clever," said Moose.  "I'm too busy with this
traffic to be reading street signs - what's the next street?"
        "Um... "  Utena's heart sank.  "Avenue Road," she said.
        "Great," Moose replied.  "Must run at an angle," he added with
a grin.
        "Oh, gosh," Azalynn murmured a few fruitless minutes later.
"When are we supposed to go on?"
        "Not until ten," said Devlin.  "We've plenty of time yet."
        "You've jinxed these proceedings -enough-, Earthman," said
Amanda.  "Keep silent."
        At nine-fifteen, Azalynn moaned, "We're going to die in this
bus, cursed to search for Batherson's College for the rest of
eternity.  We'll starve.  I'll never fall in love."
        "Have a donut," Amanda said dryly, "we've plenty."
        Azalynn did, and felt better.
        At twenty of ten, they still hadn't found what they were
looking for.  Even Moose was starting to look a little despairing, and
Amanda and Azalynn had both retured to the rear seats, one to sulk,
the other to fret.
        "OK," said Moose tiredly.  "We're on College, anyway.  What's
the next cross street?"
        Utena peered at the approaching sign.  It was hard to read -
the glare from a bar or restaurant or something on the corner was
washing the letters out.  Finally, she was able to make it out.
        "Bathurst," she said.  Then, and only then, did she spare a
glance at the business whose neon lighting had made the street sign
so hard to read.  "... And that's Sneaky Dee's!"
        Moose swung the van dexterously to the side of the street,
yanked on the handbrake, and gave a tremendous, gushing sigh as cheers
erupted behind him and Utena, as though she had had something to -do-
with this remarkable piece of luck just by reporting it, was slapped
on the back, hugged by Azalynn, licked by Ein, and told repeatedly
that she rocked.
        "OK," said Moose, "we're here, at BATHURST AND COLLEGE," he
said, eyeing Devlin irritably, "and we've got fifteen minutes to set
up.  Let's get busy."
        "Engineer Edward is on the case," said Edward, regarding the
tangle of patch cables with a critical eye.

        The show, though setup was a bit - well, a lot - rushed, went
very well, Utena thought.  She was no musician, and so couldn't tell
how satisfied the band members ought to be; but hearing it, she
figured it sounded all right.  Despite the long drive, the members of
the band were high-energy once they got on stage, all their cares and
worries forgotten.  It was a good room, too, comfortable if smoky, and
the crowd was far and away better than the surly mob at Sir Morgan's
Dive.
        Kate stood front and center, in gray jeans and an Ontario
Science Centre t-shirt under an unbuttoned, blue-and-white striped
flannel shirt, behind her rack of keyboards, microphone, and other
assorted gear.  Azalynn, her vivid black pouchling stripes temp-dyed
back into her gray hair, flanked Kate to the right with her favorite
guitar slung ready.  She and Amanda made an interesting contrast on
either side of Kate, both with unusually-colored skin (Azalynn's
glowing coppery in the stage lights, Amanda's robin's-egg blue), one
short and slim, the other tall and athletic, one in WPI Athletic
Department tank top and shorts, the other in black leather cycling
pants and vest.  Utena wondered, not for the first time, what the
intricate tattoo that covered most of the Gamilon's right arm in a
circuit-like mesh of black arcs and lines meant.  She'd first noticed
it during one of their pick-up basketball games, but never asked.
        Behind the three women, Moose MacEchearn loomed, a great black
presence - black skin, black turtleneck, black jeans, great shiny
black bass guitar.  Moose's new axe was, indeed, bitchin' unto the
supreme degree.  A little to his left, Devlin Carter, still swathed in
his bulky gray coat, sat at the drum trap, rising-sun hachimaki around
his forehead, smiling.
        "Ladies and gentlemen," Moose boomed, silencing the chatter of
the waiting crowd, "thank you for coming.  I am the Honourable
J. Maurice MacEchearn, and this - " He gestured around him.  " - is
the Art of Noise."
        Without anything further from him, the band swung into a
pounding rock intro line, Devlin's bass drum slamming down each
individual beat as Amanda layered a rhythm line with Azalynn's solo
guitar and Moose's axe throbbed along behind them; they held this for
sixteen bars, then burst into a swift and catchy hook that drew the
audience right into the performance even before Kaitlyn lifted her
face to the microphone and sang.

"So I think I've got it all in place now
No distractions, under control
Yet there's something missing inside me
I'm chasing shadows of myself
And the clocks are ticking
And my world is spinning
Spinning round and round and round and round again"

        Devlin's drumming thrust them into the chorus, brighter and
stronger than the main verse:

"And I try - I try to reason why
Don't you know I can't go on this way?
Baby please don't walk away
There is this place
Where I toss away my pride
So you can see that I'm the one
To take you to a higher place this time"

        They returned to the original theme, and by now they had much
of the room on its feet, dancing in a surging mass.  Utena, who was
standing off to the side in a mostly-empty corner, behind a table with
a pile of AON shirts and datacrystals of their last record, smiled and
danced a little with herself.  She'd been listening to them rehearse
this track for a new show-opener all term, and knew the words as well
as Kate.

"I am on the outside looking in
To a place where I will be
Let me give you what you need from me
I surrender my soul to you
And my heart is pounding
And the fire is burning
And my head is spinning round and round again

"And I try - I try to reason why
Don't you know I can't go on this way?
Baby please don't walk away
There is this place
Where I toss away my pride
So you can see that I'm the one
To take you to a higher place this time"

        This time they didn't pause, but leaped directly into a
bridge, much of the bassline falling away to reveal Kate's hammering
synth line as she leaned forward a little more and belted out a tight
harmony with Azalynn and Amanda:

"Oh I crash
And burn inside my mind
It happens time and time again
I can't explain the way you make me feel
Oh I know
I don't have much to give 
But what I have I give to you
With all the madness left inside of me
With the madness left inside of me - "

        As she sang the last line, Kate gave a little grin and looked
directly at Utena, and as they made an instant's eye contact, Utena
felt herself smiling back.  It was as though Kate had sung the bridge
expressly for her.  That usually happened when they did this song -
not, Utena had figured out fairly early on, because Kate couldn't
explain the way her roommate made her feel, but because she somehow
understood that Utena felt that way about somebody -else-.
        Not for the first time, Utena wondered if she shouldn't tell
Kate the story; but this was not the right time to be making that sort
of decision, and she lost herself in the music again after considering
it for only a moment.
        The band hovered on the peak of that line for an instant, then
fell back to the original hook, this time overlaid by a soaring guitar
solo from Azalynn, whose golden, alien eyes glittered interestingly in
the stage lighting.  When she'd finished, they fell effortlessly back
into the chorus again, repeated it with Kate's usual impromptu lyrical
digressions, and ended abruptly, with the last bright wail of
Azalynn's guitar coming after everyone else had stopped, like an
exclamation point at the end of the four-minute sentence.
        Applause and cheering burst from the assembled crowd, and
Utena started selling gear.
        For two and a half hours, the Art of Noise alternately rocked,
rolled and moved the house, and by the end of first hour, Utena had
nothing to do but stand there and enjoy the show from behind her empty
table.  Every ten minutes or so, someone would come up and cleverly
offer to buy the last t-shirt, but as she was wearing it under her
unbuttoned jacket, Utena patiently informed each and every one of them
that they couldn't afford it, and nine out of ten went away without
further prodding.  The tenth found himself persuaded to go elsewhere
by the bartender before Utena had to do anything about him herself.
        As the night went on, Utena noticed that Kaitlyn didn't speak
a word - she either sang or stood with a silent smile while Moose
spoke for her, introducing the rest of the band in turns, making it
plain that he was merely the speaker and she the guiding light of the
group, in terms so flowery and affectionate that she gave him an
exasperated look and, at one point, threw a dustcloth at him.  Azalynn
told a couple of jokes in between numbers.  At one point the rest of
the band took a break and Kate played an instrumental version of the
ancient Buggles classic "Video Killed the Radio Star" on her keyboard
array.  Devlin took the microphone for a comical cover of an equally
ancient song about single-record B-sides ("The A-side has the hit /
The B-side ain't got... anything").  Amanda said nothing, merely
stood there looking cool and intimidating.
        They finished the show with a sweet little song about old
friends meeting unexpectedly in an unfamiliar place, did one encore
(in which Kaitlyn performed an old standard of her childhood hero
Martin Rose's band the Clay Pigeons, "Programmer"), and the show was
over.  While Utena folded up the empty boxes which had held the shirts
and crystals, she smiled to herself as she overheard various patrons,
filing past her table on their way out, talking about how much they
had enjoyed the show.
        "That -was- a hell of a show," said the bartender, a
bushy-eyebrowed fellow who rejoiced in the name Dimitrios Makenikos
Arbuthnot.  "You want a Coke?  On the house."
        "Sure," said Utena as she stuffed the folded boxes into the
trash barrel behind the bar.  "Then I have to go help my friends pack
up.  Thanks for handling that one guy, by the way.  It would have
tarnished the evening a little if I'd had to hurt him."
        Dimitrios nodded, smiling sagely, as he popped the top off a
bottle of Coke and handed it to her.  "You do sort of invite it," he
pointed out, "wearing the last shirt like that.  This is a college
crowd.  They're not very original."
        Utena laughed and drank.  "Didn't think of it," she admitted.
"I just wanted to show I was with the band."
        "Hell of a band," Dimitrios mused, shaking his head.  "Shame
you have to come from so far away.  I wish I could have you in here
every week.  Do I pay you, or... ?"
        "No, Devlin - the drummer - he's the manager.  He'll be out in
a bit.  He likes to make sure he gets his drums packed before he does
anything else.  He's kind of picky about them."
        Dimitrios nodded again.  "The good ones are," he said.
        Utena drained her Coke, thanked the bartender for it, and
headed backstage to help out with the packing up.

        The seven of them (and Ein) rode the post-performance high out
into the streets of Toronto at two, and promptly found themselves in
Chinatown, eating a late and sumptuous dinner at a small, tackily
decorated but friendly restaurant called Happy Seven.  They talked
animatedly about the things they'd liked, things they thought they
could have done better, and a couple of moments (which Utena had
missed entirely) where they seemed to think they almost fell
completely apart.  Utena told them how pleased Mr. Arbuthnot had been
with their performance, and Devlin seconded that, gleefully pointing
out that he'd given them an extra ten percent, as he put it, "for
chops."
        "Ooooh, we -have- to come back here," Azalynn said with
sensual delight after sliding a wad of lo mein noodles languorously
down her gullet.  "The food is sooooo good."
        "Canada," said Kaitlyn, "is a m-m-magical and ex-xotic p-place
where everyth-thing is b-b-better."
        Utena, who had almost become inured to the meal-plan food at
WPI, had to agree from the depths of her Szechuan chicken.
        "You guys," said Moose, "I think we might have a problem."
        They blinked at him, conversation stilled.  "What?" Azalynn
finally asked.
        Moose blinked at them, yawned, and said, "I don't think I'm
going to be able to get us home."
        "Right, well, we got an extra ten percent," said Devlin.
"We'll stay somewhere and drive back tomorrow, what?"
        "Sure," said Azalynn.  "It shouldn't be hard to find a Motel 6
or something."

        Having narrowly avoided getting the van towed from in front of
Happy Seven (the smirk and salute from the cruising tow-truck operator
who passed by -just- as they emerged from the restaurant was worth the
near-panic attack), it took them until four, by which time they were
almost to Mississauga, before they finally caught sight of a Motel 6
sign jutting up above the great sound-deadening highway wall that
lined the QEW west of the city.
        By now they were -all- barely conscious, the post-prandial
hibernation effect having shorn the group of their collective
adrenaline high and reminded them that, except for uncomfortable and
unrestful naps on the bus, they'd been up since eight the previous
morning.  Edward and Ein were sprawled among the equipment, dead to
the world.  Utena had curled up in the seat behind Moose, Kate and
Azalynn in the one behind her, as Devlin sat at the corner and
provided sleepy moral support for Moose and Amanda hunched next to
him, annoyed by the hideously poor planning that had gone into every
stage of this adventure so far.
        Finally, though, they found one, a single-story affair in the
motor court style, each room having its own exterior door.  For some
reason, about which Moose was not about to complain, the parking
spaces were unusually wide - wide enough that AON-1 only took up one.
        Moose parked the van, climbed wearily out, and he and Devlin
went inside the office.
        "Good evening, sir," said the man at the desk.  "Uh, how may I
help you?"
        Moose looked at him for a few moments, the requisite response
working its way slowly through the barely-turning gears in his head,
and then rumbled like a tape playback on too low a speed, "We
need... a room."
        "Uh, yes, well, there are a -few- available.  How many of you
are there?"
        Moose blinked, looked at Devlin, then at himself, then at the
desk man, and replied, "... Two."
        "Hmm.  Well... hmm.  I'm afraid we only have rooms with a
single queen bed available."
        "Whatever," Moose said.
        "Uh, and how will you be paying?"
        "Cash," Moose replied flatly, nudging Devlin, who paid.

        No one, not even Amanda, was awake enough to complain that
there was only one room and only one bed.  They dragged themselves
sleepily from the van and divided the available space without
discussion.  Edward and Ein could not be awakened and remained in the
van, now curled into a contented ball of hacker and fur among the
patch cables.  Moose occupied most of the floor.  Devlin rolled
himself into a deceptively small package and spread his coat around
him in the one small, threadbare armchair.  Everybody else found a
place on the Bed, Queen, One, Non-Smoking, and consciousness left them
before they had a chance to really think about arranging anything in
any particular way.
        For the first time since coming to Earth, Utena dreamed of
nothing in particular.

        Utena awoke slowly and fuzzily, as usual, but perhaps more so
this time because of the strange surroundings.  The room was dim and
quiet, and she was so comfortable and relaxed that she didn't want to
move enough to see where she was.  She'd rather just stay here, warm
and content, on her side, her legs linked like the fingers of clasped
hands with those of the softly snoring person in her arms, the
pleasantly solid weight against her chest moving gently with her
breathing, and WHAT?!
        Her eyes popped open, but she managed not to start too
violently and muffled her gasp as she came fully awake and looked down
at herself.  She was still dressed - a relief - as was the one she
held, but she was definitely holding someone: Kaitlyn was curled in
against her, one slack fist drawn up to the side of her own face, the
other side pressed snugly to the black cloth of Utena's jacket.
        Utena opened her mouth to say something, then stopped herself.
What did it hurt?  They obviously hadn't -done- anything.  She wasn't
sure if Kate was even into that kind of thing, and, the still-aching
wound in her heart notwithstanding, Utena herself generally wasn't.
They'd just moved together in their sleep to take comfort in each
other.  Surely they were good enough friends by now for that not to
need awkwardness on waking.  And besides - Kate was so calm, so deeply
asleep, with a look of such contentment on her face... what did it
hurt?
        She made herself relax, then raised her head to have a look
around.  Amanda Dessler was sprawled on her back, taking up most of
the bed - probably a factor in Kate and Utena having moved so close
together - with Azalynn balled up under one arm, her own arm flung
across Amanda's middle.  Devlin was still wedged into the armchair, in
what looked like a supremely uncomfortable position, but he was fast
asleep, so it couldn't have been too bad.  From where she was looking,
Utena wouldn't be able to see Moose without sitting up and disturbing
Kate, but she could hear him breathing.
        Kaitlyn stirred, murmuring, and shifted slightly, then
subsided back into sleep.  Utena smiled and hugged her a little.  It
was good to be this close to someone again, to touch and be touched,
even (especially?) if there was nothing in it but friendship and
warmth.  She'd been standing off alone for too long.  It wasn't in her
nature to hold people who cared about her at such a distance.  She
realized suddenly that she'd let an irrational guilt over the idea of
"abandoning" her old friends prevent her from getting too close to
these.
        Having recognized it, she couldn't stop feeling that guilt,
not completely; but she could stop letting it control her life.  Maybe
it -was- time to tell that story... the next time they were alone.
Even had she trusted the rest of them as much as she now felt she
could trust Kate, it wasn't the kind of story for telling to groups.
        She sighed, aware that she was on the verge of throwing away
this warm contentment and depressing herself.  Kate stirred again,
then slowly blinked her eyes open.  She took stock of her situation
silently, without seeming to find it all that surprising, and then
looked up at her roommate and smiled gently.
        "S-s-sorry," she murmured.  "I g-guess I g-got c-c-cold."
        "It's all right," Utena replied softly.  "I don't mind."
        "You h-haven't been c-crying," Kate pointed out, seeing no
redness in her eyes, no tracks on her face.
        "No," Utena replied.
        "I d-don't mean to p-pry," Kate whispered, her cheeks
reddening a little, "b-but at night... I c-can hear you... "
        Utena gave her a little squeeze.  "I'll tell you about it
sometime soon.  I promise."
        "D-don't rush," Kate said.  "It's O-OK."
        They stayed there for a while, unwilling to give up the moment
and their little pool of warmth and comradeship, but finally,
reluctantly, Kate disentangled herself and made her way to the
bathroom.  With that strange collective energy that seems to pervade
morning gatherings once one has risen, the rest of them awoke one by
one.  Amanda was next; she sat partway up, looked around bemusedly,
and shook Azalynn's shoulder gently.
        "Get off me, you oversexed rodent," she said, but her voice
was not at all harsh, and Utena found herself smiling at the Gamilon's
tone.  Amanda caught the smile, glanced up, and then actually smiled
herself before giving Azalynn another shake.
        "'M not oversexed," Azalynn protested blurrily as she sat up
and rubbed her eyes.  "Your body temperature is a hundred and one,
you're the warmest thing in the room."
        Devlin groaned and pried himself out of the armchair, then
stood in the one bare patch of floor not occupied by part of Moose and
stretched.  Painful-sounding cracks and pops came from his joints as
he straightened himself, then worked himself this way and that, but
his face was cheerful when he finished.
        "Ahh," he said.  "Nothing like a good night's sleep, eh,
what?"
        "Or morning's," Moose grumbled, "as the case may be."  He sat
up, looked around him, and shook his head.  "Oh boy.  If the manager
sees us all leaving, I'm gonna be in -big- trouble."
        "Back the bus up to the door," Amanda said, "and he will never
see us board it."
        "Mm.  Point.  Man.  I wish one of us had thought to bring
toothpaste."
        "One of us did," Amanda replied briskly, lifting her duffel
bag off the floor.  "It was obvious to me that your plan to drive
here, perform, and drive back in a single session was absurd and
unworkable.  I took precautions."  She spread a handful of cheap
new toothbrushes out on the bed.
        "Amanda," said Devlin as he picked one of them up, "you are a
marvel."
        Amanda was feeling expansive enough this morning to thank
him.  The bathroom door opened a moment later and Kate emerged,
looking back over her shoulder with an impressed expression.
        "W-wow," she observed.  "Th-they've g-got the Sh-Shower
S-Stall of the F-F-Future in th-there."
        The others crowded into the doorway, and had to admit that she
was right.  The shower was a freestanding unit, a cylinder of white
plastic about four feet in diameter.  Half of its vertical surface was
a pneumatically-powered door which slid around to cover the other
half, and the water came out of a series of slots cut into the
perimeter of the top rather than from a nozzle.  The computerized
controls could adjust water temperature and dispense three different
personal care products, as well as producing seven different flow
patterns.
        "I think today's first interesting challenge is going to be
towel management," observed Utena glumly.
        "Not for me," said Amanda, who pulled a large bath towel from
her bag.
        "I don't suppose you brought one of -those- for everyone,"
said Moose.
        "That would have required a larger bag."
        "True," Moose yawned as he pulled on his shoes.  "I'm gonna go
check the van."
        "Kate, what happened to your face?" Azalynn asked.  Kate
looked at her, puzzled, then turned and regarded herself in the mirror
behind the sink (which, in that odd Motel 6 style, was not actually in
the bathroom).  On her right cheek was a circular mark about the size
of a quarter, bright red against the whiteness of her cheek.  She
looked at it for a moment, puzzled, and then snickered and glanced at
Utena.  Utena looked blank for a second, then blinked and began to
snicker herself.  Azalynn looked from one to the other, puzzled over
the subtext, and then realized it herself and joined them.
        "-What-?" Amanda demanded.
        "It's n-n-nothing," Kate said, raising a hand to rub
vigorously at her cheek.  "B-button face."
        Amanda didn't put it together until several minutes later,
when, her turn coming to use the shower, Utena undid her old uniform
jacket and tossed it onto the chair before entering the bathroom.
        An hour later, they were all washed and had clean teeth, if
somewhat stale clothes.  Getting out of the motel without the manager
realizing what they'd done proved as easy as Amanda had suggested, and
as AON-1 pulled away, Moose thanked whatever god might have been
paying attention for small favors.
        "OK," he said.  "Homeward ho!"
        "No!" Edward protested.  "Cannot go home yet.  Edward got us
tickets for the big game!"
        Moose frowned - not angrily, just in a "here's a new wrinkle"
sort of way.  "Big game?" he said.
        "Hello?" said Edward.  "Game 7?  Red Sox-Raiders?  '485 Years
Is Long Enough'?"
        Moose looked startled.  "You got seven tickets to the -World
Series-?  -Today-?"
        "Eight," said Edward indignantly.
        "OK, eight," Moose conceded, "my question stands."
        "I shudder to think," said Amanda, "what that must have cost."
        "Oh, nothing," Edward replied.  "Grom Tarantella owed Ein a
favor."
        "Some favor," said Azalynn.
        Edward shrugged.  "He's not in jail... "
        "Who's Grom Tarantella?" Utena wondered.
        "Owner of the Toronto Raiders," said Devlin.  "It was in all
the papers - he managed to make Corellia too hot for him last
year... "
        "I remember that," Azalynn said.  "Picked up his whole empire
and moved it to Toronto.  Nobody knew how he managed to get off
Corellia alive, let alone with most of his stuff."  She looked
curiously at Utena.  "You never heard about that?  Where've -you-
been?"
        "Um," said Utena.
        "H-hold on a s-s-second," said Kaitlyn.  "W-we're G-GOING to
G-Game S-S-Seven?"
        "Well, it hardly seems prudent to waste the opportunity,"
Moose observed with a huge grin, turning the van east instead of west
on the QEW.  "Means we'll have to spring for another night someplace,
though."
        "No worries, no worries," Edward insisted.  "The Raiderdome
has a hotel."
        "I shudder to think," began Amanda, but Edward waved it off.
"Oh."
        "Anybody care about missing Monday's classes?" Devlin
wondered.
        "For -this-?" Azalynn replied.
        "Thought not," said Devlin.
        "If w-w-we're staying another d-day," Kate mused, "I n-need to
g-get some c-clean underw-wear."
        This observation was met with wide concurrence.

        They had several hours to kill before the 7:05 game, having
emerged from coma at around two (and skated narrowly around having to
pay for an extra day at the Motel 6, probably just because the day man
was as intimidated by Moose as the night man had been).  Moose dropped
AON-1 in the parking garage of the Raiderdome Hotel, and they walked
down to the corner of Front and Yonge Streets.  It was a fine, sunny,
slightly cool October day, promising to get crisp as night fell, and
the eight were in fine humor as they entered the BCE Place shopping
center to address their material needs.
        That accomplished, they had some lunch in the Marche movenpick
(giving Utena a chance to find out what Salusian shyam was -supposed-
to taste like, the answer being, "Damn good"), then hit the Hockey
Hall of Fame.  There they perused the capsule histories of the
hundreds of greats immortalized within, read the irony-rich story of
the disappearance of the Stanley Cup (missing since 2050), and watched
Kate and Utena play a furious round of bubble hockey which Kaitlyn
lost by way of having a traitorous forward who kept scoring own goals.
("N-number s-s-six," she observed grumpily, "is g-g-going to g-get
t-traded to M-Montreal.")
        That exhausted, with nothing else to do that wouldn't take too
long (like going to the zoo or Kaitlyn's favorite museum on Earth, the
Ontario Science Centre), they just walked around the downtown area,
enjoying the city.  It was clean, gleaming and modern, but friendly;
Worcester, preserved by the well-meaning Historical Society in its
"historic" late-twentieth-century configuration, had very little on
it.  With that as a basis for comparison, Utena could see why Kate was
so fond of the place.  (On the other hand, she'd never been to New
Avalon.)
        By a combination of haphazard planning and good luck, they
found themselves near Union Station at 6:30, and from there, it was a
short walk indeed to the Raiderdome.
        "'Toronto Raiderdome,'" Utena read from the large plaque
standing on the concrete plaza in front of that august structure.
"'Home of the Toronto Raiders of the Galactic League.  Constructed in
2403 on the site of the original and historic Toronto SkyDome, Earth's
first sporting venue with a fully retractable roof, which opened in
1989 and was destroyed in the Great Flood of 2102.'  Huh."
        "It's a funny thing about Earth," Devlin mused.  "Whenever we
set out to build new things nowadays, we realize all our best stuff
was made in the twentieth century, but it got knocked down, and we
want it back, so we build it again."
        Amanda looked up at the rather dull white shape of the
Raiderdome and said, "And this was the best you could do?  No wonder
your planet is in such sorry shape."
        "You haven't seen some of the -other- ballparks from that
era," Devlin reminded her.  "Run a holo of the Minneapolis Metrodome
sometime.  Tragic and terrifying, what?"
        "At l-least the R-Raiderd-dome has r-real grass," said Kate,
who shared Devlin's title of amateur baseball historian.  "Th-that's
an imp-provement over the or-riginal."
        "Too true.  Shall we, ladies and gentleMoose?  The time
approaches."

        Utena Tenjou liked baseball.  She liked to watch it, she liked
to play it.  She liked the unhurried pace of the game (it made for a
good contrast with the furious hustle of basketball), its tendency to
provide players with opportunities for incredible heroism or
spectacular failure, and the rather gladiatorial nature of the eternal
pitcher-batter duel.  She liked the way its statistics could be piled
up over immense spans of time, providing a sense of history
unparalleled in sports.
        Still, she was a little taken aback by this experience.  She'd
never seen the game presented on this sort of... -scale-.  Fifty
thousand people packed the bright blue seats of the Raiderdome, nearly
half of them fans of the opposing team.  This was the first time in
forty years the World Series had been contested between two teams
based on Earth, and the first time in nineteen that the Boston Red Sox
had been one of the teams present at all.  Sox fans had driven, jetted
and ridden trains in droves to the shores of Lake Ontario.  Hundreds
stood around outside, plaintively repeating the age-old cry, "Need
tickets!"
        The Art of Noise and its tech crew were in section 115, row 4,
in the field-level grandstand along the first base line, about in line
with the bag - not spectacular seats, but good ones.  The split
between Sox and Raiders fans here was about the same as in the park
overall, a little under fifty-fifty, and there were some good-natured
catcalls from the gray-capped Raiders fans at the Worcester squad's
hastily purchased Sox caps as they took their seats in the middle of
the row.
        Utena, wedged comfortably between Kate and Azalynn, would have
wondered bemusedly about the looks of rather glazed desperation on the
faces of the Red Sox fans in the area, except that Kate, being one
herself, had already explained the phenomenon in the course of one of
their many conversations.  It seemed that the Boston Red Sox hadn't
won the World Series since the almost-unfathomably-distant year of
1918.  There was a bit of a schism in Sox fandom after 2385 as to
whether that really applied to the then-current format of the Series,
in which the winners of the Earth Series (American and National League
champions, best of five) and the Galaxy Series (Galactic and
Federated League champions, best of five) played each other
best-of-seven for the undisputed title of greatest baseball team in
the galaxy.
	Hard-liners claimed that the 2385 Earth Series, American
vs. National, was the "real" World Series, and since the Sox had won
that series in that year before being flattened by the New Avalon
Monarchs in the "fake" World Series, they'd already broken their
curse.  The rest knew that, however many layers of abstraction might
be introduced by the vagaries of galactic civilization intruding on
the ancient rhythms of the game, the -last- series was the one that
-counted-; and indeed, in 2386, the playoff structure had been changed
so that the semifinal round went American-Federated, National-Galactic, 
to give ancient rivals in the AL and NL the chance to face each other
again for the ultimate prize.
        The latter group of fans, by and large, were the ones here
tonight, holding their breath, pinning all their hopes on the pitching
arm of a twenty-two-year-old Earthwoman named Consuela Martinez and
the bat of a thirty-year-old powerhouse from New Caledonia by the name
of Jarvis MacHeath.
        The Raiders, dazzling white and eye-catching crimson in their
homestand uniforms, dashed out onto the field as the public-address
announcer gave them the sort of welcome usually reserved for
descending saviors.  Their fans cheered; their non-fans applauded
politely, for, rabid oppositionists or not, they recognized a fine
baseball team when they saw one, and this was one.
        Taking the mound for the Raiders was their elder statesman,
John "the Silver Fox" Gill, pushing sixty but still deadly.  Tall,
lean and lanky, his craggy face locked in a perpetual scowl of
concentration, he made his warmup tosses as though impatient to have
this done with.  According to the blurb in the program book, Gill was
an "old-fashioned" player.  According to Amanda, this meant that he
was a pre-Cambrian troglodyte who was still upset about women having
been allowed to play in the majors starting in 2010, never mind the
whole Galactic League/Federated League thing.
        Utena glanced at Kate, saw that her entire attention span was
riveted to the field, and smiled.  There would be little conversation
until this matter was decided.
        As it turned out, that was fine, because the game was a
barn-burner.  The teams struggled scorelessly into the seventh inning,
the score held at nothing-nothing by brilliant pitching from both
sides and some heart-stopping defensive plays.  Both pitchers got into
jams in the sixth, Gill with men at the corners and Coco Martinez
managing to load the bases with a walk, a single, a hit batsman, and
only one out.  Both were extricated by a combination of their own good
stuff (Boston's Frank Mazzucci looked like he'd hurt himself whiffing
titanically on a 3-2 rocket from Gill for the second out) and utter
selflessness on the part of their teammates (Joey Hermanito hanging
himself agonizingly over the right field fence, just inboard of the
foul pole, to utterly rob Mark Hoskins, tumbling down onto his face
with the ball in his glove, then scrambling to his feet, ignoring the
bleeding scrape on his forehead and the blood in his eyes, to fire an
utterly perfect relay through shortstop Caldemar Orlandez that allowed
catcher Josh Simpkins to render Alicia Stone meat at the plate, in the
weirdest inning-ending double play Utena had ever seen).
        Amid all of this were the pleasant (and the unpleasant but
somehow reassuringly familiar) rhythms of the ballpark: the cries of
the vendors, the keenly incisive commentary of the fans ("HARRIS, YOU
HIT LIKE MY DEAR DEPARTED GRANDMA!" was especially good), the Beer
Relay to the guy at the other side of the section, the throwing of
pretzels and peanuts, the antics of the mascots.  The peanut vendor
for their section was a diminuitive Asian gentleman with the most
astoundingly deep and resonant voice Utena had ever heard, one that
made Moose stand up and bow respectfully to its owner.  "HEEEEY,
PEANUTS HEEAH!"  The hot dogs were exquisite, the pretzels were so-so,
and the bottled water was hard to screw up in the first place.
        The Seventh-Inning Stretch came, and Utena, to her immense
embarrassment, Azalynn's boundless glee, Kate's huge amusement and
resounding applause from all assembled, found her effort immortalized
on the quarter-acre Jumbotron overlooking left field.  She was still
scarlet when, in the bottom of the seventh, Martinez inadvertently
balked a man to third on a botched pickoff, causing half of the people
in the ballpark to turn quizzically to the other half for murmured
explanations of the arcane and mysterious Zen of the balk.
        (Pitcher steps onto the rubber, sets, does anything with the
ball other than throw it to home without stepping back off the rubber
first, umpire feels like bothering to call it: balk.  Runners advance.
Many pitchers' pickoff throws to first base are really uncalled balks,
especially for lefties.)
        Both pitchers were tiring, starting to get a little sloppy,
but their determination, good luck, and solid defensive backing
prevented disaster for both teams straight through the eighth.  By now
the Raiders fans in their section were saying that Toronto manager
Jerry Castellan -had- to pull Gill; the guy was old, he was tired, he
couldn't hack a complete game, it was stupid to try and give him one
with this much on the line.
        But out the Silver Fox came, grim-faced and determined, to
face Carl Harris, Boston's number-seven hitter.  Well, the Raiderites
comforted themselves, it -is- the bottom of Boston's order.  They
haven't done a damn thing all night, why should they start now?  Hell,
if Jarvis MacHeath (.365, 67 HR), the hero of Game 6, had accomplished
nothing whatever tonight - well, aside from some brilliant defensive
work at first base - what chance did Carl Harris (.215, 6 HR) have?
        Harris struck out swinging, smashing his bat in exasperation
at himself for being so much of a sucker as to swing at an 0-2 pitch
from Johnny Gill, of all people.  Joey Hermanito fared little better;
he ran the count full, struggling, fouling off half a dozen 3-2
efforts from Gill, but finally fell on a foul tip into the mitt of
Gill's batterymate Walter Herrera, and dragged himself back to the
dugout in shame.
        The American League had eliminated the designated hitter in
2389, the year of Kaitlyn's birth.
        Sox manager Scott Santana, the Raiders fans opined, -had- to
pull Martinez now.  She was too young, she was tired, she couldn't
hack a complete game, and it was stupid to try and give her one with
this much on the line.  Better to pull her for a good hitter and then
replace him with the next pitcher... but there was no one up in the
Boston bullpen.
        Ninth in the order for the Red Sox, with two out and nobody
on, was still none other than Coco Martinez, a lifetime .148 hitter
with seven RBI in the entirety of the 2404 season.
        Half of the Red Sox fans present anticipated a miracle; the
others anticipated extra innings or, for the most pessimistic of the
lot, ignominious defeat in the bottom of the inning.
        Martinez strode to the box as though completely unaware of the
gravity of her situation, smiling a private sort of smile, her bat
over her shoulder.  With a rather conspiratorial grin for her opposite
number, she dug into the batter's box.  She was so slim her name
almost didn't fit across the shoulders of her jersey, crowding in on
the sides of her big red number 46.
        Gill regarded her with the hate-filled scowl he saved
specifically for opposing pitchers, wound up, and delivered.  In the
sudden hush, the WHAP of the ball smacking into Herrera's glove was
audible throughout the ballpark.  Strike one.  Martinez hadn't even
moved.
        "Can I help you, miss?" asked one of the Raiders fans in
section 115.
        "No thanks," his seatmate replied.  "Just looking."
        Martinez didn't seem perturbed; she just adjusted her stance,
fiddled with her batting gloves a little, and waited for the next one.
It came without delay.  John Gill was not the sort of pitcher who
screwed around on the mound trying to mess with his opposition's mind;
he let his 102-mile-an-hour fastball and his frightful visage take
care of that.  He missed outside, then inside, brushing Martinez back
to sprawl in the dirt with a pitch that made half the stadium gasp in
outrage.
        Coco Martinez picked herself up, dusted herself off, and,
grinning broadly, said something to Gill in Spanish; about a quarter
of the fans within earshot laughed, and Gill's ears went bright pink.
He scowled even deeper, set himself, and fired.
        Martinez strode, swung, and connected with a sweet, sharp
-crack- that made Utena's heart skip a beat.  She glanced at Kate, saw
from the frozen gleam in her eyes that she'd heard exactly the same
thing, and turned to watch.  The ball soared lazily through the cool
October air, arcing above Gill's head.  Mark Hoskins sprinted for the
left-field fence, crossed the warning track like he had a bus to
catch, climbed like Spider-Man up the 100-meter mark, extended himself
until it looked like his arm would fly out of its socket and intercept
the ball without him.
        The ball did end up in a glove, but the glove belonged to a
man in a Red Sox cap sitting in the sixth row.
        The Raiderdome went berserk.  Even the fans of the team that
had just been scored against cheered - they had to, it was just too
perfect a moment not do.  Azalynn looked like she was wanting to rush
down onto the field, give Coco Martinez a hug, and tell her she was so
cool, but Amanda had a solid grip on her belt.
        John Gill, purple with rage, struck out Frank Mazzucci for the
fourth time that night with extreme prejudice, but the damage was
done.  Still, all was not lost; after all, the Sox were the visiting
team.  The Raiders still had a chance to turn Martinez from hero to
goat, and the Red Sox had lost with more.
        Out came Coco, tossing a ball up behind her back to fly over
her shoulder and land in her glove as she jogged to her position, just
like she always did.  The Sox fans cheered wildly.  Kaitlyn was
getting hoarse; it was a good thing they'd played their show -before-
coming to this game.  Moose and the traitorous Peanuts Guy (a
transplanted Bostonian, as it turned out) boomed out an encouragement
in stentorian two-part harmony, then shared a high-five.
        Toronto cleanup woman Alicia Stone was first up; she had a
very good record against Martinez in her career, 5 for 11, but Coco
cruised past her with ease, punching her out on three straight sliders
before squaring off against Walt Herrera.
        Who she walked on four pitches.
        Red Sox Nation groaned in ancient, ineffable terror.
        Gary Alicea was next.  He walked on six, and the groan came
again, this time infused with a horrible sense of inevitable dread.
        Mary Ellen Jameson stood in, her face set in a scowl almost as
foreboding as Gill's trademark grimace, and fouled off seven 3-and-2
offerings before leaning in too far and taking one on the shoulder.
Red Sox Nation howled in outrage.  What ever happened to "batters must
make every effort to avoid being struck"?
        OK, said the Raiders fans, now Castellan has GOT to pull Gill.
Sure, the guy's the best-hitting pitcher since Babe Ruth.  Sure, he's
batting .339 this year.  Sure, they don't need him to go yard, just
get a hit, even a lousy bloop single could end this thing now.  But
he's -old-.  He's -tired-.  He's sure as hell not going to pitch the
tenth, right?
        Wrong.
        So here they were again.
        Consuela Martinez vs. John Gill.
        Gill's face said he hadn't forgiven Coco for whatever she'd
said to him before that last pitch.  Coco's said she didn't give a
sweet goddamn what John Gill chose to forgive.  She set, stretched,
and delivered.  Gill looked contemptuously at a slider that missed on
the outside corner, then gave his opponent a patronizing half-smile.
Kaitlyn shifted uneasily, her fists clenched, knuckles white.
        Martinez nonchalantly accepted a new ball from the home plate
umpire, tossed it up and down a couple of times, then stepped on the
rubber, prepared herself, and threw.
        John Gill looked like he was waiting for a bus.  He gave every
appearance of a man stifling a yawn as the pitch missed high for ball
2, then glanced lazily back over his shouldered bat at Josh Simpkins
as the Sox catcher hurled the ball back to Martinez.  "Look it up in
your rulebook," he'd said to a rookie teammate once when asked why he
did things like that in the batter's box, "under 'fucking with
pitchers.'"  There was a reason why Gill was one of the best hitters,
pitcher or not, in the league, and it wasn't the strength of his arms.
        Coco Martinez scowled at the ball as though it had personally
disappointed her, squared herself, and launched the next pitch.  As
sinkers go, it certainly sank, caroming off the plate and making
Simpkins hurl himself at it like a hockey goaltender.  It came within
a hair's width of being either a passed ball or a wild pitch, no one
could quite say for certain, but he got his chest protector on it,
smothered it, and came up with it, glaring Herrera fiercely back to
third.
        Gill made a remark of his own; not many people in the stands
caught it, but it made Josh Simpkins bolt to his feet, whipping the
mask off his suddenly-scarlet face.  An instant later, before the
plate umpire had a chance to admonish him, he got hold of himself and
collected his equipment.  The ump gave him a fresh ball, which he
carried out to the mound.
        The crowd murmured uncomfortably as Scott Santana strode out
to the mound as well, and the three of them stood there having a
little conference.  Martinez's dark-skinned face darkened further at
something Santana said; she shook her head violently, making her black
curls ripple in the lights where they escaped from her cap, and told
him, in a voice that carried clearly to section 115, "No fucking way,
Scotty!  I'm fucking pitching to this fucking guy!"  Utena mentally
crossed Coco off the candidates' list for Parenthood magazine's "Role
Models of the Week" award, but found her -own- admiration for the
pitcher increasing.
        Somehow, Martinez talked Santana out of it, and he handed her
the ball and went back to the dugout.
        Stupid, said the Raiders fans.  The Fox is gonna hang her out
to dry.  Or at least walk in the tying run.
	Half of the Sox fans agreed.  The other half sat on the edges
of their seats and waited for the miracle.
        Consuela Martinez returned to her place, toed the rubber, and
settled herself in.  Kaitlyn grabbed Utena's left hand in her right;
Azalynn seized her whole right arm.  They all held their breath as the
Dominican Dynamo wound up and flung.
        This one, Gill swung at - what the hell, at 3 and 0 - and
connected with a very similar crack, launching the ball straight back
up the middle.  Sox fans screamed in agony, already picturing the
rest; the ball streaking past Martinez, between Orlandez at short and
Mary Reed at second, and dribbling into center field for exactly the
kind of cheap, pathetic two-run single Gill needed to destroy their
hopes and dreams for the four hundred eighty-sixth time.
        There was a sharp, percussive WHAP, and the cheering Raiders
fans and screaming Sox fans all fell silent with a single, unified,
confused "Huh?" that nearly covered a second, softer slap of leather
to leather.  In the general area between second and first, Orlandez,
Reed, and Jameson all looked at each other, puzzled.  Gill stood at
the plate, bat still in hand, a look of horror and shock dawning on
his face.
        Consuela Marietta Martinez stood on the left-field side of the
pitcher's mound in her follow-through position, facing first base,
where Jarvis MacHeath's long, burly body was extended in a perfect
scoop, one foot on his base, closed glove raised in the air to make
plain the force-out on Mary Ellen Jameson, who still stood four feet
to the second-base side of the bag.
        A perfect 1-3 double play.
        A pitcher, Coco Martinez firmly believed, should be expected
to field her position.
        "Tu madre, Juanito," she said to John Gill, and the Raiderdome
exploded.  Utena wasn't quite sure who kissed her, though she was
pretty sure it was a member of her own party, and probably not Ein.
At the time, it hadn't seemed to matter much.

        The IBGF went to Happy Seven again that night, perhaps more
euphoric than the first, and rehashed the game endlessly among
themselves.  The restaurant's staff and other patrons stopped by to
listen enviously, complaining that they had been unable to get
tickets, or trapped at work, or what have you.  No one even seemed to
mind that they were all Sox fans.  This was pretty obvious, what with
the hats and the fact that they'd hit the Raiderdome pro shop's
autotailor on the way out of the stadium and all had Consuela Martinez
jerseys on.  They'd blown pretty much their whole payoff from the
Sneaky Dee's gig on that, the food at the ballpark, and this meal, and
not one of them felt it was anything less than worth it.
        After that, it was back to the Presidential Suite at the
Raiderdome Hotel for a contented night's sleep.  This time they were
up in time for checkout and had enough bed space and towels for
everybody, and, with a free morning, looked through the guidebook in
their hotel room for a couple of fun things to do before reluctantly
giving up their grip on Toronto and returning to the academic grind.
        "Ooh!" said Azalynn.  "Take a look a this!  There's a shoe
museum in town."
        Amanda blinked.  "A -shoe- museum?"
        "Yeah, see?  'The Bata Shoe Museum is the only museum to
chronicle nearly five millennia of footwear development by the peoples
and cultures of the planet Earth.'  That sounds really neat.  I want
to go see it."
        "A museum about -shoes-?" Amanda repeated, incredulous.
"Devlin, is this true?  You Earthpeople are so bereft of history that
you must dedicate entire institutions to the preservation of your
-shoes-?"
        "It -does- say it's the only one of its kind," Devlin replied.
        "It sounds like it could be interesting," Utena allowed.
"After all, 5,000 years is a lot of history for -anything-."
        "Can we go?  Please?" asked Azalynn.  "This says it should
only take an hour or two.  And it'll be easy to get to, it's maybe two
blocks from where we played last night."
        "I'll go if the rest of you insist on it," Amanda declared,
"but I think the concept is ludicrous."

        "I owe you an apology, Azalynn," said Amanda forthrightly as
they emerged from the Bata Shoe Museum.  "That was remarkably
interesting.  I had no idea footwear could have such relevance."
        "Told you," said Azalynn; but then, to show that she wasn't
going to rub it in any further, she turned the conversation to food.
        They had lunch at a pizza place near the museum, and then,
since they had a little money left and Moose was feeling good, they
went to the Ontario Science Centre for the afternoon before finally
aiming AON-1 back toward Niagara Falls.

        Passing through US customs was trivial compared to their entry
into Canada; they pulled up to the booth at the Rainbow Bridge in the
gathering dusk to be asked,
        "Citizenship?"
        "Um... Hoffman, Zeta Cygni, Zeta Cygni, Gamilon, Dantrov, UK,
US, US."
        "Any weapons?"
        "Um... no."
        "Any fruits, meats or vegetables?"
        "No."
        "Any individual purchases over 300 US dollars?"
        "No."
        "OK."
        For a moment, Moose thought that noncommittal-sounding
response was just an approval of their lack of major purchases; then
he realized it was, in fact, a complete dismissal.  "Thanks," he said,
and they were off.
        Upstate New York in the dark was much like upstate New York in
the daylight, except without as much glare off the bus windows.  Utena
bundled her jacket behind her and stretched out on the seat, folding
her arms across her chest and settling her shoulders against the
jacket with a contented grin.  She glanced across the aisle to see
Kate in a similar position against the opposite wall, looking back at
her, smiling her quiet little smile.
        "H-have f-f-fun?" she asked.
        "Lots," Utena replied.  "Thanks for talking me into it."
        "Y-you're w-w-welcome.  I enj-joyed having you al-long."
        "We all did," said Azalynn, popping up over the back of the
seat in front of Utena's.  "You're good to have around."
        Utena chuckled.  "Thanks.  Say - whatever happened to your
celebration?  Wasn't yesterday a big holiday?"
        "Oh, I got that done at the game," Azalynn replied casually.
"Seeing Coco Martinez snag that comebacker and whip it to MacHeath was
definitely profound enough to qualify," she added with a grin.
        Utena could see that, she supposed, but, "What about
the... uh, you know... meeting?"
        Azalynn made a gesture.  "Guidelines for that kind of thing
are pretty vague and situational," she said.  "I could explain, but
you have to have the right mindset for that kind of thing, and we've
already determined that you don't.  Although actually -you- took care
of it for me this time."  She grinned.  "You're a terrific kisser, by
the way," she added, and then dropped back down into her own seat,
leaving Utena to savor her latest blush in private.
        Well, private except for Kate, who, Utena noticed as she
glanced across the aisle, was regarding her with a mischievous little
grin, gently enjoying her momentary discomfiture.
        Utena, caught by the grin, snickered, and the two of them
laughed for several seconds before trailing off into quiet, smiling
contemplation of each other.
        It wasn't the same as what went before.  It wouldn't replace
that.  It wouldn't stop Utena from yearning for her old life and
striving to get it back.
        But it was nice to have a friend this close again, all the
same.
        With a little sigh, Utena settled back, closed her eyes, and
fell into a contented sleep as the van's suspension swayed underneath
her and the sweetness of Vivaldi underlaid the pleasant hum of her
friends' hushed voices.

        After the curiously rushed feel of A term, the fall sauntered
past at an leisurely pace after Toronto.  A term ended uneventfully,
and Utena and Kate spent the off week between terms reading, playing
games, and eating out without guilt, since DAKA was closed for the
break.  There was a quiet, unhurried ambiance to the campus during the
breaks that made it a nicer place than usual to just walk around and
breathe the cool fall air, watching the leaves turn.  Still Kate
disappeared for two hours every afternoon; still Utena never quite got
around to asking her where she was going or what she did there.
        They talked a lot more now, but somehow Utena's past still
never managed to come up very much, except for the occasional bits of
anecdotes about old schoolmates and funny situations.  Kate didn't
press.  She was aware that such things required a moment, and that
those moments were few and fragile; and she refused to jeopardize the
pleasant new depth in their friendship by making a pest of herself.
        The IBGF and associates went trick-or-treating for Halloween,
ignoring their schoolmates' disparaging commentary on wpi.students
that the students of a galactically renowned preparatory institute
really ought to display more maturity.  Liza Broadbank, who had gotten
in dutch with Student Council treasurer Marcus Finch for burning
seventeen dollars' worth of fuel in the activities van on a night when
she could have sworn she'd never left her room, was especially
disgusted with the lot of them, which only increased their glee.
        Devlin dressed in a cream and orange cricketer's costume,
pinned a celery stalk to his lapel, and insisted on being addressed
solely as 'Doctor' for the duration of the evening.  Amanda put on her
full-dress Imperial Navy uniform, which Azalynn, decked out in a
ragged robe-dress and carrying a spear as some obscure historical
figure from Dantrov's past, protested wasn't dressing up in costume at
all.  Moose found a tremendous rusty-black cassock, cowl and scapular
somewhere and became a Benedictine monk.  Kate and Utena, stuck for
ideas at the last minute, fiddled a bit with their hairstyles and
dressed as each other, which Devlin thought was the single funniest
thing he'd seen all year.  Ed and Ein put in an appearance, decked out
in razor-sharp black suits, sunglasses and matching fedora hats.
        They were all a big hit at the annual Halloween dance, where
most of the overly-self-conscious society types ("misguided snobs,
most of them stupid," Amanda called them) just came in their grandest
formalwear and put on silly little domino masks to satisfy the
"masquerade" aspect of their invitations.  The trick-or-treating
session around the Institute's neighborhood afterward netted them a
considerable amount of snack food, which was to serve them well in the
traditional early-November DAKA quality plateau.
        The Art of Noise played several shows in Worcester and Boston,
each quite successful, if not lucrative.  Utena stopped counting the
"I'll take that last shirt" lines at forty-seven in three shows (the
second show having been at the MIT Student Union, which might explain
the extremely high lame-pickup rate of twelve per hour).  Moose's axe
became still further bitchin' with the addition of a new pickup Kate
had designed which, according to her, gave him "20% m-more 'b-blam' to
the o-ounce", whatever the hell that meant.  The student orchestra's
first concert of the year, the week before Thanksgiving, was a huge
success.
        Fall turned slowly to winter, the temperatures dropped, and
snow came in the weekend of Thanksgiving.  After several days'
experimentation, Utena decided that an ambient temperature of 20
degrees Fahrenheit or less, as measured by Kate's window thermometer,
was brisk enough to make her wear her winterweight uniform, pants and
all.  Devlin Carter, amateur statistician, noticed that attendance in
the three classes he and Utena shared diminished by 11% on days colder
than 21 degrees thereafter.
        Life cruised along, heading pleasantly toward the holidays.
        Then, one night in the waning week of B term, as a brisk
December wind rattled their window and moaned in the crevices of Morgan
Hall's brickwork, Utena began making a new sound, also muffled, nearly
denied, from her bunk.  It took Kate several puzzled iterations to
identify this new noise: it was coughing.
        Oh, dear, thought Kate as she burrowed deeper into her covers.
I must remember to stock us up on orange juice.
        The next morning, Utena emerged from her sheet-draped cocoon
looking as though she had died in the night and just hadn't noticed it
yet.  Her usually clear skin was sallow, with dark pouches under her
eyes, and the whites of those eyes had gone grayish and dull.  She
coughed, and when she wasn't coughing, she made a noise like a poorly
tuned pipe organ.  She stumbled to her wardrobe, opened it, made a
grab for one of her jackets, missed, tried again, got it, then lost
her grip and stood watching it with an expression that combined
exasperation and a resigned expectation of oblivion as it slithered to
the floor.
        "A-are you f-f-feeling all right?" Kate asked, knowing the
answer.
        "Fine," Utena rasped.
        "Y-you look s-sick," Kate persisted.
        "I'm fine," Utena repeated.  "I never get sick."  As she
spoke, she started getting a slightly alarmed look on her face, which
was getting a bit greener the longer she remained upright, and beads
of sweat jumped out on her forehead.
        "W-well," said Kate blandly as her roommate rushed for the
wastebasket, "y-you -look- s-sick."
        When she'd finished her business with the wastebasket for the
moment, Utena looked back over her shoulder and asserted, "I've never
been sick a day in my life, and I'm not sick now - urk!"
        "Ah," said Kate.  "W-well, my m-m-mistake.  J-just p-puking in
the t-trash can for f-fun, then?"

        Kate tried to convince Utena to go back to bed, but it was the
last week of term, and she felt she couldn't afford it.  Doggedly, she
dealt with the mess she'd made of the wastebasket, showered, dressed,
assembled her books, and struck out for her first class of the day.
        Standing at the window, Kate watched her roommate's pink
smudge of hair cross the Quad and disappear around the corner of the
Alumni Gym.  She shook her head, tsking.  It just wouldn't do.  She
went to Utena's desk and found a copy of her class schedule, tucked it
into the pocket of her own uniform's blazer, and headed for the door.
        Before she reached it, there came a knock.  Kate wondered who
could be visiting, finished crossing the room, and opened the door.
        There was a young man, perhaps a junior or senior, standing
there.  Kate didn't recognize him, and felt sure she would had she
seen him before, because he was quite distinctive.  Tall and slim but
broad-shouldered for his build, he had a thin, intense face and long,
wavy hair that was a curious shade of dark green.  Kate wondered if he
might perhaps be a Zardon, but she'd never heard of a Zardon with
violet eyes before.
        His uniform was strange, too; it wasn't the charcoal gray,
black and red of the Worcester Prep male uniform, but rather a much
more elaborate, military-looking affair, mostly white, with a lot of
gold braid and edging.  Or rather it -had- been mostly white; this one
looked like its owner had been living in it for a while.  White
uniforms tended to look that way during finals weeks; it was one
reason why the Big W didn't use them.
        "Who are you?" asked this odd apparition, his voice deep and
intense, as though he were barely controlling a fit of some strong
emotion.
        Kate blinked impassively at him.  "Th-th-that's m-my
l-l-line," she said blandly.
        "This is Utena Tenjou's room," said the young man flatly.
        "S-so, y-you c-can r-r-read," said Kate, who had decided she
didn't like him, rather pointedly.
        He glared at the sign on the door ("412: K. Hutchins,
U. Tenjou, Enter At Own Risk") for a moment, then asked Kate harshly,
"Where is she?"
        "Out," Kate replied.  "And I'm b-b-busy."  She collected her
walking stick and stepped through the door, forcing him to step back
to avoid being bumped, then closed it behind her.  "M-maybe y-you
c-can t-t-try to r-r-rem-mem-member w-where y-you l-l-left y-your
m-manners."
        That said, she stood and looked at him, not aggressively, but
steadily, until, with an angry sound, he turned on his heel and
stormed off down the hall toward the stairs to the Wedge.
        Having noticed that he seemed to be carrying a -sword-, of all
things, Kate decided she really didn't like him, and was extremely
ambivalent about his reasons for wanting to see Utena.
        Silently, she went to the stairs at the other end of the hall
and left the building directly.  She had a number of errands to run
today, and now they had been complicated.

        ... OK, so, Kate was right, Utena observed to herself as she
trudged across the suddenly-infinite campus.  I'm sick.  I've never
been so sick in all my life.  I have no idea how I got through my
afternoon classes.  Or, in fact, if I actually -did- get through my
afternoon classes.  I must have, it's 4:15 and I'm on my way back to
the dorm from the Stoddard Labs.  My last class is in Stoddard from 3
to 4 on Tuesdays.  Is this Tuesday?
        She gave up such a strenuous line of inquiry in favor of just
putting one foot in front of the other and not getting hit by a car
crossing West Street in front of Olin Hall.  Her head was spinning so
violently she felt she must have been lurching around like a drunk,
and her legs felt so weak she had no idea how she was managing to make
all these steps.  While spinning, her head was also pounding, bursts
of pain ricocheting from one temple to the other as if she were being
repeatedly struck in the sides of the head with an axe.  Her lungs
felt like they had been poured full of molten lead, which was now
starting to congeal.  On a sunny but cold December day, she had her
tie loosened and her collar open, and sweat was trickling down her
back.  About the only thing she could say she had going for her was
that her stomach had ceased to writhe during the morning's classes; in
fact, that was about the only part of her that didn't feel wrong now.
        Utena would have felt disoriented today even -without- the
flu; the night before she'd slept poorly, probably because of the
developing fever, and been plagued by the strangest, most awfully
lurid dreams yet.  She couldn't remember much about them, but what she
did remember told her that the failure of memory was merciful.  It was
strange, though.  She hadn't dreamed about the people she would have
expected.  But maybe that was just as well...
        Despite the way she -thought- she looked, she wasn't lurching
or even moving erratically.  To all outside appearances, she looked
like a young woman on a mission, striding mercilessly, mechanically,
one step after another, toward her goal, eyes locked relentlessly on
the way before her, as though concerned about her footing.
        In the middle of the Quad, she ran up against an obstacle
somewhat nearer than that horizon.  Stumbling back and nearly losing
her footing, she looked up to see whom she'd run into.  Her eyes
focused, slowly and unwillingly, on a face above a blur of white
jacket.
        A hard, narrow face with burning violet eyes, surrounded by a
wild tangle of dark green hair; a face which she had seen only the
night before in a tangled and violent dream.
        No.  That's impossible.  I must be imagining this.  I'm sicker
than I thought.  I'm hallucinating.
        There was a sudden shattering impact that lifted her right off
her feet and deposited her in a heap on the ground - thankfully, in
the soft snow to the side of the brick-paved walkway, not on the
bricks.  Her bag landed some distance away, the books cascading out of
it.  If her head had been spinning and throbbing before, it was about
ready to fall off now.  Struggling to regain control of herself, Utena
half-turned, trying to rise, but before she could, a hand tangled
itself in the collar of her jacket and hauled her to her feet.
        "Where is she?" a hard and angry voice demanded, punctuated by
another blow that only failed to fell her again because the one hand
was still holding her up.  "What have you done with her?"  Another
blow, alternating sides now.  "Answer me!  WHERE?"
        Utena threw all the force of her will against her
uncooperative mortal clay, driving her eyes open.  The hand twisted
deeper into the folds of her jacket, constricting the material against
her throat.  She looked back along the arm at the face again.
        "Saionji," she whispered, the crushing heat in her chest and
the choking grip on her neck constricting her voice to a bare hiss.
"How... why... "
        "Tell me where Anthy is," Saionji demanded, "or you die."
        "I don't... know," Utena replied, grasping his wrist with both
hands and trying to pry his grip loose.  A flame of anger flickered
somewhere in the back of her mind, but starved for lack of oxygen and
went out again as her limbs, already leaden, began to slacken
entirely.  Her eyes fell closed again.
        "Liar!" snarled Saionji, shaking her violently.  "Tell me what
you've done with her, or by all that's holy I'll snap your little
neck."
        No weapon, no strength, no sane enemy to reason with.  Utena
opened her eyes again and gave him the filthiest look she could
muster, knowing it was a poor second for what she'd really like to do
to him, and waited for his upraised right hand to strike another blow.
        Instead, there was a flicker of motion, and something large
and heavy struck his left arm.  His grip broken, he reeled back,
bellowing more in shock and outrage than in pain.  Utena, released,
crumpled to her knees, coughing so violently she thought she might
pass out, and struggled to see what had happened.
        Lying on the ground in front of her was a familiarly battered
copy of Seijer and Crunk's "Elementary Hyperdimensional Physics".  She
wanted to gasp, but didn't have the breath for it, and coughed some
more instead before sitting back on her heels and taking in the scene
before her.
        Saionji stood - a demonic vision out of the past, still
dressed in a somewhat soiled and shopworn Ohtori Academy uniform -
glaring with naked hatred at Kaitlyn Hutchins, who stood foursquare
between him and his quarry now.  She dropped her bag next to the one
book she'd thrown, and stood with her arms thrown wide, her black
walking stick in her left hand.
        "I don't know who you think you are," she said in a voice so
charged with emotion it was almost unrecognizable, "but you had better
turn around and leave this campus -right now-."
        "I have no quarrel with you," said Saionji.  "My business
here is with that wretch!"  He pointed past Kate to Utena, who still
sat on the ground, trying in vain to catch her breath.  "This matter
is of no concern to you, girl.  Move aside, unless you wish to be
hurt."
        "Am I supposed to be intimidated?" Kate replied, her voice
dripping with scorn, her stutter completely washed away by her anger.
        "You are supposed to cease your interference," replied Saionji
with a sardonic smirk.
        "And if I stand aside?  What then?  You'll kill her?"
        "Probably," he said.
        Kaitlyn spat - actually SPAT - not that it could do much to
further soil his uniform.  "You -filth-," she snarled.  "Look at
yourself - a big, strong, healthy young man, taking out whatever
frustrations he has with the universe by beating a girl so sick with
flu she can barely walk.  Such warrior spirit!"  Her voice oozed
contempt as she went on, "My heart -melts- before the flame of your
courage."
        Saionji's eyes narrowed.  "My patience has limits, girl.
You're about to exceed them."  He moved his hand to the grip of the
sword that was thrust through his belt.
        Kate moved, kicking off her shoes one after the other, pushing
them aside with one foot.  She moved her feet a bit apart, flexing
them gently in her socks as though trying to get a grip on the bricks
of the walkway with her toes.
        "If you draw that steel," she said evenly, "this becomes
serious."
        "It does indeed," agreed Saionji.  "You would fight for this
creature?  Die for her?"
        Kate shrugged, then stepped into a stance, raising her walking
stick as though it were a bokuto, and said, "Come and find out, if you
think you can pass me."
        Kate, no, thought Utena, but her voice wouldn't work.  No, run
away, he'll kill you... 
        Saionji snarled, drawing his blade, and lunged.  Utena
flinched, squeezing her eyes shut, expecting the next thing she heard
to be a terrible, meaty sound, the next sensation to be the hot splash
of Kate's blood on her face.

 /*  Toshihiko Sabashi  "Stoning"  _Big-O: Original Sound Score_  */
				   
        Instead she heard a sharp CLACK and felt nothing.  Hesitantly,
she opened her eyes.
        Kate stood rock-still before her, the stick raised, Saionji's
strike deflected.  Without a word, the brown-haired girl advanced,
making her own counterstrike, and the two began to trade blows in
earnest.  Utena again felt the need to gasp.
        Kaitlyn was a kendoka?
        No... the way she moved was not the firmly regimented style of
the sporting form of kendo.  It was too fluid, too intuitive, and the
thrusts she made with that stick were not the formalized cuts of
kendo.  They were intended to strike her opponent, to hurt him.  Not
kendo - kenjutsu!
        The two fenced back and forth for almost a minute, drawing a
crowd that murmured and oohed but kept far back, until Saionji dropped
his back foot and drove.  Recognizing the thrust, Utena tried to cry a
warning, but succeeded only in driving herself into another coughing
fit that nearly put the lights out.  When she'd recovered her senses,
she looked up, again expecting to see the worst.
        But Kate stood just as before, her face expressionless but for
the contemptuous narrowing of her eyes.  A thin line of blood appeared
below her left eye, beaded, and trickled down her face.  Without
removing her hands from her ersatz weapon, she put out her tongue and
licked the bead away.
        "So," she said.
        Her hands moved, and with a sharp scrape, two-thirds of the
walking stick spun away into the snow, revealing a glittering blade.
        The two opponents rejoined combat, this time the brilliant,
ringing combat of steel against steel, and Utena watched with eyes
wide.  Not only was Kate trained in kenjutsu, she was -well- trained,
and talented as well.  She was holding her own against one of the
Ohtori Academy Student Council, the former captain of the kendo team,
one of the most feared duelists in all Cephiro.
        No, more than holding her own.  Saionji was attacking with a
vicious ferocity, throwing all his energy into every attack, while
Kate defended herself and counterstruck with a precise metering of her
strength, matching him but not wasting herself.  He was actually
starting to look a bit winded, but her face never changed.  It was
like an ivory mask, cast in a slight frown of concentration.  Only her
eyes were alive, alight with fury and indignation.
        He struck at her right side - her weak side, she was
left-handed - and tried to catch her counterstrike on his blade and
twist her zatoichi out of her hand.  She thwarted him with a deft
twist of her own wrists, not quite relieving him of his own blade but
throwing him well out of position; then she seemed to coil into
herself before suddenly exploding, a cry boiling up from deep within
her to ring out across the Quad:
        "HYAKKEN NO ARASHI!"
        And suddenly it was as though she had a hundred pairs of arms,
and every pair of them holding a blade.  They danced around Saionji
like the wings of hummingbirds, making a very similar noise in the
air, for three full seconds, and then she was ten feet away from him,
her blade tucked under her right elbow as though sheathed.
        Saionji stood rooted to the spot, wobbling slightly on his
feet.  His uniform was in bloody tatters, stained by the flow from a
hundred wounds, all superficial, but shocking in their total.  He
looked down at himself as though unable to believe what had happened
to him, then tried to regroup himself for a charge.
        He raised his sword, and with a clear, bright "ting!", most of
the blade broke off and clattered to the bricks.  That seemed to snap
him out of his shock; he blinked at it, snarled, and then, roaring
with rage, leaped, driving the broken end of his blade at his enemy's
heart.
        Kaitlyn flowed smoothly out of his path and whirled, her
blade singing through the air, in a perfect decapitation cut... 
        ... but she had reversed the blade, and its blunt back edge
struck the back of Saionji's neck with a reverberating WHACK instead
of a smooth, hissing cut.  He sprawled face-first on the circular
dedication stone in the center of the Quad, the remains of his weapon
flying from his hand to land in the snow with its grip pointed toward
Alumni Gym, and lay quite still.
        Kate collected her zatoichi's saya, returned it, and stood
looking down at her defeated opponent for a long moment, until he
stirred, groaned, and began trying to get up.  Then she very
delicately placed the ball of one stockinged foot between his shoulder
blades and pushed him back down.
        "You're not worth killing," she said icily.  "Leave my school
and never come back.  Pray I never see you again."
        Then she let him partway up, shoved him back down for good
measure, and turned her back, striding away with her head held high.
        Saionji tried one more time to get up, gave up, and fell back
into unconsciousness again.
        Kate put her shoes back on, went to where Utena's bag had
flown, scooped her books back into it, and carried it to her.
        "C-can you walk?" she asked softly, kneeling down beside
Utena.  "Y-you sh-should be in b-bed."
        "You... " Utena said, but couldn't get any more of it out.
        "C-come on," said Kate.  She packed her physics book back in
her own bag, slung them both over her shoulder, and then helped her
roommate to her feet.  "L-lean on me.  D-don't worry, I c-can handle
it."
        "I'm not a damsel in distress," Utena protested weakly.  "I'm
not the one who needs rescuing."
        "Shh," said Kate indulgently.  "W-we all need t-to be rescued
s-sometimes.  Next t-time you c-can rescue me."

        Utena decided she must have faded out for a bit after that.
She didn't remember coming into Morgan Hall or climbing the six
half-flights of stairs, or getting out of her clothes, or getting into
bed, but here she was, out of them and in it.  A dull throbbing in
both sides of her face had joined the catalog of all her other
symptoms.
        The sheet curtain at the side of her bed, which Kate had put
up on her first morning here and which neither had ever gotten around
to taking down again, was drawn back and trapped behind the edge of
the bureau so that she could see into the room.  She seemed to be
alone.
        Slowly, she worked herself to the edge of the bed, braced
herself, and sat up.
        "W-where do you th-th-think you're going?" came Kate's voice
from the doorway.  Utena started guiltily and looked to see her
roommate scowling at her, pointing an imperious finger.  "B-back into
bed w-with you."
        Utena considered arguing, remembered what Kate had done to the
last person to make her angry, and meekly obeyed.  When she had,
Kaitlyn drew up her desk chair next to the bed, put down the tea tray
she'd been carrying, and began to take things from it and employ them.
First Utena was caused to swallow the rather foul-tasting green
contents of a small plastic cup.  Then a cool cloth was applied to her
forehead.  Then the top button of her flannel pajamas was undone and
her throat and upper chest smeared with a powerful-smelling gray
paste.  After that, tea.
        Utena smiled faintly.  "You'd think you were my mother," she
said wryly.
        Kate grinned.  "M-maybe I am, t-t-today," she said.
        "Where did I get these pajamas?" Utena wondered, raising her
arm to look at the sleeve, which was patterned with a dark blue
geometric print she found, in her present state, slightly
mind-bending.  She had several sets of her own, but they were all pink
or light blue striped.
        "I b-borrowed them from A-Amanda," Kate replied.  "M-mine
wouldn't f-f-fit you and y-y-yours are a-all in the h-hamper."
        "Amanda wears pajamas?"  Utena chuckled, which turned into a
muted cough.
        Kate nodded.  "S-strange to think of, i-i-isn't it?  T-to hear
her t-talk, she'd r-r-rather sleep c-covered in n-nothing but the
b-blood of her enemies."  Kate shook her head with an indulgent smile.
"Azalynn t-told me once sh-she s-sleeps with a r-rag d-doll, too.  Of
c-c-course, it's of her b-b-brother, so m-m-maybe we shouldn't g-go
there."
        Utena nodded.  "I knew a girl like that once."
        The two sat in contemplative quiet for a few moments, drinking
lemon tea.  When they'd finished, Kate got up to clear away the tray,
and Utena put out her hand and touched Kate's arm.
        "Kate... " said Utena.
        "Mm?" said Kate, all attention.
        "Thank you for helping me," Utena said, "but... you shouldn't
have done it.  That was Kyouichi Saionji - he used to be the captain
of the kendo club at my old school.  He's crazy.  Now that you've
involved yourself, he'll hate you as much as he hates me... and you
didn't kill him, so he'll be back."  She shook her head.  "You
shouldn't have done it."
        Kate frowned.  "S-so, what, th-then?" she asked, a bit
indignant.  "Sh-should I j-just have let him k-kill you?  B-because he
was g-going to."
        "Well, no, I'm glad you didn't do that," Utena admitted
wryly.  Then she sobered again and said, "But attacking him
directly... why didn't you get the Campus Police or something?"
        "Well, y-you know c-cops," said Kate.  "N-never around w-when
you n-need 'em."  She shrugged.  "W-what else c-could I do?  Y-yell
'fire' and h-hope he'd g-go away?"
        Utena thought about it for a moment, then sighed and coughed.
"I guess not.  I'm just trying to warn you - you've made a dangerous
enemy."
        Kate shook her head.  "N-no," she replied with a slight
glitter in her eyes.  "H-h-HE has.  I d-don't look for t-trouble,
Utena, b-but if it f-f-finds me, I'm p-prepared for it.  D-don't worry
about me."
        Utena smiled, shook her head a bit indulgently.  "You're
really something," she said.  "All this time you've been carrying a
sword around and I never noticed it?  Is that what you've been doing
every day from four to six?"
        Kate nodded.  "I have t-to k-k-keep m-my edge sh-sharp," she
said.  "D-Dad m-might decide to t-test me anyt-time I'm h-home."
        "Of course.  Your father's some kind of modern-day samurai.
You told me that months ago and I never made the connection."  Utena
sighed self-mockingly, coughed, and added wryly, "And I used to call
myself a duelist."
        Kate might have asked her to elaborate on that, but just then
there was a knock at the door, which Kate had left ajar, and Carter
Devlin put his head in.  "Hullo?  All right?  Everybody decent?"
        "C-come in, Devlin," said Kate, decorously drawing the top
sheet up to Utena's throat.
        Devlin did as he was bade, trotting into the room.  At Utena's
desk, he paused, reached into one of the pockets of his voluminous
trenchcoat, and pulled out a bud vase.  This he placed on the desk;
then he rummaged in another inside pocket for a moment, then another,
with a concentrated frown on his face.  He turned sheepishly to the
two girls, wearing a look of intense self-reproach, then brightened
and made a curious gesture with his hands.
        A couple of white roses seemed to pop out of nowhere into his
right hand, and, smiling contentedly to himself, he arranged these in
the vase before coming the rest of the way to the sick girl's
bedside.  Utena laughed, coughed, and thanked him for the flowers and
the performance.
        "Just my little way of helpin'," he said.  "I'm not very
strong, but I'm dext'rous."  He tsked thoughtfully.  "You're a sight,
love.  But I hear the other fellow came out of it much the worse, eh,
what?"
        Utena nodded.  "Thanks to Kate."
        "That's our Kate," said Devlin proudly.  "Righter of wrongs,
protector of the innocent, avenger of justice.  Why, she's a regular
knight errant.  Prince on a white horse, what?"
        Kate blushed a little.  "C-cut it out, D-Devlin," she said
with a shy smile.
        "Right-o," said Devlin.  "Anyway, I only wanted to come and
express my relief, and tell you to get well soon, and all that sort of
bumf.  I won't hang about botherin' you while you're tryin' to
recuperate."  He tipped his hat to them both and departed, whistling.
        "D-Devlin gets a little odder each t-t-term," Kate observed
with a smile.
        Utena said nothing.  She was looking very thoughtful, and
rather troubled.  Finally she sat fully upright and said, "Kaitlyn...
I have to tell you something."
        "N-not now," Kate said, pushing her back down by the shoulders
and tucking her back in.  "Rest.  W-we can t-talk all you w-want,
once you're w-w-well again."
        Utena would have protested, and indeed tried to, but she was
suddenly feeling tremendously tired, and the more she tried to
organize her thoughts to relate them to Kate, the more scattered they
became, until finally the room and the face of her roommate faded away
into a painless darkness.
        Kate watched her sleep, listening with satisfaction to the
easing of the awful wheeze in her chest, and then went to her own desk
to get started on a report she had to do.  For the rest of the
afternoon and evening, she kept one ear tuned, but Utena slept
peacefully through until the following morning.
        When she woke, she wasn't well - such a nasty flu doesn't pass
off completely in fourteen hours of sleep - but she felt much better,
well enough to get out of bed, put on her dressing gown, and shuffle
down to the bathroom for a shower.  While brushing her teeth, she
surveyed the purpling bruises on her face and throat in the mirror and
sighed ruefully.  It turned into a cough, but didn't wrack her whole
body the way it had yesterday.  She began to entertain thoughts of
possibly feeling well some day.
        When she got back to 412, Azalynn was there, chattering
cheerfully about something or other while Kate rummaged around
preparing another pot of tea on her spirit lamp.  The Dantrovian girl
had brought a bag of muffins from the dining hall for breakfast, and,
hearing the door open, she whirled.
        "Utena!" she cried, and covered the distance between them in
two great bounds to wrap the taller girl in her arms and spin her
almost completely around.  "You're all right!"
        "Not yet," Utena allowed, disentangling herself as gently as
possible, "but I'm mending."
        "I was worried!" Azalynn said with an odd combination of
solicitude and petulance.  "We all were.  Going to class, sick as you
were, and then that awful man!  Devlin told the rest of us about it at
dinner, but he said you were so sick we shouldn't come up.  Dvhil!
Look at your face!  That brute... if I had him here right now I'd give
him such a smack!"  She drove one small fist into the opposite palm,
then winced and shook her hand.
        "Azalynn, d-don't bother Utena," said Kate with mild
admonishment.  "Sh-she's not well yet, she still n-needs rest and
q-quiet."
        "Right!" said Azalynn, saluting with a broad grin.  "You take
good care of her, Katie.  And don't worry about that guy.  If he comes
around again, Amanda says she'll gut him."
        "C-comes around again?  Isn't h-he in j-jail?"
        "Nope, hadn't you heard?  He disappeared!  By the time the
Campus Police got to the Quad after you carried Utena up here, he was
gone.  Nothing left of him but all that blood on the dedication stone
and what was left of his sword.  Don't worry, though," she repeated.
"We're all on the lookout.  If he shows his face around here again, I
wouldn't like to bet on how long he'll last."
        Utena gave Kate a troubled look; Kate replied with a little
half-shrug, then ushered Azalynn out with appropriate thanks for the
watchful sentiment and the muffins.  Utena collected a cup of tea, a
muffin, and another dose of the nasty-tasting green stuff, then
suffered herself to be arranged in bed and anointed with the
strong-smelling gray stuff again.
        "M-Miss Montaigne was h-here yesterday," Kate said as she
applied the gray gunk.  "After y-you passed out the f-first time.  She
w-wanted to know who the g-guy was who attacked you, and w-whether you
n-needed the school d-doctor.  She'll p-probably be b-b-back to ask
you ab-bout him today."
        "I won't tell her the whole truth," said Utena.  "I can't."
        Kate nodded.  "Just as y-you like it," she said, briskly
arranging the covers around her charge and providing her with a fresh
compress for her head.  Before applying it, Kate touched the inside of
her wrist to Utena's forehead.  "Hmm.  You f-feel cooler today."
        "I wasn't lying to Azalynn - I feel better.  Not well, but
better."
        Kate gave an absent sort of nod and went back to her desk,
rummaging around a bit; then she came back to the bedside, sat down in
her chair with her feet on the edge of a bureau drawer, and propped her
sheet-music notebook up on her knees.
        "Aren't you going to class?" asked Utena after a few minutes.
        "N-no," Kate replied.  "S-someone has to l-look after y-you."
        "But... bad enough I'm not going to class - we can't -both-
flunk out."
        "W-we're not g-going to f-flunk out," she said.  "I t-talked
to all of our t-t-teachers y-yesterday.  We'll h-have to t-take our
exams home w-with us for w-winter break, but we'll d-do all right."
        "Home?"
        Kate nodded.  "The d-dorms close over C-C-Christmas.
Everybody h-has to g-go home."
        Utena snorted, which turned into a cough.  "I don't have a
home," she said when she was done coughing.
        "Well, then, y-you can c-come to m-mine," said Kate.  "D-Dad
w-won't mind, he l-loves meeting my f-friends.  W-we always d-do
something nice for d-dinner the first night I'm b-back, too."
        "You'd take me to your home for the whole holiday break, just
like that?  But you... "  Utena's blacker moods sometimes led her to
exaggerate, and so it was that she went on softly, "... You barely
know me."
        "D-don't be r-ridic-culous," Kate said reproachfully.  "I
b-barely know y-your -history-," she went on didactically, "b-but I
certainly kn-now YOU, b-by n-n-now.  I kn-now that you're h-honest,
and brave, and s-sad, and th-that you are d-determined to b-bear your
s-sorrows alone, and a-almost strong en-nough to d-do it."  She looked
her roommate square in the eye for a second, then looked away.  "I'm
s-sorry.  I've said t-too m-much.  It's n-n-none of my b-business."
        "No," said Utena.  She worked her right hand out from under
the covers to touch Kate's arm.  "You made it your business a long
time ago, but I haven't...  I'm the one who ought to be sorry.  I'm
feeling well enough to tell the story now.  Will you hear it?"
        Kate paused, stuck her pencil into the spiral binding of her
notebook, and put the notebook aside.
        "Of c-course," she said simply.
        So, slowly, painfully, and sometimes haltingly, Utena told her
story.  It was a long one, complex and sometimes confusing, but Kate
stayed with her, nodding and making encouraging sounds where
appropriate.  The basic story - of love, unexpected and unlooked-for,
springing up, growing, flourishing, and then being wrenched cruelly
apart by fate - was a familiar one, but the details and circumstances
were so strange that Kate had to devote all her attention to the
listening.  She wished she could take notes, but that would have been
rather crass, so instead she concentrated as hard as she could on
committing it all to memory.
        There were parts that made Utena laugh to retell, and Kate
laugh to hear; there were others that Utena could barely bring herself
to tell at all, and Kate listened to those with solemn gravity and,
more than once, her own tears.  By the end, all Kate could think of
was a poem of which her father was darkly fond, and as Utena finished
the tale and sat huddled, hugging her knees to her chest and crying,
Kate murmured softly,

"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned... "
        
        Falling silent, she put her hand on Utena's shoulder and sat
quiet, letting her comforting touch and her own silent tears speak for
her.  The silence stretched, broken only by Utena's painful-sounding
combination of sobbing and coughing, for several minutes.  Then Utena
seemed to shake herself.  She raised her head, and with a great,
shuddering sigh, she purged the fit of despair from her system, then
sat up straight, wiping at her eyes.
        "I've been doing too much of that lately," she said firmly.  A
smile touched the corners of her mouth and eyes as she chuckled and
added, "Himemiya wouldn't like it.  It would worry her sick - she
hates to see anyone upset, especially me.  I suppose you've known
since the beginning... "
        Kaitlyn nodded.  "Kn-nown that s-something w-was wrong, but
n-not unders-s-stood w-what," she said.  "N-now I understand."
        "Will you keep my secrets, now that I've told them to you?"
        "Of c-course," said Kate.  "They aren't m-m-mine to t-tell."
        "I'm sorry I've been such a jerk all this time," Utena said.
"I guess you were right - I've been trying to bear up, like I did the
time I first met my prince... "  She looked at the small scar on her
finger where the ring had been torn away.  "But there's no need to
bear it all alone this time."
        Kate smiled.  "I'm g-glad you feel that w-way."  She held out
a hand.
        Utena smiled back.  "I'm glad I can," she said, and clasped
the offered hand, palm to palm, an arm-wrestler's grip.  They held
that tableau for a moment; then Utena looked around the room and said,
"Now... what are the chances that we can get some sort of a hot plate
or something in here for me to cook on?  I can't get the hang of that
chemistry burner you use to heat tea, I feel like I'm going to blow
the place up with it, and it's too hot to make anything else with,
either."
        Kate's face adopted a look of exaggerated thoughtfulness as
she completely ignored the fact that they'd had this conversation
before, always come to the same conclusion, and always failed to get
around to doing anything about it afterward.  "Hmm, I d-don't know,"
she said.  "C-cooking in the dorms is ag-gainst the school rules... "
        Utena gave her an exasperated look.  "And carrying a sword
around campus isn't?  And what about your piano?  Do you -want- to
keep eating the meal plan?"
        Kate grinned.  "Your l-logic has overw-whelmed me.  While
w-we're home for b-b-break, we'll go sh-shopping."

        Utena's appearance at the doorway to the Morgan Hall dining
room for dinner the following evening was met with a standing ovation
of the IBGF membership, which soon spread to the neighboring tables
and, by the time she reached the table, the whole of the room.  She
stood by the end of the table, blinking in surprise, for a moment,
then broke into a wide, rather sheepish smile and gave a slightly
embarrassed wave before sitting down.
        "Good to see you're back on your feet and smilin' again, eh,
what?" said Devlin cheerily.  "Damn me!  I say!  Hasn't been the same
around here since you went down."
        "Indeed," said Moose, rising again to give her his courtliest
bow and kiss her hand into the bargain.  "Life at Table 11 has been a
drab, colorless affair without our brightest flower among us."
        As Utena blushed, Amanda Dessler snorted.  "As usual, the men
overstate things," she said with a toss of her head, "but it -is-
gratifying to see that your enemy's craven attack hasn't left you
permanently marked.  Scars are for true battles, not cowardly
ambushes.  Had I the wretch between my hands now, I would end him in
an instant."
        "Me too!" said Azalynn.  "I'd just take this fork and POW!"
She viciously murdered a dinner roll.
        Utena smiled, but her tone was serious as she said, "Listen,
all of you.  I appreciate the thought, but if Saionji does come back,
please, don't go near him.  He's crazy and dangerous, and he's not
your problem."
        "Not our problem?" boomed Moose indignantly.  "My dear lady,
he sought to rob us of the loveliest, most capable, cleverest, and
hardest-working roadie the Art of Noise has ever had the good fortune
to possess!"
        "Moose, I'm serious," said Utena.
        "So am I," Moose replied, "I just have a hard time sounding as
if I am sometimes.  Here, I'll put it to a vote, that will make it
official.  All in attendance, please: I, your Vice-President, hereby
move that Utena Tenjou be afforded full membership in the Federation,
with all the rights and privileges attendant thereunto, despite the
fact that we have been able to discover in her no particular musical
ability."
        "Jolly good!" said Devlin.  "I'll second that."
        "All in favor?" said Moose.
        "Aye," said all the others.
        "Opposed?"
        No one spoke.
        "The motion carries," said Moose.  "Now it's official.  We
must protect our membership from the depredations of those creatures
outside the group, after all; it's in the charter, Article 1-C."
        "But I - " Utena began.
        "We appreciate your worryin' about us," said Devlin breezily,
"but, J. Maurice's parliamentary maunderin's aside, it's really very
simple: you're our friend and he's your enemy, ergo, quod erat and all
that rot.  We stand with you against him."  He grinned.  "I'm not very
brave, but I am loyal."
        "And if you try to do something stupid, like leave the school
to protect us," said Azalynn, "then we'll find you and drag you back!"
        Utena, who had been considering that very course of action now
that she was on her feet, blinked guiltily at the Dantrovian and said
nothing, which earned her a smug little look.
        "I... I don't know what to say," she mused after a moment.
        "You don't have to say anything," said Moose.
        "W-welcome to the F-Federation, Utena," said Kate, smiling.
        "The Federation lives forever," said Azalynn reverently.
        "The Federation lives forever," concurred the rest of the
membership.
        "The Federation lives forever," said Utena thoughtfully, and
she decided she liked the sound of it.

        Two days later the term ended, and Utena stood with Kate on
the sidewalk in front of Daniels Hall, facing the Quad, with her
suitcase in her hand.  Freed from the requirement of wearing the Big
W's uniform, she'd dressed in another uniform, the one she'd been
wearing when she arrived.  She didn't look quite exactly the same as
she had when she'd appeared on the doorstep of 412; her hair had
reached her shoulders, and she had on the watch cap she'd been given
for Operation: Install the Package over part of it.
        The bruises had faded completely from her face, though, and as
today's ambient temperature was twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit, it
wasn't cold enough for her to have bothered with pants; so the
resemblance, with suitcase in hand, was enough to make Kaitlyn smile a
little.  She hadn't understood the old uniform's significance at
the time, but now it was quite clear to her.
        A winter breeze wind stirred the drifted snow on the Quad.  An
impressive silence ruled the campus.  Kate wouldn't have been
surprised to learn that she and Utena were the last ones left on
Institute Hill.  Utena wouldn't have been surprised to learn that she
and Kate were the last ones left in Worcester.
        "So... " said Utena.
        "Mm?" asked Kate.
        "Where is he?" said Utena.
        "P-probably got l-lost," said Kate.
        "Lost?" said Utena.
        "Mm," said Kate.  "He only g-got his license t-two months
ago.  Never b-b-been here before."
        "Four hours' worth of lost?"
        Kate smiled fondly.  "H-he never d-does anything by h-halves."
        "Oh.  Are you sure this is a good idea?"
        "R-relax.  Don't be n-nervous."
        "I'm relaxed."
        "Good."
        "Very relaxed."
        "E-excellent."
        "So where is he?"
        "Utena... "
        At that moment, an automobile entered the Quad from Institute
Road, gliding silently between Sanford Riley and Daniels Halls.  It
proceeded to orbit the Quad on the one-way loop that surrounded it,
giving both girls ample opportunity to take in its long, gleaming
black shape from all sides.  It was a large car, long and low with an
impossible-looking span of hood and sharp tail fins.  A silver turbine
grille jutted aggressively from the nose, between narrow, squinting
rectangular headlamps.  The car's great expanse of tinted glass
glinted in the waning light of afternoon as it turned the final corner
and pulled to a stop in front of them with the barest whisper of
sound.
        The driver's door opened, and a young man, a boy really,
climbed out.  He was perhaps a year or two younger than Kaitlyn, a bit
shorter and wiry, with short, thick black hair and facial features
that resembled hers slightly, but with slightly harder edges and
planes.  He was dressed mostly in black - black Army pants, the latest
Art of Noise t-shirt, an unbuttoned black dress shirt with silver
buttons over that, black Chuck Taylors with silver laces - and had on
narrow black sunglasses that rather resembled the headlamps of the car
in shape.
        The thing that caught Utena's attention most about him,
though, was the odd pattern of markings on his face.  He had a small,
dark blue triangle at the point of each cheekbone, and on his forehead
was a circle about the size of a quarter, with a pencil-eraser-size
dot in the middle.  Utena wondered if they were religious tattoos, or
some kind of odd fashion trend that hadn't reached Earth yet, or what.
        "Heyo, Kate," he said cheerfully as he rounded the car's great
nose.  His voice was surprisingly deep for his obvious youth.  "Sorry
I'm late, I got a little lost in - " He suddenly stopped, both walking
and talking, as though frozen in time, his face wiped absolutely
blank.  So, apparently, was his mind as well, for he proceeded to say,
"In... in... in... "
        "Th-th-thought?" Kate suggested with an impish smile.
        The young man shook his head as if to clear it, then said,
"No, Cleveland."
        "Cleveland?  What on Earth w-w-were you d-doing in Cleveland?"
        He shrugged, seeming to have recovered his wits from whatever
had snatched them away.  "Denver gave me a weird approach vector.  Had
to put Daggerdisc down at Burke Lakefront.  Something about a storm
system over upstate New York.  I didn't see it."  He patted the car's
fender.  "Anyway, there's no storm system on the planet that can
bother this baby."
        "Well, y-you're here, anyw-way," said Kate.  "C-Corwin, meet
my roommate, Utena T-Tenjou.  Utena, my b-brother, Corwin Ravenhair."
        Corwin stepped up onto the sidewalk, took off his sunglasses,
and tucked them into the top pocket of his outer shirt, then looked up
at Utena (who was almost a head taller) with the clearest blue eyes
she'd ever seen, several shades lighter than her own.
        He looked as though he had planned to say something, but that
was before he'd made the mistake of removing his shades and looking at
her eye to eye.  Having done that, he just stood there for several
seconds, motionless, his face going blank again.  The sudden intensity
in his eyes caught her by surprise, and she felt a blush building at
the bridge of her nose.
        Kaitlyn let this moment stretch onward for rather longer than
was strictly necessary, simply because she was enjoying it.  Then,
when she began to feel slightly guilty, she very softly and decorously
cleared her throat, making Corwin jump and (finally) blink.  His own
face reddened as he put his sunglasses back on and said, "Um... it's
nice to meet you, Miss Tenjou."
        Utena smiled, her heart going out to him at his discomfiture,
and clouted him on the shoulder in a friendly sort of way.  "Good to
meet you, too.  Corwin?"  He nodded.  "Call me Utena."

 /*  The Smithereens  "Time Won't Let Me"  _Blown to Smithereens_  */

Eyrie Productions, Unlimited            I can't wait forever
presented                               Even though you want me to
UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES                   I can't wait forever
FUTURE IMPERFECT                        To know if you'll be true
- Symphony of the Sword -               Time won't let me (oh no)
First Movement:                         Time won't let me (oh no)
Wounded Rose                            Time won't let me
                                        Wait that long
The Cast
(in order of appearance)                Can't you see I've waited too long
Kaitlyn Hutchins                        To love you and hold you in my arms
Utena Tenjou                            I can't wait forever
Claudia Montaigne                       Even though you want me to
The Hon. J. Maurice MacEchearn          Time won't let me (oh no)
Devlin Carter (or Carter Devlin)        Time won't let me (oh no)
Azalynn dv'Ir Natashkan                 Time won't let me
Amanda Elektra Dessler
Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky IV      I can't wait forever
Ein                                     Even though you want me to
Sgt. Eric Van der Kelt                  I can't wait forever
Marie Delacroix                         To know if you'll be true
Dimitrios Makenikos Arbuthnot           Time won't let me (oh no)
Motel 6 Night Manager                   Time won't let me (oh no)
The 2404 Boston Red Sox                 Time won't let me
The 2404 Toronto Raiders                Time won't let me
Raiderdome Peanuts Guy                  Wait that long
Raiders Fan #1 ("Can I Help You")       Wait that long
Raiders Fan #2 ("Just Looking)          Wait that long
Laconic US Customs Guy                  Wait that long
Kyouichi Saionji
and introducing                         I'm coming home, I'm coming home
Corwin Ravenhair                        You hear me talking to you baby?
                                        Got to get you back inside of my arms
Tortured Artist                         I'm coming home, I'm coming home
Benjamin D. Hutchins                    You better hear me talkin' to you
                                        Know I'm never gonna leave you alone
Muse                                    Oh pretty baby won't you listen to me
Anne Cross                              Can't you tell how much I need you?
                                        Can't you tell my love is so strong?
Springboard, Baseball Consultant        Hey
John Trussell                           Hey

	    The Symphony will return with "Christmas Rose"

The author digs Toronto as much as his fictional daughter does.  Many
of the Torontonian things portrayed herein are real.  Here are some
relevant URLs you might enjoy...

http://www.toronto.com/
http://www.moltencore.com/club.html (has a photo of Sneaky Dee's)
http://www.hhof.com/
http://www.batashoemuseum.ca/
http://www.ontariosciencecentre.ca/