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                     Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
                               presents

                UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT
                      - SYMPHONY OF THE SWORD -

                       Azalynn's Winter Holiday

                         Benjamin D. Hutchins

                (c) 2001 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited


        Azalynn dv'Ir Natashkan was bored.
        Really bored.
        It was Christmas Day, 2404, and she was lying on her bed in
Room 212 of Sanford Riley Hall, the oldest and nicest of the Worcester
Preparatory Institute's dormitories.  Well, not oldest, technically -
they were all the same age, the place having been rebuilt from bedrock
up, along with the rest of Worcester County, after the WDF's
unfortunate visit to the area in the 1990s.  Still, the -original-
Riley Hall had been the original WPI's oldest dorm, and the style was
the same.  It had high, pre-air-conditioning ceilings, big windows,
creaky hardwood floors.  It was a bit drafty and cost the school more
to heat and cool than any other building on campus - but it had
character.
        It also had one very bored student, who had managed to wangle
permission to remain on campus during the customary Christmas-holiday
cleanout because it took a week and a half to get from Earth to
Dantrov by hypership and she couldn't afford anything faster.  Kaitlyn
Hutchins's family would probably have been more than happy to give her
a ride (or even pay her way on a better class of starliner - they were
an absurdly generous bunch), but Azalynn disliked the idea of
presuming that way on their friendship.
        For that matter, she could have gone to New Avalon with Kate
herself, if she had asked.  She'd been there once before, for a couple
of days in the middle of the last summer break, and thoroughly enjoyed
herself; but no.  She'd considered inviting herself, but something had
clearly happened between Kate and her roommate Utena Tenjou during
those last few days before the start of winter break, while Kate was
nursing Utena back to health from her brush with the flu.  Whatever it
was, it had brought the two of them closer together, and Azalynn, who
always rejoiced to see bonds between people strenghtening, had decided
they were better left to themselves and Kate's family for the
holidays.  A beginning is a delicate time, after all, and this was
plainly the beginning of a new stage of the roommates' friendship.
        So Azalynn was here, the only person on campus but for Plant
Services and one lonely network operations tech watching over the
school's Internet feed, and bored.  She was accustomed to amusing
herself for long periods of time - requiring only two hours or so of
sleep per night gave her more free time than most of her fellows - but
she'd been at it now for two days and it was getting to be more than a
little tedious.  She hadn't any work to do, she hadn't anyplace to go,
she was running out of things to re-read, and everything, from the
dining hall to both the school and city libraries, was closed today.
        She could sleep for more than that - she could sleep for
entire -days- if necessary, and then used the banked energy to remain
-awake- for days afterward - but if she did that, she'd just be more
bored when the time came to use up the rest she'd accrued.  Unless she
stayed in bed for the whole vacation, then didn't sleep for most of C
term.  That might be fun just for the reactions of some of her
friends, but it would drive her roommate completely mad if she didn't
at least get her usual two hours.
        She looked from her half of room 212, with its chaotic jumble
of books, clothes and random other items, to the other half.  The
division was as sharp as if there had been a wall there, right in the
center of the room.  The other side was neat, orderly, Spartan, the
few personal items there arranged with the standard-issue furniture
into a militarily precise tidiness, like a stateroom aboard a ship.
Azalynn missed the creature that had created that rigid order.  For
all that her roommate, Amanda Dessler, was unlike her, they had a
certain chemistry that had made them best friends despite their
differences.  After all, they had been thrown together by the housing
computer the -first- year, but not this one.  Amanda kept her half of
the room the way she liked it and didn't harass Azalynn for keeping
hers the way she liked it.
        Azalynn lay on her back, put her hands behind her bushy gray
head, and sighed.  She could have gone with Amanda, too, but she'd had
the suspicion that, best friends or not, there wouldn't be much fun to
be had on Gamilon.  She rather liked Amanda's brother Garon, but the
two Desslers saw each other so rarely nowadays that, when they did,
they didn't have much time for anybody else, and Azalynn disliked
being an extra wheel.  She didn't grudge Amanda her time with Garon,
by any means - love in all its forms was sacred to Azalynn - but she
knew it meant she'd find Gamilon even duller than this.  Nobody else
on that planet was any fun at all.
        She could definitely -not- have gone with Moose, for though
she was quite welcome wherever he went, the gravity on Hoffman was
something like three standard Gs, and that would just not do.  Azalynn
was energetic, but not -that- energetic.  Not without a fusion-powered
exoskeleton, anyway.
        Of the members of the Institute Band Geeks Federation, that
left Devlin, and she couldn't have accompanied him on his vacation
because she had no idea where he'd gone.  He didn't talk about his
homelife or what he did on breaks; simply came and went, and was never
quite himself for the first day or so when he returned.  Azalynn
worried a bit about that, but the time had never seemed right for her
to try asking him about it.  These things had their own schedule, to
which she was sensitive, but not privy.  When the time came, if it
did, she would know; but she couldn't predict when it might.
        She sighed.  Now she was getting -maudlin-.  It was only
two-thirty in the afternoon, for pity's sake, much too early for
-that- kind of thing.  She wondered where Edward Tivrusky had wandered
off to; but then Ed wasn't actually a student, and so her comings and
goings were random and varied at all times, not just during
vacations.
        Azalynn got up and paced around the room, crossing the
invisible dividing line into Amanda's domain.  For a while she
sprawled on her roommate's neatly made bed, too light to disturb the
covers by lying on them.  Among the many things about Amanda which she
liked was the Gamilon's scent - a subtle combination of sweetness,
bitterness and danger that nicely summarized the girl herself.  Humans
always seemed to think that kind of thing was weird, but Azalynn
couldn't see how it was any different from liking the way a person
looked or sounded, and anyway, she was used to being considered weird
by humans.
        She took a little nap there, for perhaps ten minutes, then got
up and stretched and left the room in search of adventure, collecting
her winter clothes on the way.  That wasn't very likely, in Worcester
on Christmas Day, but she wasn't going to find it locked in her room.
        It was a cold and blustery day, but Azalynn didn't mind that
much; she had a warm coat, a Federation Starfleet-surplus field parka
which was a size or so too big for her slender frame, and good stout
boots.  She preferred to go barefoot, but even her tough feet couldn't
hack a Worcester winter.  She exited the front of Riley Hall, stood
for a moment at the top of the stoop with her hands in her parka
pockets surveying the empty faculty parking lot and the bare trees and
snowy expanse of the Quad.  An hour or so of daylight left.  What to
do, what to do?
        The CCC was closed.  The library was closed.  The dining
halls, the Wedge snack bar, and Gompei's Pub in the Riley basement
were closed.  The whole city of Worcester was closed, except for one
Chinese restaurant which was an inconvenient distance away on foot.
She supposed the Worcester Regional Transit Authority's buses (for the
first few days of her WPI career, she had supposed "WRTA" was a radio
station being advertised on the buses) would be running at least a
limited schedule today, but she'd never really bothered to learn their
routes or timetables.
        Azalynn decided to walk up to Bancroft Tower, just for the
sake of something to do.  She pulled the hood of her parka up over her
head to keep her ears from freezing, stuck her hands back in her
pockets, and walked around the end of Riley Hall to Institute Road,
then down the hill, across Park Avenue (all but deserted), and up the
next hill.  "Down the hill and up the next hill" was pretty much how
one walked anywhere in Worcester.
        As opposed to its neighbor Institute Hill, which had, of
course, the Institute on it, Bancroft Hill was residential, covered in
winding, narrow streets (some of them very poorly maintained,
pavement-wise) and large, pleasant, expensive-looking houses.  Azalynn
navigated the maze of little streets without error or concern,
climbing ever nearer to the top of the hill, until finally she passed
into an area of woods.  Just like that, she could have been miles from
any city; the change, both in appearance and atmosphere, was
remarkable as she passed one last lone house at the point of a
sweeping, climbing left-hand turn and proceeded to the Tower.
        As towers went, Bancroft Tower was, she supposed, not terribly
impressive.  It was a two-story building shaped rather like an
inverted U, made of random stones mortared together to give it a
craggy exterior that invited climbing; on the left side (as one faced
it), a crenelated turret jutted up a further story.  It had several
narrow, barred windows on two levels, and inside the legs of the U
were iron-bar doors blocking entrance into the two halves of the tower
itself.
        Still, it was interesting-looking, and having it here in the
middle of the city, yet surrounded by this grassy, tree-lined area
that looked so far from an urban environment, made it exotic and gave
it a mysterious air.  Looming up against the gray sky, just short of
twilight, it looked rather sinister.  Azalynn, who was not given to
apprehension, passed between the two little turrets that flanked the
paved walkway up to the tower, walking right up to the tower itself.
        The barred doors were secured with modern electrolocks, one of
the few concessions to progress made by the city's historical society
over the years in an attempt to help the Worcester Police Department
better keep the public out of the tower's gloomy interior.  They
seemed to work fairly well; reports of people being in the tower, or
at least being caught there, were rare.  It took Azalynn a few moments
to notice that the left-hand one, under the side of the tower with the
turret, had been forced - electrolock or not, it was still just an old
iron door.
        Her interest piqued, Azalynn flipped back her hood and went
inside.
        It was dark inside Bancroft Tower; there were no lights, so
the only illumination came from the dim gray sunlight filtering
through the narrow barred windows.  Azalynn didn't mind that.  She
could see in the dark, albeit only in black and white.  The room at
the left side of the tower's base wasn't really a room at all - just a
wide, shallow-stepped stone staircase, leading away to the far wall,
then doubling back on itself upward.  She sniffed the air.  Somebody
-was- here, or had been here very recently.
        Cautiously, she made her way up the stairs to the second
landing; it doubled back on itself twice more before reaching the
top.  Nothing halfway up but dust and silence, but... 
        Azalynn paused.  Above her, she could hear someone breathing.
Well, actually, what made him (wrong pitch for a woman, and the scent
wasn't right for that either) audible was the fact that he was
shivering while breathing, but why pick nits?
        At this point, most people would have left the tower, perhaps
called the police.  Azalynn, however, was too curious about who could
possibly be lurking in Bancroft Tower on Christmas Day without,
apparently, adequate protection from the cold.  It seemed to her that
if you were going to go committing simple trespass on city property,
that was fine, but you ought to bring a coat or wait until it was
warmer.  She climbed the stairs to the turret room.
        This was a larger room, spanning the top of the U.  It
actually felt more like three rooms, since it was barbell-shaped, the
narrow section in the middle pinched further by a pair of open
doorways at either end.  It was scattered with trash: fast-food
wrappers, empty beer containers, used contraceptives - evidence that
others had been up here before.  That kind of thing annoyed Azalynn,
who felt that if you were going to trespass, you might at least have
the decency to clean up after yourself, and she found herself scowling
faintly as she topped the stairs and looked around for the source of
the noise.
        There was someone up here, all right, though she couldn't see
much of him.  He was huddled against the wall near the first doorway,
sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up, shivering.  His hands held
something long and narrow across his knees.  Without better light, all
she could really tell was that he was humanoid, fairly young-looking
by his build, and had a lot of hair, which hung down from his bowed
head to spill over his hands and whatever he was holding.  He didn't
look up when she came the rest of the way up the staircase and into
the room itself.
        "Hey," she said, and then a little louder, "Hey!  Are you OK?"
        He didn't respond.  She moved closer, crouching down to get a
better look, and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking slightly.  "Hey,"
she said a third time.
        He looked up at her, his eyes snapping open, and she got a
momentary impression of gaunt haggardness and haunted pain before he
lunged to his feet with a sudden, startling, explosive energy.  The
object he'd been holding made a long, silvery scraping noise, then
half of it fell to the littered floor with a wooden clatter as the
other half gleamed in the dull, failing daylight.
        "Oh, it's -you-," said Azalynn, backing away through the
narrow part, not sounding too concerned.  "Where'd you get another
sword?"
        He stared at her with wild eyes, his pupils shrunken even in
the gloom of this place, his chest heaving from the surprise, and
panted, "You... know her?"  Then he blinked, recognizing her.  "Yes,"
he answered himself.  "I saw you... with her.  Before they left.
Where... did they go?"
        "Home, you fool," Azalynn replied.  "It's Christmas.  Listen,
you don't look so good.  If you promise to behave, I'll get you some
soup or something... "
        "I don't want soup!" he barked, then stumbled back against the
wall as a fit of coughing overran him.  Real concern touched Azalynn's
heart.  This guy was trouble; he'd attacked Utena the previous week
without any provocation at all (while she was reeling with the flu, no
less), then disappeared from where Kaitlyn had left him unconscious
and bleeding on the Quad before the campus police could show up and
take him away.  It wasn't concern for herself Azalynn felt, though,
but for him.  He must be freezing his ass off up here, dressed in
tattered rags, and his injuries from his duel with Kate hadn't been
tended.  She didn't like to see anybody suffering like that, even a
sword-waving crazy with a mad on for one of her friends.
        "Home?  Tenjou would have no home in this place, wherever we
are," he grated as he recovered his balance and stood, wobbling
slightly, glaring at Azalynn.  "Her only home was the Academy.  The
other girl... "  He racked his memory, dredged up the name he'd seen
on the sign on Morgan 412's door.  "Hutchins.  They went to her home?"
        "Uh-huh," said Azalynn, nodding.  "Look, you're really in no
shape to be waving that thing around.  Why don't you put it down and
we'll go someplace warm and talk about this?"
        He smiled at her, coldly, his eyes glittering in the twilight.
        "You will take me there," he hissed.
        Azalynn stared at him in disbelief for several seconds, then
burst out laughing.  He blinked at her, startled; this was certainly
not the reaction he'd been expecting.
        "Pal," said Azalynn when she got control of her breathing
back, "if I could take you there, I'd have gone home for the holidays
myself.  Now put that thing down before you fall on it," she added,
more seriously, gesturing to the sword.
        Instead of doing that, he snarled and lunged for her, anger
giving him sudden strength.  The blade slashed through the air with an
audible hiss, coming for her.
        She wasn't there.  He stopped, pivoted, saw her standing a
couple of feet away, near the stairway up.  With a growl he lunged
again, and again she eluded him, darting up the stairs.  He charged
after her, out onto the snow-covered roof.
        "Look," she said.
        He lunged a third time, his blade whanging with a burst of
sparks off the stone parapet that ringed the roof.
        "Hey," said Azalynn, halfway across the roof.
        He roared with frustration, diving for her.  She jumped over
his next swing, avoided the next to the left, the next to the right.
All the while she was dodging, flicking herself out of his path with
inches to spare, she kept trying to talk to him, but he kept snarling
and attacking, his face getting darker and darker.  Azalynn realized
that, if she didn't stop him soon, he was probably going to pass out,
or worse; so on his next attack, a wild, overhand cut, she put herself
right in his path, slapped her palms together on either side of his
blade, and wrenched it out of his hands to clang off the parapet and
vanish over the side.
        "-LOOK-," she said, and she grabbed his shoulders, got a foot
behind his, and bore him down to the roof on his back, her knees
pinning his elbows.  "Calm down before you hurt yourself," she ordered
him, her golden eyes flashing.
        He struggled, but to no avail; she wasn't very heavy, but she
had the mechanical advantage.  Snarling, he tried to gather himself
and heave her off, but just then their eyes met.  The irritated
compassion in hers seemed to spark against something behind his, and
his enraged fugue snapped like a broken icicle.  He slackened, not
fighting.  Without the fight burning in him, another fit of shivering
overcame him, and he soon found himself unable to do much of anything
but lie there being cold.
        "See?" said Azalynn, shaking her head.  "You're almost
certainly hypothermic.  How long have you been up here?"
        "T-two... th-three days," he replied, teeth chattering.
        "Idiot," said Azalynn.  She got up off him, grabbed his hands,
and hauled him unsteadily to his feet.
        "Lean on me," she said, slinging his arm over her shoulders.
"Let's see if we can do the stairs without killing ourselves.  What's
your name, by the way?  I'm Azalynn."
        "K-K-Kyouichi," he stammered.  "K-Kyouichi S-S-Saionj-ji."
        "OK, Kyouichi," said Azalynn as she steered him onto the top
step.  "Let's get you warmed up, and then we can talk about why you're
a homicidal wacko who hates my friends."

        She took him back to Riley Hall - where else was she going to
take him? - and sent him into the boys' bathroom on the first floor
with a towel, a bar of soap, a bottle of shampoo, a first-aid kit, and
the only clothes she could scrounge up that would fit him.  While he
showered, she wondered if he would actually come back to the room once
he was done, or if he'd slip away back out into the gathering night.
She rather doubted the latter.  If nothing else, she still had his
sword, which she'd gathered up as they left the tower.
        And a nice sword it was, too.  Azalynn wasn't as familiar with
blades as, say, Kate or Amanda, but she knew quality steel when she
held it, and this was a good sword, a Japanese tachi with a nice clear
temper line and embellishments that looked and felt like real gold.
Something about it felt authentic, old and powerful.  She wondered
where he'd acquired it, when he apparently hadn't had the wherewithal
to get new clothes, or a bath, or treatment for his injuries.
        She lay back on her bed, sighed, and wondered what sort of
mood he'd be in when he got back from the shower.
        That mood was, apparently, bemused.  Half an hour later, he
came back to the room and knocked, just like a regular person, and she
went and let him in, alert but not particularly wary.  He still looked
cold, but with his long green hair clean and the blood and dirt washed
off his face, he was considerably more presentable.  He had
interesting eyes, an unusual, pale shade of violet.  Azalynn found
herself wanting to like him, even though he had shown nothing so far
but violence and anger toward her and her friends.
        "Feel better?" she asked him.
        "Y... yes," he replied, his tone subdued.  He looked down at
himself with a puzzled expression, and she had to admit there was
reason for it - he did look a bit odd, dressed in a dark blue,
pocket-covered jumpsuit with several blank Velcro patches on it where
military insignia had recently been removed.  The jumpsuit itself was
a most remarkable garment.  Through a clever series of hidden straps,
zippers, and folds, it could be adjusted to fit a range of body types,
from men considerably bigger than Saionji down to the diminuitive girl
who'd given it to him - maybe even smaller, he hadn't experimented
that much.
        "What am I wearing?" he asked.
        "One of my roommate's flightsuits," Azalynn replied.  "Neat,
aren't they?  All the rage these days - if you're a space fighter
pilot."
        "Space fighter... ?" Saionji replied, looking even more
confused than before.  Then he yawned, wobbling a little on his feet.
        "Tired?" Azalynn asked.  He nodded.  "Well, get some sleep,
then," she said, indicating her bed.  With a strange look, he went to
it, sat down on the edge, and regarded her for several seconds.
        "Why are you doing this?" he asked in a quiet voice.
        "It's Christmas," she replied.  "I was bored.  You have nice
eyes."  She shrugged.  "Pick one."
        He looked silently at her, his puzzlement only deepening, but
she didn't show any signs of elaborating, so he got under the covers
and tried to go to sleep.
        As exhausted as he was, it didn't take long.

        When he awoke, it was still dark outside the window, and the
room was mostly dark as well, lit only by the glow of a computer
display.  Azalynn sat at Amanda's desk, across the room, her back to
Saionji, absorbed in whatever that display was showing her.  He
frowned, glancing to the back of the other desk's chair, right next to
the bed in which he lay.  His sword was slung over the corner of its
upright back by the scabbard cord.  Stupid creature.  If he were of a
mind to, he could end her before she even knew what had hit her.
        Fortunately for her, he wasn't.
        What -was- he of a mind to do?
        Was he of a mind to do anything?
        After a long, hot shower and several hours of sleep under this
extremely warm and comfortable quilt and comforter combination, he
still felt cold.
        And he was hungry, he suddenly realized; very hungry.  When
was the last time he ate anything of significance?  Had it been before
he came here, wherever here was?  He couldn't dredge it up.  His
memory seemed all right on a casual glance back, but delving into it
for any specific fact made it dissolve, like the reflection on a pool
of water when a hand is thrust into it.  He sat up and pressed the
heels of his hands to his eyes, groaning.
        Azalynn swiveled.  "Headache?" she asked.
        "No," he replied.  "Not exactly."
        "Hungry?" she asked.
        "Yes," he replied.  "Very."
        She considered for a moment.  "Well, what the hell," she
said.  "It's still Christmas."  She turned back to the table, picked
up the telephone, and called a cab.
        "Where are we going?" Saionji wondered.
        "The only place in this town that's open," Azalynn replied,
lacing up her boots.

        That place was a restaurant called Ping's Garden, downtown
near the bus station.  The guy that ran the place seemed to know
Azalynn, unless he just greeted everybody with that exuberant good
cheer.  He didn't seem to be upset that he was seating customers at 10
o'clock on Christmas night.  Saionji had no idea what any of this
place's food was, so he let Azalynn order.  It seemed to him that she
ordered a lot of food for just the two of them, but he supposed the
portion size might be small here.  Still, the list had seemed rather
long for dinner for two.
        While they sipped tea and waited for their food, he and
Azalynn regarded each other across their corner booth, he uneasily,
she with a frank but unreadable expression.  Her golden eyes bored
into him, making him feel faintly uneasy.  He wondered what she could
be thinking of him.  She was a remarkable-looking creature.  He'd never
seen anyone quite like her, with her wiry dull-silver hair, peculiarly
reflective liquid-gold eyes, and dark coppery skin.  There was a
strangely feline cast to her features.  The pupils of her eyes were
odd, too, and was it his imagination, or were her canine teeth a bit
too... pronounced?
        Saionji shook his head.  He must still be tired.  He -knew- he
was still disoriented.
        "So," said Azalynn.  "What's your damage anyhow?"
        Saionji blinked at her.  "I... beg your pardon?"
        "You didn't just wake up one morning and decide, 'I think I'll
become a violently anti-social creepazoid,' did you?"
        "... No."
        "Well, then, what happened?"
        He scowled at her.
        "OK, fine," she said, "be like that.  You're never going to
feel better if you don't talk about it."
        The food arrived then, forestalling further conversation on
the subject, and Saionji discovered that she had, indeed, ordered a
lot of food for just the two of them.
        Fortunately, they both appeared to be ravenously hungry, and
demolished it with a curiously companionable ease.
        They didn't say very much during the carnage, being too
occupied with it; afterward, more silence, as Azalynn paid the check
and kept looking at him with those gold eyes.  Their scrutiny made
Saionji a little uncomfortable, but not as much as he thought, after a
bit of consideration, they -should- have made him.  Which made him a
little uneasy in itself.
        The oddest thing about it all was that he realized, as he
cracked his fortune cookie, that he might be getting to like her.  He
crunched half of the cookie thoughtfully, smoothed the slip of paper
between thumb and forefinger, and read:

          FIND YOUR ENEMIES AND YOU WILL KNOW YOUR FRIENDS.

        "Hm," he said.
        "Hm?" Azalynn replied.
        "I must have received someone else's fortune," he said.
        "Let me see," she said, and he handed it across the table.
"Hm," she agreed, having read it.  "Why do you say it must be someone
else's?"
        Saionji downed the last of his tea and said, "Someone I once
knew told me that a man who believes in friendship is a fool," which
wasn't really an answer.
        "Sounds like -he- was a real barrel of laughs," Azalynn
replied, handing back the fortune.
        "Mm," said Saionji noncommittally as he tucked it away in the
top pocket of his borrowed jumpsuit.  To demonstrate that he wasn't
all that concerned about it, he ate the rest of the cookie.
        Nothing more was said on the cab ride back to campus.  Saionji
followed her back into Riley Hall and up to 212 not so much because he
wanted to go with her as because he didn't know what else to do.  He
was sort of on autopilot, still tired - moreso now that he was full of
food - and still sore... and still -cold-, even after all that.  In
some hazy part of his mind, he was starting to wonder if he would ever
feel warm again.
        She took a look at his dull eyes as she let them into 212 and
said, "You look beat.  Go back to bed."
        Numbly, he obeyed, taking off his shoes.  Without thinking
about it, he slipped out of the jumpsuit too, hung it over the back of
the chair, and climbed into her bed.  He was out almost as soon as he
touched the pillow, but he didn't go very far; his sleep was troubled,
jumbled imagery from the days and weeks before his translation
rattling around inside his head.

        Azalynn shut off the lights and watched him sleep, muttering
and tossing.  She wondered what could have happened to him to bring
him to such a state, for over the course of the evening, she'd gotten
the impression that he had once been, or had the potential to be, a
pretty together kind of guy.  It was kind of pathetic to see him like
this, obviously tortured by something, brought low by who-knew-what.
        Before long, he started shivering again, either because he was
really still cold, or because some part of his dreamscape had brought
him back to the freezing nights he'd so recently left behind.
Whatever it was, it set its teeth in him and wouldn't let go, wracking
him violently enough rattle the bedframe.
        Suddenly, before Azalynn could do anything about it, Saionji
bolted upright, clutching at his head and screaming, "STOP IT!"
        She was at his side in an instant, holding his shoulders,
telling him it was all right and he was safe; it seemed the right
thing to say, given the circumstances.  He panted, staring around into
the darkness of the room for a few seconds, before coming back to
himself and relaxing a little in her embrace, wiping his hands down
his sweat-stippled face.
        "Where -am- I?" he asked her in a soft, pain-soaked voice.
        Azalynn did her best to explain.  It wasn't very good, and
only confused him further, so she told him to stay put, threw on her
coat, and went across to Morgan Hall.  She shouldn't have been able to
get in - it was past curfew -and- not the right dorm - but she had a
copy of Kaitlyn's keycard and permission from her, if not the Campus
Police, to use it.  It only took her a few minutes of poking around to
find the thing she was looking for, on Utena's bookshelf, and she knew
its owner wouldn't grudge her its use.  Tucking it into her coat, she
slipped back to her own room and handed it to Saionji, who she found
still sitting up in bed with his forehead in his hands.
        "Here," she said, "read this... it explains everything a lot
better than I could."
        So he switched on the bedside lamp and started reading Derek
Bacon's "So You've Just Arrived from a Parallel Dimension".

        He was a fast reader.  Azalynn didn't have to amuse herself
for too long before he closed the back cover of the book, put it down,
and sat with his head turned to the right, looking out the window at
the alien constellations in the night sky above the faculty lot.
        "Another world," Saionji murmured.  "But why?  Why have I been
brought here?"
        "What's the last thing you remember from where you were?" she
asked.
        "I... I was crossing the Great Desert."
        "Hmm."  Azalynn climbed up onto the foot of her bed, curled
herself into the lotus position, and sat with her elbows on her knees
and her chin in her hands.  "Maybe you should start at the beginning."
        So, without really knowing why he was doing it, Saionji did.
He told her about the Academy, and the Tournament, the Duelists' Code
and the Rose Bride, and all the infinite convolutions of what had
turned out to be a tremendous and terrible lie.  He told her about
Touga, and a dark afternoon in a church, about the Deputy Chairman and
something eternal.  As he talked, the things fell into better order in
his head.  The mysterious attacks on the Student Council by those
close to them; the car; the highway to the End of the World... so much
manipulation, so much confusion, so much pain... and all for what?
        Nothing, as it turned out.
        But he had come to accept that.  He could live with it.  After
his and Touga's final failed attempt to avert the inevitable, he had
come to terms with his own powerlessness in the matter.  He'd even,
after putting that behind him, started feeling good about himself
again, getting back into form, retrenching his swordsmanship and his
studies after all the time wasted on the Tournament.
        Until that day... when?  Two weeks ago, now?  Three?
        The day when the letters had come.
/--
        "This is ridiculous," said Nanami Kiryuu peevishly.  "I
thought we were -through- with this idiocy."
        "You didn't have to come," observed tall, cool Juri Arisugawa
dryly, turning a sardonic emerald look on the fuming blonde.
        "Neither did you," Nanami replied.  "Didn't I hear you say
once that you weren't interested in these games any longer?"
        "Lack of interest in the proceedings doesn't preclude
curiosity," said Juri.
        "Indeed," said Miki Kaoru, nodding.  "I for one am very
curious as to what the End of the World thinks he can accomplish by
trying to revive the Tournament with no Rose Bride."
        "I'm not," Nanami grumbled.  "I just want this to -stop-."
        "Has anyone actually -read- theirs?" Miki wondered, noticing
that the envelopes he, Juri and Nanami had put down on the table were
all still sealed.
        "I have," said Saionji from the doorway.  He strode out onto
the balcony, his face impassive, and tossed another of the envelopes,
this one with its seal broken, on top of the others.
        "So what does it say?" Nanami wanted to know.
        Another one joined them, also opened, and Touga Kiryuu stepped
past Saionji.  "It's an invitation."
        "To -what-?" asked Nanami.
        "Dinner," Touga replied, smiling calmly.
        "Dinner?  Who with?  The End of the World?"
        "Yes."
        Miki triggered his stopwatch.
        There was a long, brittle silence.
        "Well, I'm not going," said Nanami.
        "Nor I," Juri agreed.
        Miki nodded.  Even Saionji made an agreeing noise.

        So of course they all went.
        It was a very strange occasion, with the six of them sitting
around a long, narrow table in the big, domed room at the top of the
clock tower: dinner by candlelight under the false stars of the Deputy
Chairman's planetarium.  The conversation was perfectly civil, but
strained - a curious tension underlay everything, setting everyone's
nerves on edge.  Almost everyone's - Touga didn't seem particularly
tense or nervous, and the Deputy Chairman himself was the picture of
calm, a pleasant and relaxed host, inquiring after everyone's
satisfaction with the dishes on offer and presiding over the wine
serving with a gracious ease.  ("Of course I know you're all supposed
to be too young for wine with dinner," he said with a conspiratorial
wink, "but for this group, I think an exception can be made.")
        Part of the awkwardness came from the fact that, in front of
every place setting, there was a rose signet ring sitting on a small
pewter salver.  After the apparent end of the Tournament, and their
strange, fearful vigil on the observation balcony which gave them no
enlightenment or peace, the Councillors had removed theirs, put them
away or discarded them as the pique struck them.  The fact that they
were being presented with them again did not lend any of the five
notable peace of mind.
        After dinner, with dessert having been made available to those
who wanted it, Deputy Chairman Akio Ohtori returned to his seat at the
head of the table, folded his hands in front of him, and said,
        "Now that dinner's over with, I suppose it's time we got down
to business.  I expect you're all wondering just what happened to the
Grand Tournament, since revolution has not come to the world."
        "I assumed," Juri said calmly, "that the one given the power
to do so simply chose not to exercise it."
        Akio glanced at her, his green eyes momentarily narrowing, but
his voice was pleasant as he said, "Ah, so you remember that there was
a winner, then?  A curious side effect of the Tournament's failure has
been that not many people around here seem to remember her any more."
        Miki Kaoru blinked, looking puzzled.  "I remember -someone-
won," he said, sounding as though it had only just occurred to him how
strange this was, "but not who it was... "
        "... Just that it wasn't one of us," said Nanami, the tone of
her voice picking up the same thread of mingled dawning realization and
confusion.  "But how is that possible?  We're the Student Council.
There aren't any other Duelists."
        "Not any more," Akio told her.  "But Miss Arisugawa seems to
remember the one who is no longer with us, and I'm curious as to how
that is."
        Juri gave him a smile that held no warmth whatsoever and
replied simply, "I've always had a good memory for faces."
        "Indeed," said Akio, his own smile conceding this small
defeat.  "Well," he added, rising from his chair, "for the sake of the
rest of you, who seem to be suffering from this curious aftershock of
the Tournament's unfortunate end, let me see if I can jog your
memories somewhat."
        The planetarium projector in the center of the room clicked,
shifted, and suddenly, the room wasn't a planetarium anymore.
        Instead, the Duelists gasped as it drew a remarkably
realistic, detailed representation of the Academy's dueling platform
in the sky around them, then populated it.  In a ghostly montage that
moved around them as though they weren't there, they were shown
themselves, each dueling in turn, each losing, each to the same
black-clad, pink-haired opponent.
        That opponent, lunging forward in the sudden, explosive strike
which they all now remembered had been her signature to end each duel,
suddenly froze as if time had stopped around her, hovering extended in
the middle of her leap, the tip of her blade nearly touching the chest
of the phantom Touga she faced, a look of mingled determination and
anger on her face.  Akio went to stand next to her, mimed putting a
hand on her shoulder, and said with a wry edge in his voice,
        "I'm sure you all remember Utena Tenjou now."
        "Indeed I do," said Touga, looking a bit peevish.  "Now
explain why, a moment ago, I didn't."
        "As I said," Akio replied, "apparently a side effect of the
failure of the Tournament.  You see, Miss Tenjou here had won - had
been declared the one who would revolutionize the world... but she
failed to do so."
        The room changed again, becoming a curious sort of analog of
itself - exactly how the observers could tell that, none of them were
sure, but there it was - and there was Utena again, standing in an
en-garde position, her blade raised.  There was another of Akio there,
too, one dressed in the formal uniform of the Grand Duelist; he too
had a sword, he too held it at the ready.
        "You already know that I am the End of the World," Akio told
them.  "More formally, the Grand Duelist - the one charged by the
Pillar with coordinating the Grand Tournament to replace our world's
lost Prince Dios.  At the contest's end it appeared that, despite the
obvious oddity involved, that replacement would be Utena Tenjou.
Unfortunately... "
        In eerie silence, the illusory Utena swept into motion,
attacking the other Akio with a savage intensity that was unlike her.
All the Duelists had faced her, more than once; all, now that the veil
had been lifted from their memories of her, remembered the way she
fought.  Her style was reckless, untutored, unpredictable, and seemed
at times to be inspired by forces beyond mortal understanding, but it
was not savage.  Aside from the peculiar affectation of her uniform,
she had been a remarkably well-adjusted, level-headed girl, strong of
character and extremely balanced considering how madly disordered her
surroundings tended to be.
        No, this was not Utena as they remembered her.  Her face was
twisted with hatred, her blue eyes glittering with it, as she drove
herself against Akio's guard with a furious intensity.  This was no
Rose Duel; this was murderously real.  The recorded image of the
Deputy Chairman was fighting for his life.
        They fought for several minutes, mouths moving in silent
dialogue, until finally, with a look on his face that clearly said he
hadn't wanted to be forced to this, Akio trapped and broke her sword.
Miki Kaoru, knowing from experience where it must have come from,
winced, sucking breath between his teeth; and indeed, Utena reeled,
her free hand clutching at her chest, for a moment.  Then, her pupils
shrinking with rage, she collected herself, smashed Akio's blade out
of his hand with what remained of her own, and drove him against the
wall, the jagged, broken end of her blade dimpling the flesh of his
throat.
        From somewhere off to the side, Anthy Himemiya, the Rose
Bride, appeared, grabbing at Utena's arm, obviously pleading for her
brother's life.  Utena turned, removing the broken blade from Akio's
throat, and struck her a backhanded blow with the fist that held the
sword's brass-barred grip, knocking her clean to the ground.  All the
Duelists winced a bit at that.
        "You see how unbalanced she was by this point," Akio
observed.  "I'm sure you all recall how protective she was of the Rose
Bride.  That was not a thing she would have done had her mind been
whole and stable.  Even in the state she was in, she realized its
enormity a moment later."
        Indeed, as he spoke Utena looked horrified, dropped her broken
sword to the ground and knelt by the fallen Rose Bride, shaking her
shoulders, the madness in her eyes replaced by tears.  Then she
turned, face marred by that same crazed rage again, spat some silent
words at Akio, and bent her head in concentration.  Akio, his face
horrified, lunged forward, clearly shouting for her to stop...
        ... but there was a blaze of light, and both women were gone.
        The phantom of Akio Ohtori stood for a moment looking down at
the spot where they had been, watching the fragments of Utena's sword
dissolve into golden sparks and vanish too, his head bowed, an
expression of mingled frustration and worry on his face.
        The image faded, replaced by the familiar starry false sky
again.  A stunned hush settled onto the room, broken only by Nanami
Kiryuu asking, "So... what went wrong?"
        Akio shook his head, his face sad.  "I'm not sure.  Perhaps
her mind simply couldn't absorb the shock of what she was becoming.
Becoming this world's Prince... I'm told it's one step short of
ascending to godhood.  It could be that the power simply unhinged
her.  All I know is that, as the Rose Bride and I invested her with
it, she became enraged, irrational, and turned on us.  She called
me... terrible things.  I'm glad the mechanism which recorded what
passed could only record the sights.  What she said isn't something I
ever want to hear again... except, of course, that I will hear it in
my memory forever."
        He sat down in his place at the table, put his fingertips to
his forehead, and sighed, long and deeply.
        "Do you know where she went?" asked Touga.
        "No," Akio replied, "not exactly.  I don't think she had a
master plan - just a desire to get as far away from me as possible."
        "Hmm," said Touga, not exactly sympathetically.  "What do you
want with us, then?"
        "You are the Ohtori Academy Student Council," Akio told them,
"and I am its Grand Duelist.  The Tournament is in disarray.  The
Prince-designate has lost her mind and fled, her investiture
incomplete, though manifestly she has -some- of the power - witness
the manner in which she quit this chamber.  That would be bad enough,
such a dangerously unhinged creature with such power roaming the
world, but she's kidnapped the Rose Bride into the bargain.  If she
somehow manages to force Anthy to complete her investiture, this world
will be revolutionized by a mind gone mad."
        He regarded them each in turn and said with an unnerving
calmness, "I don't think I have to spell out for you why that outcome
is worth any effort spent averting it."
        Akio rose to his feet, spread his hands upon the table, and
leaned forward.  "You five are the Duelists of the Rose, the chosen
champions of Cephiro.  In the name of the Pillar, I, your Grand
Duelist, call upon you to take up your swords again and go forth.
You must scour this world for the Rose Bride, find her, wrest her from
her captor, and return her to the Academy.  Only with her safe and
protected within these walls can the damage wrought by Utena Tenjou's
failure - to the world, to the ancient enchantments of the Duelists'
Code, to Miss Tenjou herself - be repaired."
        "And then?" Saionji wondered.
        "Who knows?" Akio replied.  "If Tenjou can be saved, the
damage done by her incomplete investiture reversed, she may yet take
her proper place as this world's new Prince.  If not, then it will be
one of you.  Perhaps the one who finds her, depending on the
circumstances.  I can't say for sure - this situation is unprecedented
in the history of the Academy."
        "Why have you waited so long to ask for our help?" Touga
inquired.  "One would think, if it were so dire, you would have called
us together immediately it happened, set us to searching while the
trail was warm."
        "There -is- no trail," Akio told him.  "You saw how they
disappeared.  At any rate, though, you're right - it was foolish of me
not to call on you sooner.  I tried to handle the situation myself,
using my own resources.  After the rigors of the Tournament, I was
loath to impose upon you all again, to help clean up my own
mistake... but my attempts to rectify the situation remotely have
failed, and I cannot leave the school to search for them myself."
        Nanami looked doubtful of the evidence of her own ears.  "You
expect us to drop everything we're doing, right before finals week,
and go to the ends of the world - " (Touga snickered a little at her
wording; she ignored him) " - looking for your sister?  And then what
are we supposed to do if we find her?  Suppose Tenjou's still out of
her mind?  Are we expected to kill her?"
        "If you have to," Akio replied flatly, making the blonde's
blood run cold.  "Understand, I don't -want- her dead," he went on in
a slightly gentler tone.  "She's important to me.  Before she lost her
grip on reality, we were... friends.  If she can be saved, even if her
investiture cannot be completed and someone else must take her place,
I want that for her.  But if the only way to free Anthy and put right
the damage to the world is to kill her - then yes, I expect her to be
killed.  A Duelist's first responsibility is to the Code and to
Cephiro.  Friendship, compassion, even love must bend before this
duty.  That holds as true for you as it does for me."
        Miki Kaoru triggered his watch and stood up, his face stony.
        "I don't know what kind of game you're playing this time,
Mr. Chairman," he said calmly, "but I want nothing to do with it."
        "Mr. Kaoru," said Akio, surprise in his voice.  "I would have
thought you would be the first to take back your signet and fight, for
my sister's sake.  At one time you wanted so badly to be her champion
that you were ready to risk your life."
        "I am still her friend," Miki replied, not quailing before
Akio's cool green gaze.  "I still act in her interests."
        "Then I don't understand - why refuse to help her?"
        "Because your story is a lie," said Miki flatly.  "Miss
Himemiya wasn't abducted from this tower in a flash of light.  She
packed a suitcase and walked away from this school under her own
power, of her own free will.  I spoke to her at the gate and watched
her go.  I don't know why you want us to go out into the world and
drag her back, but it's clear to me that it isn't for her benefit."
        "An artifact of the memory distortion produced by the failure
of the Prince's investiture," Akio said.  "Probably caused by your
closeness to my sister and Tenjou's unconscious knowledge that you
would be the first to seek Anthy if she simply disappeared.  What you
spoke to was a phantom, Mr. Kaoru.  An illusion, projected by Tenjou's
damaged mind through the lens of the Prince's power.  I have seen such
phenomena before."
        Miki shook his head.  "We spoke of things Miss Tenjou would
have no knowledge of," he replied.  "Your rationalization does not
impress me."
        Slowly, deliberately, Miki raised his wineglass, drained it,
and overturned it, placing it down squarely over the rose signet on
its salver before his place.
        "I'm not fool enough to think I can oppose you openly,
Mr. Chairman," said he, "but you'll get no help from me.  Remember
this, though: I still have my original signet, safely stored away.  If
you do get someone to drag Miss Himemiya back here, I'll put it on
again and fight for her freedom.  Not before."
        His piece said, Miki folded his napkin, placed it across his
plate, and bowed, the picture of politeness even under these
circumstances.
        "Thank you for the delicious dinner," he said.  "Good night,
Mr. Chairman."
        "I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Kaoru," said Akio
regretfully.  "If my sister is returned to school, and the Tournament
must be restarted, you will certainly be welcome in it."
        Miki nodded, acknowledging the welcome, then turned and left
the room.
        "I must agree with Miki," said Juri, rising to her feet as
well.  "Your presentation was very well-done, but it rings false.  I
didn't see your sister leave the school, but if Miki says he spoke to
her, watched her go, then I believe him.  I trust him far more readily
than I trust you, End of the World."
        "That's a shame," Akio said, his face growing longer.  "I
thought you a more rational sort of person, Miss Arisugawa, not so
easily swayed by hearsay and the misguided sentiments of a young man."
        Her cool composure undamaged by this jab, Juri repeated the
performance with the wineglass, bowed, and said, "Thank you for the
dinner and the very interesting floor show, Mr. Chairman.  If
circumstances do force Miki to fight again, I will stand with him.
Until then, you may consider this my resignation."
        "You're making a terrible mistake," said Akio.  "You and
Mr. Kaoru both.  You're abandoning Anthy when she needs you the most."
        "This whole Tournament has been a farce," Juri replied, "and
you are at the heart of all that has made it so.  It pleases me to
know that your ultimate goal, whatever it was, has been so frustrated
that you feel you must resort to this transparent ploy."  She smiled
sardonically and added, "After all the clever tricks you've played
over the past year, seeing you brought to this almost has the flavor
of a miracle."
        With a nod to the others and one, last, shallow, almost
insulting bow, she too turned and departed.
        Akio sighed disappointedly as she disappeared into the
elevator, then looked at the remaining three.
        "What about you?" he asked.  "Will you also be turned away
from the path by the hallucinations of a lovesick boy?"
        "No," said Touga.  He reached, picked up the ring, and put it
on.  "I'm in.  I'll find them... count on it."
        "I know I'll have your best efforts," said Akio with a faintly
mocking smile.
        Touga returned it, just as mockingly, bowed, and departed.
        "And what of you, Miss Kiryuu?" asked Akio.  "Will you join
your dear brother in his search, or leave him to go it alone in the
wilderness?"
        "Touga can take care of himself," Nanami replied, annoyed;
then she picked up the ring anyway.  "But I'm going anyhow, on my own.
I owe Himemiya a favor."
        "Indeed?" said Akio, cocking an eyebrow with interest.  "I was
under the impression that you and my sister didn't get along."
        "We didn't," said Nanami shortly, "but you don't have to like
someone to learn from them.  Good night, Mr. Chairman.  I'll be ready
to leave in the morning, if that suits you."
        "My foolish pride has already wasted four months," Akio
replied.  "Twelve hours is unlikely to make much difference."
        Without anything to say to that, Nanami took her leave.
        Akio and Saionji sat in silence for several minutes, Akio
looking bemused, Saionji deep in thought, his arms folded across his
chest.  Finally, Akio broke the silence.
        "Well, Kyouichi?  Are you still awake?"
        "Mm," said Saionji.  He looked sidelong at the Deputy
Chairman, his violet eyes cold.  "I don't trust you any more than
Arisugawa does," he said frankly.  "You've manipulated me again and
again, until I have a hard time remembering which way is up.  You've
turned the man who was my best friend into a creature I barely
recognize, let alone like.  You've lied to us all along, and I believe
you're lying to us now.  Maybe what Kaoru thinks he saw was real and
maybe it wasn't; either way, you're a liar all the way through."
        Akio gave him a pleasant look.  "And?"
        "You might have gulled Nanami," Saionji went on.  "If you
have, it's hardly an achievement; she's graceless and not very bright.
Touga doesn't believe you, though.  He's joining your hunt for his own
reasons."
        Akio smiled and nodded.  "Of course.  He still wants Tenjou
for himself.  In his little fantasy world he's already bested her,
rescued the Rose Bride, and taken the Prince's role and his failed
predecessor (who of course will have recognized the error of her ways)
as his prizes."  He chuckled.  "Touga is an idiot."
        Saionji didn't argue the point; he merely rose to his feet and
turned the full force of his cold violet glare on Akio.  "I don't care
about power or revolution any more," he stated flatly.  "I won't take
your ring.  I won't join your hunt.  I -will- find Anthy - but when I
do, it won't be to hand her over to you."
        "Assuming I -am- the villain you take me for," Akio pointed
out, "it's not very smart of you to telegraph your intention to oppose
me that way."
        "I'm finished with your stupid games," Saionji replied.
        Turning on his heel, he stalked to the elevator, pressed the
button, and entered, the closing doors cutting off Akio's pleasant
"Good night to you too, Kyouichi," behind him.
        On the way down, he fumed.  What was the bastard playing at
this time?  What had really happened that night?  Was what Kaoru said
about Anthy leaving true?  And if so, why hadn't she come and said
goodbye to -him-?  Their relationship had had its ups and downs, but
he'd cared for her, whatever happened.
        With a sudden, noisy jolt, the elevator stopped, the lights
going out.
        "Wha?" said Saionji, looking around in puzzlement.  "Damn," he
muttered.  The emergency light failed to come on, but the button for
the ground floor was still lit; from its bleeding glow, he located the
"doors open" button and pressed it a couple of times.  Nothing.
        Then, with another jolt, it began going back up.  Saionji's
thumbs pricked.  What was this?  Ohtori summoning him back to the top,
perhaps to deal with him in some violent fashion or another?  Could
the man actually stoop to murder?  A wild thought ran through his mind
at that moment - had Ohtori, perhaps, -killed- Tenjou, then somehow
arranged for her to be forgotten?  If anything could make Anthy flee
the school, it would be that.
        Saionji's fists clenched.  He hadn't liked Tenjou much - after
all, they were rivals, and he the losing one, at that - but he
respected her skill, her determination, her courage, and her faith;
and Anthy had loved her, that was plain at the end.  If Tenjou were
dead, Anthy would be grieving, and the thought of that alone was
enough to enrage Saionji, like Tenjou or dislike her.
        The elevator accelerated.  Saionji grunted, puzzled, as the
G forces mounted, pressing down on him.  What was going on?  At this
rate, what would happen when the car reached the top of the tower?  He
pulled out the emergency stop plunger, but nothing happened.  He
pressed the "doors open" button once more; no result.  The button
lights flickered, went out, and he was in total darkness with the roar
of the speeding elevator building into a howl around him.  This was
impossible!  He fell to his knees, pressed down as if by the hand of
God, his mind racing.  By now the elevator should long since have
reached the top.  He looked up into the darkness above him, his arms
quivering with the effort of holding him up.
        There was a sudden, shattering WHAM, and his world exploded
into a kaleidoscopic smear of nothingness.
--/
        Saionji lurched, grabbing at his head.  He tried to cry out in
pain, but it only came out as a strangled moan.  It was as though
recalling up to that point had brought on a recurrence of the trauma
itself, as though whatever had happened to him then happened again in
his mind as he remembered experiencing it the first time.  Azalynn was
with him in an instant, her hands on his shoulders, feeling his body
quivering, as taut as a recurved bow.
        "Shh, it's OK," she said, drawing him into an embrace, her
fingers rubbing across his temples, pushing his own hands away before
they tore out handfuls of his long green hair.  "You're safe here.
You're not in an elevator."
        "The dream," he whispered.  "Brightness, blackness,
laughter... stop this, stop it, I don't want to be this way... "
        "Shh, shh," Azalynn murmured, stroking his head.  "You don't
have to be any way.  It's just us here, and I won't hurt you.  I don't
hurt people."
        "Braiding my old hatreds into a tapestry of madness," Saionji
muttered, tears streaking his face.  "I don't know how he did it but
it must have been him it must have... always him, it was always him
before... "
        "It's OK," Azalynn told him patiently.  "He's not here.  He's
back in your old world.  He can't reach you here.  There's only me
here.  Only me.  Take all the time you need, take yourself back, sort
out who you are.  I'll help you.  I'm here for you.  Dvhanai
sha'tiaia, makhanae aeanaia... "
        Slowly, hesitantly, as the words still spilled out of him, he
put his arms around her, holding her close.  She was so warm, warmer
than he'd expected, and he was still so -cold-.  She'd lapsed into a
language he couldn't understand, but it was so beautiful, he didn't
care what she was saying.  Saionji held her as if his life depended on
it, now shivering again, now wracked with sobs he couldn't control.
        Azalynn eased him back, got under the covers with him, wrapped
them both in warmth, and kissed him over and over again to stop the
flow of words, murmuring reassurances in between, in mixed Dantrovese
and Standard.  At length, the warmth, the soothing words, the
closeness and unconditional acceptance had their desired effect,
smoothing away the panic and allowing his tangled, tortured mind to
tumble down into a simpler state, one of reaction and sensation, and
then lassitude and rest.

        "I woke up in my bed," Saionji said softly, his tone
thoughtful as, in a quieter frame of mind, he picked up and began to
reweave the tattered tapestry of his memory.  "I didn't remember any
of it.  I knew we'd had the letters, that we'd all but Touga decided
not to go and then gone...  but I couldn't remember the meeting at
all.  Just going to the tower, sitting down to dinner, and waking up
the next day.
        "But... I knew it was missing.  I knew something had been...
tampered with.  I could feel the edges of the hole there, and little
fragments of it were floating around, dissociated from everything
else.  Next day I called the Council together.  Nanami had already
left.  I asked the others if they remembered what had happened.
        "Touga just gave me that superior smile and said nothing of
any consequence - it was just a 'thank you for participating' type of
dinner - but that I had hit the wine a little too hard.  'Not as hard
as -those- two, though,' he said, pointing out Kaoru and Arisugawa.
They were looking a bit green, and when questioned, admitted that they
couldn't remember anything either.  Kaoru had to go and be sick over
the rail just from the stress of being asked to try.  Touga smirked at
us, told us he was leaving for a term of study abroad like his sister,
and said to be good and not give away the store while he was gone; and
then he left."
        Azalynn hmm'd and nodded to show she was paying attention.
        "I wasn't satisfied," said Saionji, remembering it as he
retold it.  "Something about it didn't make sense.  Something about
Arisugawa told me she had the same impression, but she was so sick
there was no use talking to her about it, and Kaoru was a complete
blank.  Not only had we forgotten what we'd been shown, we'd forgotten
the things the show had made us remember.
        "I wandered around in a daze for almost a week.  To try and
clear my thoughts, I went camping in the Forest of Secrets.  On the
fifth night, I had a dream that brought some of it back to me - but it
was the wrong part.  I remembered Ohtori's fiction.  The dream was of
that little drama he showed us, of Tenjou striking down Anthy and then
disappearing with her.  That imagery, exploding context-free into the
vacuum of the gap in my mind, galvanized me into action.
        "I picked up my sword and precious little else, and just
walked away that night, out into the city, down the mountain, clean
out of civilization.  By midday the next day I was halfway to
Maerscot.  I didn't have a goal, I didn't have a plan; I had nothing
but my blade and a burning need to find Anthy and avenge her
mistreatment."  He chuckled bitterly.  "I'm sure Tenjou would find
that amusing."
        "Funny thing," said Azalynn.  "She was actually worried about
you.  She told us at dinner last Sunday, a couple of days before she
and Katie left, that just before she left her old school you'd actually
had your stuff together.  'Acting more or less like a real person,' I
think was what she said."
        That wrung another chuckle, this one not quite so bitter, out
of Saionji.  "Yes, well," he said wryly, "I'd stopped associating with
Touga by then.  At any rate, I was crossing the Great Desert, still
driven by the mad spark that the dream had struck within me, when
suddenly reality turned inside-out and I was... here.  Standing out
there - " (he gestured toward the Quad) " - in the night and snow,
where I had moments before been under the beating sun in the midst of
the wasteland.  I was confused."
        "Who wouldn't be?" said Azalynn sympathetically.
        "I felt a strange calling toward the building on the corner,"
he went on, "but it was locked, and I couldn't get in.  So I went for
a walk, trying, unsuccessfully, to get my thoughts in order.  My mind
was spinning and wouldn't stop.  I don't know much ground I covered.
Eventually, it was day, and I was back here.  I followed the calling
into the Wedge and up to the fourth floor.  Someone had left the door
to the stairway open.  I followed it to a room in the middle of the
hall, and there on the door was a name I remembered, but didn't know
-why- I remembered."
        "But you'd seen her again," Azalynn pointed out.  "You had
that part of the dream."
        "I couldn't remember who she -was-," Saionji said.  "I didn't
-care- who she was.  She'd struck Anthy, hurt her, taken her away.
That was all I cared about.  It wasn't until I saw the name that the
rest came back.  I knocked, but she wasn't there, and her roommate
drove me away.  I left as much to try to sort out the new thoughts
racing around in my head as to get away from the glare she gave me."
        "Mm... Katie can be pretty intimidating when she's actually
annoyed," Azalynn agreed.  "It's a good thing she doesn't get that way
very often."
        Saionji nodded.  "I wandered again.  I'm not sure how long I
wandered, thinking.  The more I tried to push the pieces back into
order, the more jumbled they got.  Finally, out there... "  He
gestured at the window again.  "What is that place called?"
        "The Quad," said Azalynn.
        "Thank you - on the Quad, I saw her, and something snapped.  I
saw her, and she was -alone-.  Then I remembered what I had thought in
the elevator as it rushed upward - except I remembered it wrong.
Suppose Tenjou had killed Anthy?  Rage blinded me.  I had to know.  I
struck, then and there, without thinking, with everything all out of
its proper place and the order of things completely confused."  He
shook his head, pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.  "It's a
good thing her roommate is as brave and skillful as she is.  The
beating she handed me kept me from committing a terrible mistake.  I
kept asking where Anthy was, all the while blind to the obvious fact
that if Tenjou knew where she was, she'd be there with her, not here."
        "Well, at least you've figured it out -now-," said Azalynn
with a grin.  "Better late than never, as humans say."
        Saionji blinked at her, puzzled by that remark, then let it
pass and said, "I fled, defeated, and found my way to the place where
you discovered me.  I've been there ever since, trying to put my mind
in order.  The more I tried, the worse it got... "  He looked at her,
amazement on his face.  "...but... by explaining it to -you... I think
I may have actually made -sense- of it... or at least what sense there
is to be made.  I still don't know what happened on the last night of
the Tournament, or what's happened to Anthy... or how I got here... or
what Ohtori is really up to.  But... I feel as if... I'm -me- again."
He smiled wryly.  "More or less like a real person."
        "That's a start," Azalynn agreed.  She splayed a hand across
his chest and told him, "I think you'd be a pretty good real person."
        He smiled and raised his hand to take hers, then took a closer
look at it and blinked again.  "What happened to your hand?" he
wondered.
        "Nothing," she replied.  "Why?"
        "You've only three fingers," he said.
        "So?  So has every other Dantrovian."
        "The people of your country are all missing a finger?"
        "Country?"  She gave him an odd look, then laughed.  "No, no.
Didn't you pay attention to the book?  I'm not from this planet."
        Saionji turned his head to stare at her.  "You're... you're
not human?"
        She smirked at him.  "Could a human do this?" she asked, and
did something creative with the tail that, until that moment, he
hadn't noticed she had.
        His eyes bugged out a little bit; then he chuckled, then
laughed outright.
        "O brave new world," he said, "that has such people in it.
Cephiro has no other worlds," he explained.  "As far as we know, we
are alone in our sky.  I've never... er... encountered a non-human
before."
        "Ah, 'encountered', is that what they're calling it these
days," said Azalynn, making him blush a little.  "Sorry," she added
seriously.  "I didn't think of it.  Hope you're not all freaked out
now.  I had a lot of fun, and I think it even -worked-, which is
always a plus."
        "'Worked'?"
        She explained, as best she could in a short conversational
speech, the nameless, animist religion of Dantrov, and its belief in
the healing power of the sharing of joyous energies.
        "Interesting," said Saionji, because what he was really
thinking would have taken too long to say, and would have meant the
same thing anyway after analysis.  Anyway, he was too sleepy to say
anything much more incisive.
        "I'm not all freaked out now," he told her after gathering his
thoughts for a second, "and I think it worked too.  And I had a lot of
fun too.  And I'm not cold any more."  He chuckled wryly.  "This kind
of thing is a joke where I come from.  'What that guy needs is... '"
        "Yeah," said Azalynn with a faintly irritated tone, "it's the
same joke here.  I guess some things are universal to human culture.
I don't think it's so funny, though."
        "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to offend you," said Saionji, his
voice now markedly drowsy.  "What struck me as funny was the notion
that it may be a cliche because it is uncomfortably close to truth."
        She might have debated that further - it was a subject that
both irritated and fascinated her with regard to human psychology -
but he'd fallen asleep.
        Azalynn smiled, adjusted her mental sleep clock to suit his
human cycle, and followed him.

        Saionji stayed with Azalynn for three very pleasant days,
reading, playing several different (rather odd) variants of chess,
honing out the nick he'd put in his blade whacking it against the
stone of Bancroft Tower's parapet, talking, and occasionally, er,
encountering.
        "By the way," Azalynn asked as she watched him hone his blade,
"where'd you get that sword?  Katie broke the one you brought with
you, and you left it behind."
        Saionji blinked as if it had never occurred to him, and
regarded the tachi with surprise.  "You know, you're right.  Where
-did- I get this?"  He closed his eyes, thinking.  "I went straight to
the Tower from the Quad... I had seen it before, while I was wandering
the area trying to remember why the name 'Tenjou' was so important.
After that, things are kind of a blur."  His eyes opened wide,
startled; then he shook his head.  "No, that's impossible... "
        "What's impossible?" she asked, interested.
        "Well... thinking about it, I could swear I had another
visitor before you appeared, sometime that same day, I think.  A big,
white-bearded old man in red.  It seems to me -he- gave me the sword,
told me something to the effect of, 'Put this to work for a better
cause than the last one served,' and then went away up those stairs I
chased you up... "  He shook his head, laughing.  "But that's
ridiculous.  I certainly haven't been a good enough boy for Father
Christmas to bring me a weapon of this quality.  I must have stolen it
from somewhere in my delirium... though where I could have stolen such
a fine sword around here, I'm not sure."  He hefted it in his hands,
studying the temper line.  "It does feel as if it were made for me."
        "Oh, you have Christmas in Cephiro too?"
        "Mm," he said, nodding as he returned to his work.  "Judging
by the book you loaned me, it's one of several holidays our worlds
have in common.  Though the reason your people have for calling it
Christmas is a bit puzzling."
        "Well, not -my- people," said Azalynn.  "We call it
'Dvhizhlizhai', but nobody else can even pronounce that."
        Saionji chuckled.  "I'd be afraid to hurt myself even trying."
 She threw a pillow at him; he parried it handily, then blinked along
with her at its two neatly divided halves as they fell to the floor.
        "Oops," he said.  "Sorry."

        Edward Tivrusky and Ein dropped by on the second day, then
returned on the third with a set of identity documents for him.  He
didn't ask where she'd acquired them.  The four of them went shopping.
He didn't ask where she'd gotten the money in his credit union
account, either.  What few pangs of conscience all this brought him
were soothed by the fact that it was, after all, for a good cause, and
surely cost whatever bank it had been taken from less than the
official welfare system would have taken in taxes to achieve the same
end.
        On the twenty-ninth, he shouldered his new duffel bag and
kissed Azalynn fondly goodbye.
        "I can't impose on you any more," he told her.  "Anyway, your
roommate and the others will be back soon, and it's doubtless they
won't be very happy to see me."
        "I'll explain to them that you're feeling better when I can
get them all together," she promised.  "Will you be around?  Your best
chance of getting home is probably to stick close to Utena.  If she
really did come here without wanting to, then you can bet she's trying
to figure out a way back.  Especially if that other girl is still
there."
        "You'd never heard of any of that before I told you, hm?"
        Azalynn shook her head.  "She doesn't talk about her past.  I
think Katie knows - they had a long talk about -something- after you
happened, and whatever it was, it made them closer, so it must have
been really important.  But she's not that close to the rest of us.
We're friends, but that's a best-friends kind of story."
        Saionji nodded, then gave a wry smile.  "Does that make us
best friends?"
        "I guess maybe that depends on whether you disappear and I
never see you again," she replied.
        His smile ceased to be wry.  "I won't be far," he said.  "Once
you've made it safe for me to be seen around here, I won't be far at
all."
        "Then maybe it does," she said.  "Listen... I don't want you
to get the wrong idea about what we've done the last few days.  It was
good, and it was fun, and I think it was important, but... "
        He nodded.  "I understand.  And thank you," he added.  "You
-have- helped me, more than I can say."
        "Well, don't start thinking you owe me anything," she said
with mock severity.  "There's just nothing more annoying than that."
        Saionji smiled again.  "All right.  Do we owe each other
nothing, then?"
        "Nothing but the regular debts of friendship," she said,
holding out a hand.
        Saionji took it, shook it, then hugged her again and kissed her
forehead.
        "Take care, Azalynn dv'Ir Natashkan," he said, pronouncing her
name almost right.  "I'll see you soon."
        Then he came to attention, pivoted smartly on his heel to face
the hallway, and announced, "Onward to a new era of glory and honor!
Kyouichi Saionji: Forward: March!"
        So saying, his back ramrod straight, he marched down the hall
with comical gravity to the stairs, on his way to see what sort of
place he could make for himself in this strange new world.
        Azalynn, grinning, watched him go, then went back into her
room.  A couple of hours to kill, and then she could call New Avalon
and wish Utena a happy birthday.
        Wasn't -she- going to be surprised at what was waiting for her
when she got back to school!

        /*  The Beatles  "Getting Better"  _Sergeant Pepper's
                     Lonely Hearts Club Band_  */

It's getting better all the time                Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
I used to get mad at my school                  presented
The teachers that taught me weren't cool        UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES
You're holding me down                          FUTURE IMPERFECT
Turning me round                                 - Symphony of the Sword -
Filling me up with your rules                   Azalynn's Winter Holiday

I've got to admit it's getting better           The Cast
A little better all the time                    (in order of appearance)
I have to admit it's getting better             Azalynn dv'Ir Natashkan
It's getting better                             Kyouichi Saionji
Since you've been mine                          Nanami Kiryuu
                                                Juri Arisugawa
Me used to be angry young man                   Miki Kaoru
Me hiding me head in the sand                   Touga Kiryuu
You gave me the word                            Akio Ohtori
I finally heard
I'm doing the best that I can                   He-Whose-Head-Was-Hurting
                                                Benjamin D. Hutchins
I've got to admit it's getting better
A little better all the time                    Rain God
I have to admit it's getting better             John Trussell
It's getting better
Since you've been mine                          Owner of the Nifty Basement
Getting so much better all the time             Bert Reuss
It's getting better all the time                                        
It's getting better all the time                Usual Suspects
                                                The Usual Suspects
I used to be cruel to my woman                                  
I beat her and kept her apart from the          Bundt cake by
  things that she loved                         Anne Cross
Man I was mean but I'm changing my scene
And I'm doing the best that I can               Ping's Garden is a real
                                                restaurant in Worcester.
I admit it's getting better
A little better all the time                    Powered by
Yes I admit it's getting better                 GNU Emacs 19.34
It's getting better
Since you've been mine                          Special thanks to
Getting so much better all the time             Jer Johnson (he's huge!)
It's getting better all the time                
It's getting better all the time                But no thanks to Verizon

             Mr. Saionji's fortune told by Kelly St.Clair

                       The Symphony will return