I have a message from another time...

                     Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
                               presents

                UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT
                      - SYMPHONY OF THE SWORD -

              The Rose that Blooms in the City of Light

                         Benjamin D. Hutchins
                           with Anne Cross
                            John Trussell

		 "Harlem Nocturne" by Earle H. Hagen

                (c) 2001 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited


        Juri Arisugawa's first view of Paris was not an inspiring one.
The afternoon of Sunday, March 13, 2405 was a rather rainy and gray
one, shrouding the City of Light in fog and generally preventing it
from living up to its nickname.  To make matters worse, the Airbus
A7690 sub-orbital shuttlecraft carrying her from Boston-Logan to
Paris-de Gaulle had taken a remarkably uninteresting glideslope for
its approach, no doubt also because of the foul weather.
        The flight itself was quite a thing to consider, for one as
unused to the local technology as Juri.  Back in her homeworld, she
had once flown from her native land to the distant country of Gaulia
for an international fencing conference, similar in concept to the
musical symposium Kaitlyn was attending in Paris; but that flight had
been aboard a widebody jet, which, for all its first-class creature
comforts, had still taken nearly 15 hours to complete the journey.
Nihonia's location at the center of the world occasionally made it an
inconvenient place to hail from.
        This trip, by contrast, had taken barely an hour from the time
the Airbus's wheels left the runway in Boston to touchdown on the
outskirts of Paris.  In the process, the sky outside the window had
gone from blue to black to gray as the aircraft leaped up, almost into
space, and then arced back down again to Earth, having covered an
ocean in a single ion-driven leap.  Remarkable to think about, if not
all that exciting in the actual experience.
        At any rate, here she was on the curb in front of Terminal B,
watching a uniformed cabdriver load her bags and Kaitlyn's into the
trunk of a curiously-shaped black automobile.  She listened as Kate
explained their destination to the driver - "c-cinq-q-quante-n-neuf
r-rue Saint-L-Louis-en-l-l'Ile, s-s'il v-vous p-p-plait" - and noted
the ready nod and slightly indulgent smile on the man's face as he
held the cab's rear door for the two women to embark.  Juri guessed he
was touched that a girl who stuttered as badly as Kate did would take
it upon herself to do so in a foreign language just to address a
cabbie in his own tongue.  She was a little impressed by it herself,
come to that.
        "Isn't it an interesting coincidence," Juri mused as the car
started off toward the access highway to Paris, "that the language
they speak here is all but identical to Gaulish?"
        Kate nodded.  "P-parallel d-d-dim-mensions," she said,
shrugging.  "It h-hap-p-pens."
        Juri sighed inwardly.  Kate was nice, kind-hearted and brave -
she'd heard stories of the brown-haired girl's courage and sweetness
from people whose words Juri trusted - but that stutter made it
difficult to connect with her.  Miki Kaoru had told her that it would
fade with time and strengthened acquaintance, but so far, it hadn't
abated very much at all.  Juri supposed she wasn't making it any
easier, but then she never had been very good at making friends.
        She noticed Kate looking at her with a small, private smile,
as though she knew what Juri had been thinking and understood.  It was
a disconcerting habit, thought Juri.  She smiled, a bit thinly, and
turned her head to look out the window as the cab made its way into
Paris in the rain.

        The Hotel des Deux Iles, where IRCAM (the sponsoring body of
the symposium Kate was attending) had lodged their guest from WPI and
her companion, was located almost smack in the center of the Ile
Saint-Louis, the smaller of the two islands in the Seine at the center
of Paris.  Constructed in 2380 on the site of the third hotel to bear
the name, it was still fairly new, yet, despite being a thirty-story
tower hotel, it managed to maintain a curious, undefinable atmosphere
that made it somehow fit in on the little island, still packed with
quaint homes and other old buildings.  Perhaps it was the architecture
or the interior decoration, both of which somehow managed to make the
place look like it was the sort of thirty-story tower hotel Baron
Haussmann would have raised, had he possessed the technology to build
thirty-story tower hotels.
        Whichever, Kaitlyn appreciated it.  She'd stayed here the
previous year, attending her first International Music Conference, and
become very fond of the hotel's combination of modern convenience and
Old World charm.  The room to which she and Juri were shown was almost
too small for the bureau, small table, and pair of queen beds it
contained, but that fact, combined with its entirely un-hotel-room-
like decor (dark wood trim, cream-colored plastered walls, mismatched
quilts, beautifully carved dark wood furniture), made it feel more
like a spare bedroom in somebody's house than a planned-by-design
hotel accommodation.
        Kate tipped the bellboy and thanked him for his help, shut the
door, and then went to the window and pulled open the curtains.
        "Ahhhh," she said, smiling.  "P-perf-fect."
        Juri went to stand by her, wondering what was so perfect about
a gray, rainy early afternoon, even in a city as vaunted as Paris;
then she looked out of the window and had her answer.  The room was on
the twenty-third floor, high enough that it overlooked every other
building on that end of the Ile Saint-Louis, but not so high that it
made one feel detached from the view below.  Not only the western half
of the island could be seen from here, but also the neighboring Ile de
la Cite - the heart of Paris itself.  And the nearest thing to them on
that island, perched on the eastern tip, was the great cathedral of
Notre-Dame.
        Juri Arisugawa was hardly a Christian; the religion was
unknown in Cephiro, whose inhabitants tended toward a sort of
distracted deism, a monotheistic belief in a God-the-Watchmaker sort
who had no further interest in the world now that He had set it
running.  Still, she was an aesthete, and as such, she admired
Notre-Dame for its handsomeness and the artistry of its construction,
whatever its purpose.  She'd seen pictures of it in the Paris
guidebook she'd bought on agreeing to come here, but they didn't
compare to seeing it in person, even at a distance through the fog.
        She smiled and went to start unpacking her things.  Silently,
Kaitlyn stood and admired the view of Notre-Dame for a few more
moments, then went to do the same.

        They had just sat down to dinner at a brasserie in the Place
Dauphine when Juri said, "Kaitlyn, I've been thinking... "
        "Mm?" said Kate, raising her eyes from the menu.
        "While we're here," said Juri, "perhaps we ought to speak
French with each other, for practice."  She smiled and went on, <I
haven't used my Gaulish regularly since I was with Charbonneaux, and
that was years ago.>
        Kate looked a bit dubious.  "W-w-well," she replied in French,
"i-it'll p-p-prob-b-bably m-m-make m-me ev-v-v-ven h-harder to
un-unders-s-stand... "
        Juri nodded.  "That's all right.  You'll get used to me sooner
or later.  In the meantime, don't worry about it - if I can't figure
something out, I'll get you to repeat it and listen harder."
        Kate thought on that for a moment, then shrugged.  "I-i-if
y-you s-s-say s-so," she replied.
        The conversation faltered there, as both women busied
themselves with their menus.  Juri frowned, behind her menu where she
thought no one could see her, and wondered what she was doing here.
        Behind the counter, the brasserie's owner saw her scowl and
thought to himself, Ah, ah, what have we here?  He'd noticed them when
they came in, two young women he'd never seen before.  The Brasserie
Dauphine didn't get much in the way of unfamiliar customers - it was
frequented by the employees of the Prefecture de Police and the Palais
de Justice, a crowd that didn't change much - and so Marcel Janvier
noticed new faces readily.
        He'd have noticed these two in any case.  The one wasn't,
perhaps, so remarkable - a shortish, slim girl of perhaps sixteen,
with long brown hair that had a very slight curl to it, glasses, and a
pretty smile, in jeans, a gray sweatshirt with the name and seal of an
American school, practical walking shoes, and a brown leather jacket
like aviators used to wear.  She carried a black wooden walking stick,
though she didn't seem to have a limp - a curious affectation, Janvier
thought, but the children these days... what can one do?
        The brown-haired girl was overshadowed by her slightly older
companion, a tall, slender but well-appointed redhead with her hair
done up in vertical curls, a cool, aristocratic face, and devil-green
eyes.  This one wore very stylish clothes, from her low-heeled shoes
to her neat black pants to her crisp white blouse and tidy charcoal
jacket to the gray cashmere overcoat she'd carefully hung on the back
of their table's unoccupied third chair.
        The redhead was a frowner; in a rather comical way, she
reminded Janvier of his most common customers, the policemen of the
Quai des Orfevres.  So serious!  That was no way for a visitor to
Paris to be, even with the political skies becoming steadily gloomier
and the weather so gray and dreary.  And the other one, though she had
smiled when they entered, seemed worried about something now, which
was no better for Janvier's sensibilities than her companion's frown.
        Now that he came to look at her more closely, the brown-haired
girl looked familiar.  Janvier rarely forgot a customer, and now he
ran his mind back, thinking, and soon he had her.  She'd been here a
year before, a year younger, of course, a year smaller, and alone; he
remembered the black stick and the pretty smile.  She was an American
student, as her shirt indicated.  She had an English name.  Carolyn,
maybe?  No - Kaitlyn.  He tried to remember, and it came to him: she'd
been a guest at the annual IRCAM symposium.  He supposed she must be
back for this year's, and this time she had brought a guest?  Or was
the redhead a fellow musician, brought together with her by the
conference and invited along to the Brasserie Dauphine for a dinner of
peers?
        No, Janvier thought not.  They weren't talking over sheet
music, and if there was one thing he knew about comrades in any field
of intellectual endeavor, it was that they invariable talked shop over
dinner at the Brasserie Dauphine.
        He considered what to do about the mood for a moment, then
smiled, selected a bottle of wine, and bustled over to the table with
it and a pair of glasses.
        "Good evening, ladies," he said with a smile.  He placed the
glasses on the table, then presented the bottle with a flourish and
added, "Welcome to Paris!"
        Kaitlyn looked up at him with a faintly startled smile.  "Oh!"
she said.  "H-h-h-hello, M-M-M. J-J-Janv-v-vier.  D-d-do y-you
r-r-rem-m-member m-m-m-me?"
        Janvier smiled widely.  "But of course I remember you, my
dear.  You're the young lady who tuned my piano last year, and it has
never sounded better - although since you went back to the States,
there's been no one to play it."  He gestured to the three
trenchcoated people, two men and a woman, in the corner booth who were
the place's only other occupants at the moment, and grinned.  "My
usual crowd isn't very musical."
        "Talking about us behind our backs again, Janvier?" one of the
men in the booth called, a grin on his weatherbeaten face.
        "Of course, Superintendent," Janvier replied.  "The common
people always talk about the cops behind their backs."
        "Isn't that the truth," said the Superintendent.  He raised
his glass and turned back to his colleagues.
        "I regret, however," said Janvier, "that I have not met your
charming companion before."  He turned to the redhead, bowing, and
said, "I am Marcel Janvier, Miss.  Welcome to my little place."
        "My name is Juri," said she, nodding graciously.  "I'm pleased
to meet you, M. Janvier."
        "Ah, no, my dear, the pleasure is mine.  Now then.  What would
you young ladies like to eat tonight?  I have a good filet of sole."
        "How is the contrefilet?" Juri inquired.
        Janvier flip-flopped a hand.  "Not so bad," he said with an
apologetic look.  "I'm not equipped like a steakhouse, but Mama does
her best."
        "I'll try it anyway," said Juri with a mild smile.
        "Very good, very good.  And for you, miss?" he asked, turning
to Kate.
        "I-I-I'll h-h-have th-the... th-the s-s-sole," said Kate.
        "Most excellent," said Janvier.  "Shall I pour your wine
before I go and give your order to Mama?"
        Juri said she would like that, thank you, but Kaitlyn went a
little pink and replied, "Um, n-n-no, th-thank y-y-you... I, I'm
n-n-not o-o-old en-n-nough.  M-mayb-b-be Th-Th-Thursd-d-day... "
        Juri raised an eyebrow.  "Thursday is your birthday?"
        Kate nodded.  "Th-th-that's w-w-w-why... "  She paused, as if
considering the pain of thrashing her way through a full explanation,
then waved a hand in a fill-it-in sort of way and said, "Th-th-the
c-c-c-car."
        "Ah," said Juri, nodding.
        "I think," said Janvier with a smile, "we might stretch a
point for the sake of hospitality."
        Kate cast an unconvinced glance at the policemen in the corner
booth.  "B-b-but... y-your r-r-reg-g-gulars... "
        Janvier fanned a hand at them.  "Bah.  My boys are from the
Quai, they're interested in murder and burglary and arson, not
fiddling social regulations.  Isn't that right, Superintendent
Marquette?"
        "Of course, Janvier," said the man in the brown trenchcoat,
who hadn't heard what he was being asked.  "Anything you say.  Might I
trouble you for another Pernod?"
        "In a moment, Superintendent, in a moment."  The burly
publican smiled at the two girls, poured their wine, and went off to
take their orders to the kitchen and get the policeman his Pernod.
        Kate gazed thoughtfully at her wine for a moment, then raised
it to Juri and drank.  Juri glanced at her Institute Duelists' Society
ring, considering the last time she'd drunk wine; then she returned
the salute and tried it herself.  It was good wine, young and a bit
sharp, but good all the same.  Even with the gray, chilly raininess of
the day, the friendliness of the owner and the warm, cheerful charm of
this little restaurant lifted Juri's mood.  Maybe, she thought, this
would work out after all.
        She and Kaitlyn didn't say much to each other for the rest of
the meal, but the silence between them was at least no longer
awkward.  Juri considered the loin steak quite a bit better than "not
so bad" (and the potatoes were perfect, crisp and hot), while Kate
pronounced the filet of sole and salad exquisite.  Presently they
finished, paid, and thanked the owner, then went back out into the
rain.
        Evening had fallen while they were eating, and the lights
along the Place Dauphine were each its own separate globe of
yellow-white light, glowing at the tops of the black metal lampposts
like streetlamps in an oil painting.  They walked down the Quai des
Orfevres, turned left to walk past the ornate gates of the Palais de
Justice, then around the side of the Prefecture de Police to the rue
de la Cite.
        With the rain hissing softly around them, pattering on their
umbrellas, and the fog enfolding everything in a soft glow from the
streetlamps, it was as though they were the only two people in Paris,
possibly the only two in the world.  Lights burned in the windows of
the Prefecture, but no cars plied the streets and no one else walked
the pavements.  Juri found it quite restful.
        From there, it wasn't far to Notre-Dame, hulking silent and
dark against the nightglow of Paris against the overcast.  In the
hush, Kate and Juri walked through the shadowed gardens alongside the
great cathedral, met up with the Quai aux Fleurs at the island's
eastern tip, and crossed the little bridge to the Ile Saint-Louis
again.
        As they walked up the rue Saint-Louis-en-l'Ile toward their
hotel, Kaitlyn took off her eyeglasses, folded them up, and tucked
them into the inside pocket of her bomber jacket.  Then she folded up
her umbrella suddenly, stopped walking, and upturned her face to the
rainy sky, letting the falling water dampen her hair and trickle down
across her features.  Juri stopped and observed her, slightly bemused,
as she stood with her arms extended, palms upward, and smiled up into
the rain.
        After a few seconds of that, Kate opened her eyes and smiled
at Juri's puzzled look.
        "G-g-glad t-to b-b-be in P-P-Paris," she said.  "I, I l-l-love
th-this c-c-city, ev-v-ven in the r-r-rain."
        "More than Toronto?" Juri wondered.
        "D-differently," Kate replied.  "T-T-T-Toronto is a f-f-friend.  
P-Paris is an o-o-old unc-cle w-who d-d-doesn't v-visit of-often."
        Juri smiled.  "I understand," she said.  "I'd rather not get
my coat wet, though, so I don't think I'll be joining you."
        Kate grinned and skipped off a way down the street, hopping
over puddles like a little girl on an outing with her parents,
twirling with her arms outstretched and her face raised to catch the
rain once more.

        The next day was Day 1 of the International Conference of
Modern Composers.  Kaitlyn rose early, dressed in the more somber of
the two skirt-suits she'd brought with her, crossed the Pont Marie,
and walked northwest across the 4th arrondissement to the Centre
Georges Pompidou.
        ("That's where your conference is being held?" Juri had
inquired, looking at the photograph in the guidebook.
        "N-n-n-next d-door," Kate told her.
        "Interesting building," said Juri.  "When is it expected to be
finished?"
        "Um... n-n-ninet-t-teen s-s-seventy-s-s-s-seven."
        "... Oh.")
        Juri woke to find her already gone, and spent a few minutes
perusing her guidebook, deciding where to go today.  She and Kate had
discussed their plans for the week a bit the night before, between
returning from their rainy walk and going to bed, so she knew a few
things Kate would rather she -not- do during the days, so that they
could do them together in the evenings.  Aside from that, her schedule
was open until six-thirty or so, when Kate would get back from the
Centre Pompidou and they could go in search of dinner.
        She considered it for a few minutes, then went and prepared
herself for the day.  After completing her morning toilet, she
dressed.  As she was buttoning her shirt, she opened the drapes and
looked out the window.  The overcast and its attendant rain were gone,
and in their place, a dazzling clear blue sky arched over Paris,
making it glitter and shine.  Notre Dame no longer hunkered in the
mist and looked vaguely foreboding; now it reached for the heavens it
was built to glorify, somehow defying the taller buildings that
surrounded it and still appearing the lofiest structure in the heart
of the city.
        Juri smiled, shrugged into her overcoat, and tucked the
guidebook into her inside pocket.  Today, she would play it by ear.

        The first three days of the week went past in a tranquil sort
of way, with beautiful, crisp, clear, cool weather that was almost
more like autumn than spring.  During the days, Kaitlyn attended the
conference, working with fellow musicians from all over the galaxy,
hearing lectures on musical theory, implementation, and interpretation, 
and preparing for the exhibition concert which comprised the 
symposium's closing ceremonies on Friday night.  While she was busy
with that, Juri rambled around Paris, visiting museums, seeing the
city's multifarious monuments, and shopping.
        In the evenings, they decided, they'd visit a different
district each night, sampling the different parts of the city like a
buffet.  On Monday, after visiting their neighbor cathedral (just as
impressive and lovely inside as out), they crossed the Pont de la
Tournelle to the Left Bank and the 5th arrondissement, and spent an
evening strolling through the university sector, the Quartier Latin.
The next night they took the Metro a little further south, to the the
14th arrondissement.  There they walked the streets of Montparnasse,
the famed literary district, home of many of the world's famous
writers in the early 20th, mid-21st and late 23rd centuries.
        As they walked the pavements of Paris, bought crepes from
sidewalk vendors, and drank in the sights, sounds and smells of a city
many Earthpeople considered the most vibrant on the planet (perhaps in
the civilized galaxy), Kaitlyn and Juri slowly grew more comfortable
in each other's presence, without even quite realizing that they were.
They still didn't -say- all that much - nudges, points, smiles and
nods covered much of the sightseeing vocabulary, and much of the time
each seemed lost in her own thoughts; but they -communicated- more,
all the same.  By the time they returned to the Hotel des Deux Iles on
Tuesday night, they had nearly shed the silent awkwardness of
strangers for the quiet comfort of acquaintances on their way to
becoming friends.
        On Wednesday, they went west instead of south, riding the
Metro out to the Etoile Charles-de-Gaulle and then walking all the way
back along the Champs-Elysees.  Along the way, something remarkable
happened, though it happened so slowly that Juri almost didn't realize
it at first: Kaitlyn became voluble.  She started by asking, as they
descended to the Metro at Saint-Michel, how Juri had spent her day,
then listened with her usual bright-eyed, quiet, nodding attentiveness
as Juri described her day among the quiet tombs and sunlit trees of
the Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise.
        Kaitlyn teased Juri gently about the morbidity of spending a
day alone in a -cemetery-, of all things, and listened with smiling
good humor as Juri defended her choice in terms of architectural
interest and a desire for someplace quiet to reflect on certain
matters.  Then she remarked that Juri had certainly had a nicer day
than -she- had, and as they emerged from the underground in the shadow
of the Arc de Triomphe, the story of -her- day started emerging,
slowly and haltingly (but doggedly) at first, then with an increasing
pace and smoothness as she warmed to the dialogue.
        So it was that, as they waited to cross the intersection with
the avenue George V, Juri suddenly realized that Kaitlyn was talking
to her, and had been in a steady stream since they left the Metro.
That's not to say Juri hadn't been listening, because she had; but it
hadn't really dawned on her what it meant that she had such a
remarkable flow of language to -listen- to until that moment.  Kate
spoke eloquently, her French fluent and fluid - she still stuttered,
of course, but she'd stopped stumbling over whole words and leaving
out the unnecessary ones, and stopped looking embarrassed as she
essayed the larger, more complicated ones.  She gestured here and
there in an amusingly Gallic fashion as she spoke, too.  What had
struck Juri suddenly was that, though Kate's stutter had not gone, she
wasn't having to pay uncomfortably close attention just to understand
what the other girl was -saying- any more.
        The substance of Kaitlyn's dissertation seemed to be that,
although she was enjoying the conference's musical aspects immensely,
she was finding some of its social aspects very tiresome indeed.
Musicians, she explained, tended to be a somewhat quarrelsome lot when
gathered together in groups, and additionally, though some were
committed to the beauty and universality of music as a means of
emotional and conceptual (as opposed to literal, you understand,
although it can be that too) communication, others were... well, just
plain snobs.
        Fortunately (praise Corwin's holy Aunt Bell, blessed be Her
celestial kitchen), Elizabeth Broadbank had neither interest nor
talent in musical circles, so Kate didn't have -her- to deal with; but
to hear her gripe about him, the unnamed individual known to Juri only
as "that pompous cretin from the Ecole Musico-Technologique in Nice"
(repeated consonants where appropriate) was almost as irritating.  His
opinion of Kaitlyn's first product she dared call a symphony, the one
she had worked with Miki on over Christmas, was a dismissive, "Crude,
of course, and mired in archaism; but then, that sort of 'antique
music' is popular in the provinces, isn't it, dear?"
        Juri raised an eyebrow.  "He actually called New Avalon 'the
provinces'?" she inquired.
        "Y-yep," said Kate.  "An-nother time he s-s-said he
sup-p-posed I w-w-work with symph-phonic orch-ch-chestras because
'm-modern' instrum-m-ments aren't av-vailable on the Outer R-Rim."
        "He sounds like quite a charmer," Juri mused dryly.  "Did you
inform him that you also lead a successful electric band?"
        "Oh, r-r-rock is w-w-WAY out at the Ecole M-M-Musico-
T-Techn-nologique," Kate assured her, nodding in an exaggerated
yes-man style.  "E-even f-f-further than s-s-symph-phonic."
        "What do they -prefer- at the Ecole Musico-Technologique?"
Juri wondered.
        "They c-c-call it 'l'Ex-Experience Sonique'," said Kate
grandly.  "P-personally," she added darkly, "I th-think it s-s-sounds
like r-r-random RF n-n-noise set to an electrod-d-drum s-slaved to
a p-partially c-c-crashed neural n-net."  She splayed a hand on her
chest and went on in a dramatically haughty sort of way, "Ah, b-b-but
this s-s-sad unenl-lightenm-ment of m-mine is a n-natural p-product of
my w-w-wilderness upbr-bringing.  One m-mustn't hold it ag-gainst me."
        Juri acutally -giggled- at that, which made Kate glance at her
in mild surprise, then cock her eyebrows conspiratorially at the eye
contact and snicker in return.
        "Well," said Juri when they were finished laughing, "you'll
have your chance for vindication on Friday evening."
        "I-if one of m-my p-p-pieces is sel-selected," Kate said.
"R-Ragulin is on the s-s-selection c-committee.  B-but so is
M. Ch-Chalfant, and h-he r-really liked them.  The s-symphony's t-too
involved to p-p-put on w-with such sh-short notice, b-b-but maybe the
p-p-piano sonata... "
        Well, thought Juri, at least the pompous cretin has a name
now.  Or part of one, anyway.
        It was about two miles down the Champs-Elysees from the Etoile
to the Place de la Concorde.  With the evening traffic, other
pedestrians, and their own leisurely pace, it took Kaitlyn and Juri
an hour or so to reach the Obelisque standing in the center of the
Place.  The evening was cool but comfortable, the night sky over Paris
clear and starry, as they stood looking up at the massive stone
needle, an ancient Egyptian relic given as a gift to France in the
19th century.  Kaitlyn opined that WPI ought to put one like it in the
center of the Quadrangle instead of that silly flat dedication stone.
        They walked through the breeze-ruffled leafiness of the
Jardins des Tuileries while Kate tried to explain just what it was
they -did- at the International Conference of Modern Composers.  Juri,
not being a musician, didn't really follow most of the technical bits,
but she didn't really care; the important thing was that Kate was
speaking comfortably, no longer self-conscious about her speech
impediment in front of Juri.
        The redhead found that gratifying, for though she knew most
people found her intimidating and often used that fact to her
advantage, she sometimes wished she could turn it off.  Perhaps that
was one of the reasons she'd come to like Utena Tenjou - the fact that
Utena had never seemed particularly awed by her.  Impressed, yes, but
not to the point where her own capacities were diminished by it.  It
was a refreshing change from cowing people with a glance.
        She pulled her train of thought back from that irrelevant
digression and listened as Kate described a bit more of the byzantine
internal politics of the colloquy.  It all sounded quite maddening,
but she noticed Kate was becoming more cheerful as she complained
about it at greater length.  A little smile quirked Juri's lips as she
recognized the beneficial effects of venting.  It was another thing
she had never been particularly good at, but perhaps if she watched
long enough, she could pick up a thing or two.
        The Jardins des Tuileries eventually led to the Place du
Carrousel, beyond which lay the gleaming twentieth-century glass
pyramid that was the entrance to the Louvre.  This, Kate explained
(unnecessarily, since Juri had a guidebook) was one of the galaxy's
most famous museums of fine art, a panoply of the finest paintings and
sculptures human history had to offer, if you were into that sort of
thing.  Kate went on to explain that she -wasn't- into that sort of
thing, so if Juri wanted to see it, she ought to come back during the
day tomorrow or Friday; a full day ought to be devoted to it anyway,
and Kate hadn't the time.
        By now it was nearly nine in the evening, as they walked along
the Quai du Louvre, and they were hungry.  They found a cafe at random
and were pleasantly surprised by the food, though the service was a
bit surly.  That couldn't dent Kaitlyn's mood, though.  She seemed
happier than she'd been since Juri had met her.  As far as Juri could
tell, Kate was always somewhat upbeat, except when she was angry about
some emergency, like Liza Broadbank's treatment of Miki Kaoru back in
C term.  Normally, though, it was a quiet sort of upbeatness.  Kate
tended to be the quietly smiling one in the corner with a book, a
rainy-day-contentment kind of girl, not an animated discusser of
things.
        Tonight, though, she was certainly that.  She wanted to talk
about anything and everything.  Over soup she asked Juri how she was
finding the adjustment to the new world she found herself in.
        "Everyb-body else has h-h-had at least one r-rough p-patch,"
she explained, "and I w-wanted you to kn-know... "  Kaitlyn paused,
going a little pink in the cheeks, and then went on, "... if you
n-n-need s-someone to t-t-talk to ab-bout it, I'm a g-good l-listener.
Ask Ut-tena," she added with a slightly sheepish smile.
        "It's good of you," said Juri, "but I'm fine, thank you.  It's
really not much more of an adjustment than when I left home for the
Academy in the first place."  As if to prevent any inquiry on that
subject, she went on, "I'm more concerned at this point for Miki."
        Kate nodded.  "He h-had a v-very tough t-time," she allowed,
"w-what with Liza t-t-targeting him and all... b-but I th-think he's
d-doing all right n-now."  She grinned, a little slyly, and added, "Of
c-course, for the f-f-full story on th-that you'd have to t-talk to
Azal-lynn."
        Juri frowned thoughtfully.  "Mm," she said, and finished her
soup.  "That's what I'm concerned about.  I doubt he really
understands what he's letting himself in for, getting involved with a
person like her."
        Kate arched an eyebrow.  "W-what's that sup-p-posed to
m-mean?" she inquired, her tone milder than, perhaps, it ought to have
been.
        "Only this: People like her aren't known where we come from.
Or rather, they're known in rather uncomplimentary terms.  I
understand," Juri added, raising an open palm to forestall comment,
"that she is different - that things are different - here... but I'm
not certain that Miki is... mature enough to understand such a thing.
He's not very well-versed in the ways of the world, and he's so
young... the same age as your brother.  Who doesn't know what -he's-
involving himself in, either."
        "C-Corwin," said Kate with neither rancor nor warmth, "is
n-not a p-p-permissible topic for disc-c-cussion in this c-context."
        "I apologize," said Juri with her palm raised again.  "It was
a lapse, although I feel obliged to mention that I'm primarily
concerned for -him-.  I hate to see yet -another- innocent soul
blunder into all that mess.  But he seems bound to do so, and the rest
of you seem bound to let him, so I'll drop it for peace's sake."
        Kaitlyn nodded.  "I app-preciate that," she said dryly.
        "Miki, though, I think I have some right to be worried about,"
Juri went on.  "His intellect exceeds his years, but I'm afraid his
wisdom may be a different story.  Of all of us who came from Cephiro,
I think I know him best; since he first came to the Academy, I was
essentially his only friend until Tenjou and Himemiya.  His reserve,
his shyness, hide a foolishly, childishly passionate heart.  You're a
musician, like him - you should recognize that."
        "P-passionate, yes," Kate replied.  "F-foolish and ch-childish
I d-dispute."  If she knew or felt that Juri had just called -her-
foolish and childish by association, she let it pass lightly.
        In this vein, they sat across the table on the sidewalk by the
rue de Rivoli for almost two hours and argued.  They didn't fight -
they -argued-, after the ancient Greek fashion, taking opposing
viewpoints and defending them with wit and courtesy.
        Juri's view was that Miki, being young, naive and "foolishly
passionate," was setting himself up for heartbreak by his involvement
with Azalynn dv'Ir Natashkan - that, though he might intellectually
understand the alien nature of her affection toward him, he wouldn't
be able to grasp or return it emotionally, and thus he would
inevitably fall for her in the conventional human way (if he hadn't
already) and be devastated when she failed to return that sentiment.
        Kaitlyn's view was that Juri wasn't giving Miki enough credit,
that Miki already understood the Dantrovian way quite well, and that
he was now, in fact, exploring it himself - that he and Azalynn were,
in effect, a Dantrovian spirit pair now, for however long such
transitory things lasted, and that when they parted it would be in the
Dantrovian way, without the bleeding wounds of a failed human love.
        Juri requested clarification at this point - did that mean
Kaitlyn didn't think Miki capable of love in the human fashion, as it
were?  Was Kate saying that Miki was trapped forever in a cycle of odd
holidays and one-night stands?
        No, Kate wasn't saying that at all.  Kate was saying that -in
his interaction with Azalynn-, Miki was thinking and feeling like a
Dantrovian, but that did not necessarily mean he would handle -all- of
his life's interactions that way.  That would be like saying that,
because Kaitlyn disliked Liza Broadbank, she was thus doomed to
dislike all tall, elegant women of roughly her own age, and that was
clearly ludicrous, was it not?
        No, what Kate was saying was that everyone's interactions are
different with every individual one knows, -and- that each one of
those interactions was always changing and evolving as the people at
either end of it changed and evolved.  With Azalynn, Miki could match
her way of feeling as he learned it from her, but that was no
indication that he wouldn't possibly fall head-over-heels in "the
human fashion" for somebody someday, possibly even somebody he already
knew, as his life and those of all his friends grew around them.
        All right, fine, for sake of argument, said Juri; but suppose
that happened.  What would Azalynn do about it?
        Rejoice, of course, was the answer.  Azalynn always rejoices
in love between people.  Look, you're making this much more
complicated than it has to be - you worry too much about hypothetical
things.  If you want to be happy, you're going to have to let go of
your need to control everything that happens to you and just let
things unfold as they will.  React, don't try to act all the time.
        Juri conceded that she supposed Kate might have something
there, and they wrapped up their argument, drank their tea, paid their
bill, walked back to the Ile Saint-Louis, and went to bed both pleased
and thoughtful about the evening's conversation.

        The next morning, Juri was awake before Kate left for once,
which gave Kate an opportunity to apologize.
        "I g-got too inv-volved in the d-discussion," she said to
Juri's reflection behind her own in the closet-door mirror as she
knotted her ribbon tie.  "I sh-shouldn't have p-preached at you at
th-the end th-th-there.  About n-not t-trying to c-control
everyth-th-thing."
        Juri smiled.  "It was a bit rude of you," she said, "but you
had the somewhat redeeming quality of being right."  As Kate gave a
sheepish smile, Juri went on, "I know I try to dictate the course of
my life more than is really healthy.  It's an unfortunate side effect
of my belief in an orderly, rational universe, every effect with its
cause."
        "S-stay out of c-c-convers-sations with M-M-MegaZone," Kate
advised Juri's reflection.  "I'm g-glad you're n-n-not off-fended,"
she added, turning to face the real Juri.  "I... "  Again the pause,
again the touch of pink in her cheeks.  "I enj-joyed the
arg-gument... I th-think we r-really... c-c-connected."  She looked at
her watch, then said, "I've got to g-go, I'll b-be late.  T-today is
the l-l-last w-workshop day; t-tomorrow we h-have the m-morning off,
then p-prep for the c-concert in the aftern-noon, then the c-concert
at s-s-seven.  Are you c-coming?"
        Juri nodded, smiling.  "I wouldn't miss it.  Have a good last
day.  Try not to strangle Ragulin."
        Kate rolled her eyes, said she would refrain with Aunt Bell's
help, and left.

        While she was window shopping along the boulevard St.-Germaine
on Thursday morning, Juri remembered that it was Kaitlyn's birthday.
She supposed she ought to get the girl a present - after all, Kate had
been nice enough to bring her along on this trip, which was proving
most edifying in more ways than one, and after the previous night's
highly civilized disagreement, Juri was even prepared to call her a
kind of friend.
        She considered this as she made her way along the boulevard.
What does one get a girl like that for her sixteenth birthday?  Juri
remembered turning sixteen - it hadn't been so long ago - but no one
had known it except Miki.  Well, and Touga, but Juri had informed
Touga early in their acquaintanceship that if he ever gave her any
sort of a gift, she would break his arm.  Touga Kiryuu generally
hadn't taken seriously threats of bodily harm from women, but from
Juri, he believed.
        While she waited to cross a side street, it struck her like a
fist to the forehead.  She was in -Paris-, the fashion capital of the
Earth Alliance, one of the five or six cities from which the entire
humanoid -galaxy- took its fashion cues.  As far as Juri could tell,
Kaitlyn possessed a grand total of two articles of clothing that
weren't either school uniforms or something you would wear to paint
the house, and both of them were suits that were almost comical in
their severity.  The black one was suitable for a funeral or a tax
audit, and that was about all; the gray one wouldn't have looked out
of place in a courtroom.  Both made the poor girl look prematurely
elderly.
        So.  Here was Juri in Paris, with money to burn, time to kill,
and a friend in dire need of some fashion help.
        She went back to the Hotel des Deux Iles, read Kaitlyn's sizes
from the tags of her clothes, and then got to work.

        By mid-afternoon, Juri felt she'd acquitted herself well (and
also ridden on what felt like at least a quarter of the Paris Metro
system, hitting shops in no fewer than nine of the city's 20
arrondissements).  Shopping for somebody else made for an interesting
mental exercise, and she thought she'd done pretty well.  She'd done
her best to select things she felt Kate -would- wear, if only she had
the inclination to buy them, sticking fairly close to her own elegant
but understated style in the process.  The result was a range of
modest but flattering cuts, nonaggressive colors, but with an
underlying structure that would subtly call attention to the hidden
dimensions that lurked within the quiet girl with the pretty smile.
        At least, that was the theory.  It remained to be seen how
well it would work in practice.
        Juri concluded her last purchase in a boutique off the rue
Saint-Sulpice, made arrangements to have the things delivered to the
Hotel des Deux Iles by 5 PM, thanked the shopkeeper, and departed in
high spirits.  Mission accomplished, and without any of the famous
Parisian snobbery to contend with.  Her Gaulish wasn't quite the same
as the French they spoke here, but the accent the difference gave her
seemed to strike Parisians as enchantingly exotic rather than
annoyingly provincial.  They kept asking her if she were Swiss, or
perhaps from one of the 'colonies parmi les etoiles'.
        Feeling curiously buoyant, Juri decided to walk back to the
Ile Saint-Louis instead of taking the Metro.  By the time she got
there, she calculated, Kaitlyn's things should just about be arriving,
and she could sort them and get them ready for presentation.
        As she made her way through the maze of little streets that
made up the eastern end of the 6th arrondissement, Juri got a little
lost, both in thought and in body.  Presently she found herself in a
narrow, twisty, deserted lane - almost an alley, but for the numbered
doors and the lack of that rather distinctive alleyway atmosphere.
She paused, looking back the way she'd come, and was about to turn and
go back when a sign hanging next to the door she'd stopped even with
caught her eye:

                         ATELIER de l'ESCRIME

        Juri raised an eyebrow.  A fencing studio!  Very interesting.
She went up the two narrow steps to the door, a heavy, old-fashioned
affair painted green, and wondered if she should knock.
        As she considered it, the door opened, and she found herself
face to face with a tall, thin, elderly man in fencing garb, his
seamed old face wearing an inoffensive, curious look.  Juri thought he
looked remarkably familiar, but couldn't quite place why.
        "Yes?" he inquired.  "Can I help you, miss?"
        "I noticed your sign," said Juri, her composure fully intact,
"and was curious."
        "Ah," said the old man, his bushy white eyebrows rising.  "You
are a fencer?  Indeed, I think I see it in the way you hold yourself.
Come in, come in."
        "I don't wish to intrude," Juri began, but the fellow ushered
her inside and shut the door behind her, smiling pleasantly all the
while.
        "My name," said the old man as he led the way down a narrow
hallway toward the back of the house, "is Emile, my dear.  This is my
little place."
        The walls of the hallway were covered with pictures; Juri
slowed a little to look more closely at them.  They showed a tall,
lean man in fencing gear, dark-haired and mustachioed, always
accepting trophies or medals on ribbons from beaming men and women in
suits.  With a shock, Juri recognized him in two different ways.  One,
he was this old man called Emile in his youth, and two - 
        - he was Charbonneaux!  Her old fencing teacher, who had taken
her on as a student at the age of seven - the greatest fencer in all
Cephiro - arrogant, often insufferable, but superbly talented and an
excellent teacher when he was in the mood for it.  Juri had learned
much from him, before he'd lost his right arm and his will to live in
an automobile accident; enough to make it onto the Ohtori Academy
fencing team in her first year at the school, the year after his
death.
        But... how could this pleasant old man be Emile Charbonneaux?
Letting aside the fact that he was alive, and had both his arms, he
was much too old.  Charbonneaux had only been perhaps forty when Juri
had started as his student, a mere ten years ago.
        ("P-parallel d-d-dim-mensions," she heard Kaitlyn say in her
mind.  "It h-hap-p-pens.")
        "Is something wrong, miss?" Emile wondered, jolting her out of
her startled reverie.
        She blinked, recovered her composure again, and said, "No,
sorry.  I was thinking you looked familiar, and the pictures... "  She
gestured to the one she had stopped in front of, which was fortunately
of him accepting a gold medal at the 2340 Olympic Games, and added a
bit lamely, "You were... sort of a hero of mine."  She held out her
hand to him.  "I'm Juri."
        Emile smiled, took her hand, and rather ceremoniously kissed
it.  "I'm glad to know you," he said.  "So people out in the world
still know old Charbonneaux's name, eh?" he added with a self-mocking
twinkle in one dark eye.  "Do they still talk about what a pain in the
ass I was?  You know, there was a time I wouldn't take a student if he
couldn't speak French like a native."  He shook his head.  "Arrogance.
I was almost as good at that as at fencing, in my glorious youth.  Ah,
but you didn't come here to listen to the reminiscences of an old
man."
        He led the way through the door at the end of the hall and
into what turned out to be the studio itself, a large, airy room with
plenty of light and windows, a fresh breeze, and a creaky hardwood
floor.  Epees, sabers and foils hung racked along the walls; the floor
was bare but for the well-scuffed piste.  There was another door in
the far wall, which Juri guessed led to the showers.
        "Are you a visitor to Paris?" Emile asked.
        "Yes," Juri replied.  "I'm a student at a school in America,
the Worcester Preparatory Institute."
        "Ah!" said Emile, raising his eyebrows.  "I've heard of the
place.  Supposed to have an excellent fencing program."
        "I wouldn't know," Juri replied wryly.  "I have a bit of a...
personality conflict with the captain of the team, so... "  She
shrugged, a rather Gallic shrug; the place was rubbing off on her just
as it had on Kaitlyn, it seemed.
        "Ahhh," said Emile with a knowing nod.  "Yet you keep in
practice, I can see that looking at you.  You have some like-minded
friends, perhaps?"
        Juri nodded, and without really knowing why, she told him
about the Duelists' Society.
        "That sounds like quite a thing," said Emile thoughtfully.  "I
rather wish we'd had such a thing in -my- school days.  To test my
steel against Japanese fighters, against a Minbari warrior!  What an
experience that would be!  What an opportunity you children have."
        "Indeed," Juri agreed.  "Although we aren't doing very much
with it yet; we're still feeling our way.  It's my hope that, once
we're all comfortable with the arrangement, we'll start living up to
our charter."  She sighed wryly.  "Of course, I say that, and I don't
even have a sword of my own.  The one time I've fought so far, I had
to borrow one from T'skaia."
        "I've never met a t'skrang," said Emile with a faraway smile.
"I've been told they're fine fighters."
        "This one is," Juri confirmed.
        "Well, my dear.  I can't offer you anything as exotic as a
t'skrangish swordsman's opposition, but would you do me the honor of
facing me?  I don't have many students these days, but then I wouldn't
presume to teach an established duelist," he added with a mischievous
little grin.  "Call it a lesson for -me-.  Or call it humoring a
feeble old man.  Whichever you like."
        Juri considered this odd request for a moment, then gave a
mental shrug.  "Why not?" she replied.  "I'll have to borrow
equipment."
        "Oh, I've plenty of that.  You'll find the changing room
through that door."

        Emile Charbonneaux was old, but he was hardly feeble.  After
four furious clashes with him - one win, one draw, and two losses -
Juri could only hope with all her heart that when -she- reached the
fine old age of a hundred forty, she was half as spry, and enjoyed her
life half as much.
        It wasn't until she'd finished drying and combing her hair -
no way to put it back into its curls here, so she'd just have to let
it go natural until she got back to the hotel - and strapped her watch
back on that Juri realized how late it had gotten.  Goodness, it was
nearly six!  By the time she got back to the Hotel des Deux Iles, even
assuming she could find her way readily out of this maze of little
streets, Kaitlyn would be back.
        Ah, well, she thought as she buttoned her blouse.  It was
worth it, for this strange little encounter with the ghost of
Charbonneaux.
        She emerged from the changing room with her coat over her arm,
to find old Emile waiting for her in the studio dressed in a neat,
slightly old-fashioned suit, with a smile on his face and a long
package under his arm.
        "My dear, you are superb," he told her.  "Don't let an old
man's luck discourage you - I'll be feeling your riposte in my
shoulder for the next week," he added, his smile widening into a
slightly conspiratorial grin.
        "I hope you won't curse me for it," Juri replied, smiling in
return.
        "Not at all.  It'll be a pleasant reminder of the most
stimulating afternoon I've had in a long time.  Why, if I didn't know
better, I would swear I'd trained you myself."  He winked.  "That's my
old ego talking.  Now," he went on briskly, "before you go back into
the world, my dear, and leave old Charbonneaux behind, there's
something I'd like you to have."
        He handed her the package, and even before lifting the lid and
looking inside, Juri already knew what she would find.
        It was a broadsword - paradoxically, a rather narrow one, but
a broadsword all the same, double-edged and pointed, with an arched
brass crossguard.  Just like the one Charbonneaux had given her, back
home, when they'd parted, the day before he'd thrown himself off the
Bayshore Bridge.  It had been his, a prize he'd won at some tournament
or other; he'd never had any - 
        "I won that," said Emile, "in 2342, at the World Championships
in Prague.  Never had any use for it, but it sounds as though you
have, and so I'd like you to take it with you."
        "I... "  Juri closed the box and put it under her arm, then
looked at the kindly-faced oldster, so different and yet so much the
same as the harsh but talented man who had been the first of her two
great teachers.  "I don't know what to say, M. Charbonneaux," she
said, her voice hushed.
        "Don't say anything," said Emile, and he put his arm around
her shoulders - a gesture of familiarity she wouldn't have tolerated
from most people, even harmless-looking old men - and led her to the
front door.  "Just remember old Emile as you make your way in this
world.  The pop philosophers tell us never to look back, but I find
that a quick glance over the path I've taken so far helps me to keep
my bearings."  He smiled, patted her on the back, and then pointed.
"Head that way, take your first left, and you'll find the rue
Dauphine.  You should be able to find your way from there."
        "M. Charbonneaux, I... " said Juri, and then she trailed off.
I what?  What was there to say in a situation like this?  This man had
found a peace that her Charbonneaux, brilliant and tortured, had never
managed to find.  Was this some kind of an omen?  An indication that
she could have ended up like the one she knew, but now she had a
chance to find the kind of peace and longevity this one had?
        Only she didn't believe in omens, did she?
        Emile smiled.  "Au revoir, Mademoiselle Juri," he said, and
closed the door behind her.
        Feeling slightly dazed, Juri followed his directions, and
before long she was in the Place Dauphine.  She went to the brasserie
where she and Kaitlyn had eaten their first meal in Paris, had a glass
of water, and then walked to the Ile Saint-Louis.

        Kate was already back, showered and changed when she arrived
back in Room 2305; she looked up from her book as Juri entered and
smiled as widely the redhead had ever seen her.
        "In-interesting ch-change," she said.  "G-g-guess what?"
        "What?" Juri replied.
        "M. Ch-Chalfant made the f-f-final s-selections t-today.  My
p-p-piano sonata is g-g-going to be one of the m-main s-solo
perf-formances t-tomorrow!"
        "Really!  Well, congratulations," said Juri.  "That's
wonderful."
        Kate beamed.  "I c-c-can't w-wait to tell M-Miki," she said.
Then she noticed Juri's oblong burden and inquired, "W-what's in the
b-b-box?"
        "I've just had a very odd afternoon," said Juri, and she sat
down on her bed and told Kaitlyn all about it.
        "Mmmm," said Kate thoughtfully.  "Th-that must feel r-r-really
surreal.  I'll unders-s-stand if you'd r-rather lay l-l-low
t-tonight."
        "No, no, not at all," said Juri.  "I'm all right, I was just a
bit... stunned, I guess the word would be.  Of all the people to
encounter at random in this city... "  She shook her head.  "I'll be
fine.  We have to celebrate your victory over Ragulin!  And besides,
it's your birthday," she added, smiling.  "I can't leave you to wander
around alone on your birthday, or keep you cooped up in here.  What
would you like to do?"
        "W-well," said Kate, "w-w-we've been in P-Paris for f-five
days now and w-we still h-haven't been to the Eiff-f-fel T-Tower.  I
th-think that's t-technically a c-c-crime."
        "All right," said Juri, "the Tower it is.  But first I have
something I want to show you."  She picked up the telephone, dialed
the front desk, and said, "This is Miss Arisugawa in 2305.  Will you
please send up my deliveries now?  Thank you."

        Kaitlyn was both embarrassed and pleased at the compact but
comprehensive wardrobe Juri had assembled for her over the course of
her day's shopping.  She repeatedly protested, as Juri had her try
everything on and gave her fitting and accessorizing tips, that Juri
really shouldn't have gone to so much trouble and expense, but of
course the redhead wouldn't hear of it.  It was done now, and anyway,
what was money for?
        There was certainly no protest from Kate on the way any of it
looked, though; she discovered each new item with delight.  When the
impromptu fashion show was finished, she put on her favorite of the
outfits for the evening.
        One of the shops Juri had visited had stylish variations on
functional sweaters, of combed cotton in various colors that would
never have been used in a working environment.  The one that had
caught Juri's eye, and now Kaitlyn's, was a modified version of a
fisherman's sweater.
        The extremely soft black cotton had been knitted into two
variations on the standard vertical cable style, with branching
patterns framed between them that were reminiscent of a tree branching
up the center and out over the upper torso and shoulders behind the
cables.  To further accent the impression of the tree, highlights of
orange and red were knitted in an almost random distribution that
resolved, at a small distance, into leaves on the branches.  Around
the hem of the sweater, which fell mid-thigh on Kaitlyn, yarn of a
soft, pale grey was worked in to provide a "ground" for the tree,
reminiscent of snow.  Chevrons of the grey and black cotton barred the
sleeves.
        To go with the sweater, Juri had found charcoal grey silken
slacks and a matching silk scarf, almost transparent, to knot around
Kate's neck and accent the boat neckline of the sweater.  She had also
found a black-and-orange purse made from an old silk kimono in an
accessories shop, and low-heeled character dance shoes; the straps
over the tops of Kate's feet were just covered by the hem of the
slacks.
        While Kate admired herself in the closet-door mirror, Juri
took a few moments to put the curls back in her hair, and then off
they went to the Eiffel Tower.

        They re-entered the lobby of the Hotel des Deux Iles at around
ten-thirty, laughing over some joke shared on the way back from the
Metro stop on the Ile de la Cite, when Kaitlyn paused in surprise.  A
stocky man who looked to be in his early twenties was leaning against
the wall next to the elevator, his hands in the pockets of his jeans,
pinning back the tails of a long green trenchcoat.  His face was
obscured by a black fedora hat, since he seemed to be examining the
toe of one of his red and black sneakers.
        He looked up as they entered, and Juri noticed that he
resembled Kaitlyn and her brother Corwin a bit.  Another brother,
perhaps, this one college-aged?  But Juri could have sworn she'd heard
someone mention that Kaitlyn was the eldest... 
        The man pushed himself away from the wall and marched briskly
across the room, a smile breaking out on his open, slightly whiskery
face; Kate took a couple of trotting steps and met him, falling into
his embrace with a happy little sound.
        <What are you doing here?> she asked him in Standard, sounding
immensely pleased.  Juri arched an eyebrow in surprise; Kaitlyn hadn't
stuttered at -all- addressing this fellow, whoever he was.
        "I came to wish my best girl a happy birthday, of course," he
replied with a grin.  "What else?"
        She went a little pink and said, "Don't let Mom hear you say
that."  Then she turned to indicate Juri.  "Dad, this is my friend
Juri Arisugawa.  She's Dorothy's roommate back at WPI, and used to go
to Utena's old school.  J-Juri, th-this is my f-f-father."
        "Ben Hutchins," said he, offering a hand.  "Most people call
me Gryphon, but you don't have to if you don't want.  I'm not militant
about it," he added, grinning.
        "Charmed," said Juri, shaking the offered hand.  This man was
Kaitlyn's father?  He looked, at most, five years older.  But hadn't
someone - Dorothy, maybe? - mentioned something about extended
lifespans in Kaitlyn's family?  She couldn't remember for certain, but
she had the impression that the family name was a fairly prominent one
here in this world.  She would have to do more research.
        "Did you guys just eat?" Gryphon asked.  Informed that they
had, he shook his head.  "Just the luck.  Ah, well.  Is there
someplace around here I can buy you a drink at, anyway?  I think
you're old enough for it now, in France anyway - if you want one."
        Kate didn't have the heart to tell him she'd already had her
inaugural drink, both unofficially (at the Brasserie Dauphine on
Sunday night) and officially (in the Jules Verne restaurant on the
second level of the Eiffel Tower, just now).  Instead she smiled and
said she thought the Brasserie Dauphine was probably still open.
        "I'll let you two have some time to yourselves," said Juri.
"It was nice meeting you, Mr. Hutchins."
        Gryphon winced.  "Are all your friends going to insist on
calling me that, Kate?" he wondered.
        "Probably," Kate told him.

        In his 431 years of life to date, Benjamin Hutchins had
learned a great many languages.  Some of them he had learned out of
practical necessity: Salusian, for example, the better to communicate
with the WDF's oldest and staunchest allies.  Others he had learned
for the sake of convenience, like Vulcan (a common language of
learning, especially in starship engineering and warp propulsion
circles).  Still others he had picked up just by whim, because he
enjoyed languages and collected them like some people collected hats
or coins - what other reason could anyone have for learning Esperanto?
        Somehow, though, in all his years of linguistic pursuit, he
had missed out French.  It was very possibly the only Earth language
he didn't know, but his ignorance of it was profound.  He could
pronounce place names passably, so he wasn't a complete Ugly American
("Pardon-ez moy, monsoor - how can I get to the Aisle dee la City
from here?  Do I have to take the Champs Ulysses?"), but ordering in a
brasserie was a bit beyond him, so Kate took care of that.
        The three inspectors from the Quai des Orfevres were in
their usual booth, and raised their glasses in cheerful greeting as
Kate entered.  Marcel Janvier bustled over - like all good publicans
he was an expert bustler - and though he was a bit disappointed that
Kate had already eaten and hadn't brought with her the most charming
Miss Juri, he at least prevailed upon her to take a bottle of
Beaujolais as a birthday gift ("It is perhaps not the world's most
sophisticated wine, but it is very accessible").  Gryphon let her
order, and before long he was nibbling at bits of fried mozzarella and
smiling nostalgically at his eldest daughter over a pint of the
establishment's own dark beer.
        "So," he said.  "How are things going?  Good conference this
year?"
        Kate nodded.  "Yeah, it's been great.  The usual wrangles with
Ragulin and his bunch from the Ecole Musico-Pretentious, but nothing
too bad."  She grinned broadly and added, "M. Chalfant picked Sonata
No. 14 in G to be one of the main solo performances for tomorrow!"
        "That's great!" said Gryphon, beaming.  He jumped up from his
seat, rounded the table and caught her up in a hug, right there in the
brasserie.  "Congratulations!  You'll be playing it yourself?"
        "Mm-hmm," she said.  "It'll be the world premiere.
Although... "  She glanced at the upright piano in the corner and
smiled.  <M. J-Janvier?> she inquired in French.
        <Yes?> the patron replied from behind his counter.
        <M-m-may I b-b-borrow y-your p-p-piano?>
        <Go right ahead,> said Janvier with a smile.  <It's been
waiting for you since last year.>
        Kate went to it, noting that if nobody played it, at least
Janvier or Madame Janvier kept it clean.  The keycover was shining and
dustless as Kaitlyn slid it back and bared the keyboard.  She settled
herself behind the keys, composed herself for a moment, and then began
to play.
        The sonata was twenty-two minutes long and composed of three
parts: a light, sparkly allegro; a somber, gloomy, but hopeful-feeling
adagio; and a furious, striving presto that thundered like a freight
train toward a glorious release.  To Gryphon, the whole thing sounded
a bit like what his life from 1991 to 2388 would have sounded like if
it had been compressed into a twenty-two-minute piano sonata; which
was, in fact, the basic idea.
        Applause broke out as Kaitlyn finished, slightly flushed, and
closed down the piano again; plump, smiling Madame Janvier came out
from the kitchen to join in with her husband and the three detectives
from the Quai, who were all on their feet.  Now she blushed outright,
but took a bow anyway, then waved off their continued applause with
an abashed smile and went back to the table where her father, too,
stood clapping.
        "Enough, enough," she said, gesturing him back into his seat
as she took her own.  Just then Madame Janvier brought him his steak
and fussed about about how proud he must be of his beautiful and
talented daughter, who would no doubt go far.  He assured the good
lady as best he could, using that freshly-embarrassed daughter as
translator, that he was indeed just as proud as he could be.
        "It's funny," Kaitlyn observed, taking a drink of her beer and
savoring the rich, dark bitterness.  "I can perform in front of a
crowd of hundreds without turning a hair - get up there and play, and
sing, and jump around with the Art of Noise - and it never bothers me,
but an intimate little gathering like this... "
        "Oh, well, back to work," grumbled Superintendent Marquette as
he got to his feet.  "Come on, boys.  20 Masks won't catch himself.
On your feet, Lucas."
        "Slave driver," complained Sergeant Lucas good-naturedly.  "Do
you think we should stand for this treatment, La Fontaine?"
        Dark-eyed La Fontaine smiled sardonically at her slightly
chubby colleague and replied, "I think Janvier ought to hire the young
lady, so we can have entertainment of that caliber in here every
night."
        When they had gone, Gryphon smiled across the table at Kaitlyn
and said, "So you're enjoying your trip?"
        "Immensely," Kate replied.  "The conference has been going
well, and Juri... "  She paused, fumbling for an explanation that
wouldn't take all night.  "I really like her, Dad," she said after a
few moments' thought.  "I mean... as more than just a friend.  You
know what I mean?"
        Gryphon grinned gently.  Back at Christmastime, when Kate and
her roommate had taken to sleeping together, he had wondered to his
daughter about the nature of that interaction - not out of concern,
merely curiosity, wondering how they stood and whether he ought to
show a bit more discretion in their presence.  She'd told him it
wasn't as it appeared, because Utena wasn't into that sort of thing -
that they were very, very close in many ways, but not sexually.
        It had come out in the conversation that ensued, though, that
Kate thought she herself probably would be interested, if the right
girl came along.  It was hypothetical, since that girl -hadn't- come
along so far, but...
        Her father, for his part, hadn't been upset, or even
particularly shocked.  Once upon a time, when he'd been her age, he
might've been - rural Maine in the twentieth century wasn't the best
of places place to get a cosmopolitan view of the world's variations
on a theme - but that had been before the Wedge and the hundreds of
years of eye-opening life that had come with it.  So he'd just told
her to tread carefully and try to be as sure as she could before
taking any great plunges that she was doing the right thing for her,
and to bring her troubles to him if she had any, so that he could do
whatever he could to help.
        "I know," he said, nodding.  Then, wryly, he added, "I once
met a redhead who had that effect on me, too."
        Kaitlyn chuckled a bit at that, though her eyes were still
serious as she went on, "I don't know if she'd be interested, though.
I don't know her well enough yet to... to ask about that kind of
thing.  But maybe.  I think Utena said once that Juri had a
girlfriend, back where they came from, or maybe it was just that she
wanted one.  I can't remember exactly how it went.  That was back
before Christmas, and I was... paying more attention to what Utena was
saying about herself.  I didn't think I'd -meet- the other people she
was talking about."  She sighed.  "Anyway... if that was true... then
maybe... maybe I have a chance.  What do you think?"
        "I think it's best if you don't fret," he said, reaching
across the table to pat her hand.  "Or rush.  You've got a long time
ahead of you for that kind of thing to work itself out."
        Kate smiled.  "I know.  I just... well, I'm not -lonely-,
exactly.  I have a lot of friends, really good friends... and Utena's
the best friend and the best roommate in the universe.  But... "  She
reddened a little.  "I... "
        Gryphon chuckled.  "I know what you're trying to say.  But
that's the sort of thing that's better left to develop on its own,
rather than trying to engineer it.  Trust me.  Just... let it ride.
It's better spontaneous - but unhurried, too," he added with a rather
sly grin.
        "Hadn't you and Mom known each other for something like a
week?" Kate asked dryly.
        "That -was- very spontaneous," Gryphon admitted with mock
chagrin, "but I'll have you know there was no hurry," he added with
equally mock indignation.  "Why, we wasted most of a day on it."
        That broke them up laughing, and as he polished his bar, the
patron smiled.  He had no idea what they were talking about, but it
was good to see a father and daughter so close as that, whatever the
topic.  The fellow was young-looking, but what else could he be but
her father, the way he looked at her?  Marcel Janvier had three
daughters himself.  He knew.
        "Seriously, hon," said Gryphon when they'd finished.  "I know
this is going to sound as stupid to you as it did to me when -my-
father said it, long ago when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, but... "  He
paused, then went on slowly, halting now and again to corral his
thoughts for the next bit.  Kaitlyn finished her beer and waited
patiently - she knew better than most how hard it could be to line
your thoughts up and push them out across your tongue, after all - as
he said,
        "If it's a thing that ought to be, then it'll work out.  Don't
try to force it.  Just... just be the best friend you can, and if you
have an opportunity to... to let it be known that you wouldn't mind
being more than that, then... let it be known and see what happens.
It might work and it might not, but at least then you'll know... and
if it doesn't, then that's not the end of everything."  He grinned
sheepishly, ran his hand back across his hair, and went on, "Listen to
me, I sound like I'm reading out of a book.  'How To Give Your Kids
"The Talk"' or some such foolishness."
        Kate nodded.  "Mm-hmm."  Then she reached across the table and
took his free hand, smiling.  "But I understand what you're trying to
say, and I appreciate it."
        "I just... I want you to be happy, Kate, however you can,"
Gryphon told her, looking as serious as she'd ever seen him.  "I worry
that... your... "  This part was very hard; he slowed almost to a
crawl.  "Your... past experiences... will... will tarnish what comes
after them.  You know?  There's a lot of joy to be had in this world,
if you can dodge the rocks.  I'm... "  He sighed, and suddenly the
words rushed out of him as though the sigh had dislodged the
obstruction that had held them back.
        "I'm torn, Kaitlyn.  I want you to be careful, because it'd
kill me if anything like that happened to you again, but at the same
time I don't want you to be -paranoid-, because if you are you'll
cheat yourself out of the joy that life can bring if you're open to
it.  Part of me wants to be the sort of black-comedy father who guards
his daughter like a bank vault, screening her friends like they're
applying for a job in data security... but the rest of me knows that
you have to live your own life, and trying to protect you that way
would only make you hate me.  I try to stay out of your way and then I
worry I'm neglecting you.  I try to watch over you and then I worry
I'm crowding you."  He shook his head.  "Now I'm not making any
sense."  He offered her a wry grin and said in mock complaint, "Man,
this parent thing is -hard-."
        Kate chuckled and squeezed his hand.  "I understand, Dad.
Really.  I do.  And I want you to know that I'm -not- going to let
what happened to me poison the rest of my life."  She met his eyes,
steady and smiling.  "I'm not very bold," she said, "and that's both
an advantage and a disadvantage.  But I get by, Dad.  I have a lot of
good friends, people who are there for me, to help me dodge the rocks,
as you put it.  I have the Federation, I have Utena, I have Corwin, I
have Marty and Eiko and Mom... and I have my father, who loves me and
frets about me and wants me to be happy."  She got partway up, leaned
across the table, and kissed his cheek.  "And I love him for it all."
        Gryphon smiled, looking like he was about to get a little
teary-eyed; then he got up, paid the check, and left the Brasserie
Dauphine with his arm around his daughter's shoulders.  He walked her
to the door of the Hotel des Deux Iles in comfortable silence, and
then, on the sidewalk outside, hugged and kissed her goodbye.
        "Good luck tomorrow," he said.  "Wish I could be there, and
your Mom too.  Oh - I almost forgot," he added, looking rueful.  He
reached into the pocket of his coat and took out a small box, then
handed it to her.  "These are for you."
        Kate took the box and opened it in the pool of golden light
cast by the hotel's front lamp, then made a delighted little sound.
Inside was a pair of earrings, little silver maple leaves perhaps the
size of a dime.
        "I know how much you like Canada," her father said, "and even
though you already got your big present, I couldn't come and see you
empty-handed on your birthday."
        Kaitlyn balanced the box in her hand and put on first one of
the earrings, then the other; then she tucked the box into her pocket
and hugged her father again.
        "Thank you," she murmured.  "Thanks for everything.  I love
you, Dad."
        "I love you too, Kate," he replied.  "Happy birthday."  When
they parted, both smiling and a little misty-eyed, he patted her
shoulder and said, "Boy, those go well with that sweater.  Did you
pick it out?"
        "No... Juri kind of bought me a wardrobe for my birthday.
She's got a lot of style, and I guess she decided I needed some
fancier clothes."  She ran her hands down the sleeves and smiled.
"It's all nice, but this is my favorite piece."
        "It's beautiful," said Gryphon, nodding.  "I guess she must
like you a -little- if she gave you something like that," he added
with a sly grin.  Kate reddened a little and whacked him in the
shoulder.  He took the opportunity to hug her once more, then said,
"Well... good night, hon.  And... good luck - in whatever you do."
        She grinned, patted his hand on her shoulder, and then turned
and went into the hotel.
        Gryphon stood for a moment on the misty sidewalk, then walked
away up the rue Saint-Louis-en-l'Ile, whistling "Harlem Nocturne".

        Kate got back to Room 2305 humming, for some reason, exactly
the same tune.  Juri, who was sitting on her bed with her shoes off
watching the late news on TV, smiled as she entered.
        "Those are pretty earrings," she said, reverting back to
Gaulish now that they were alone.  "Last-minute present from your
father?"
        "Mm," said Kate.  She put the Beaujolais on the table, then
paused in front of the closet-door mirror to admire herself.  Kaitlyn
wasn't the neurotic sort of girl who was convinced she was ugly when
she wasn't - she was comfortable in her skin, behind her face - but it
wasn't all that often that she felt particularly pretty either.
Tonight, though, tonight she did, in these clothes, in this place, and
the earrings and the chilled pink of her cheeks added just the right
final touches.  She tried to freeze the image in her mind: portrait of
the artist on her sixteenth birthday.
        "Is he coming to the concert tomorrow?" Juri inquired.
        "N-no," said Kate as she sat down to take off her shoes.
"It's invit-t-tation only, and IRC-c-c-CAM d-d-doesn't invite
p-p-people outside the m-m-musical c-community, except for the
p-participants' g-g-guests."
        "That's a shame," Juri mused.
        "He w-w-wouldn't l-like it anyw-w-way," said Kate lightly.
She got a set of her pajamas out of the top drawer of the bureau and
went into the bathroom, then emerged a bit later with her earrings in
their box, her good clothes neatly arranged on a hanger, and the
pajamas on her body in their place.  "D-Dad's kind of o-old-
f-f-fashioned," she went on, as though she hadn't interrupted herself
to change.  "All th-this n-newfangled exp-perimental music... "  She
shook her head with an indulgent smile.  "He'd be m-m-miserable
r-right up until m-m-my t-turn, and I'm on l-last."
        Kate hung her clothes in the closet, then went to the little
table in the corner, picked up her pocketful of change, and hunted a
few small bills out of her wallet.
        "I'm g-g-going to get a s-s-soda," said Kate.  "You w-w-want
anyth-thing?"
        "Mm... I am a little thirsty.  A Diet Hassy, if you please."
        "S-sure.  N-no p-p-problem."  She dropped the change and small
bills into her pajama pocket.  "B-be right b-back."
        Kate padded out into the pleasantly decorated, wainscoted,
carpeted hall and set off on her mission.  Since their arrival, Juri
had been handling the ice duties on this trip, so Kate hadn't been to
the vending machines so far.  Usually, they were at the end of the
hall, so she headed that way, anticipating an easy victory.  Whistling
cheerfully, she rounded the corner at the corridor's end, then
stopped.
        Before her stood an ice machine, rumbling happily away, but
nothing more.  There was no soda machine, nor was there a vacant space
where one could have been.  Confused, she retraced her steps back to
the elevator, then paced up and down the empty hallway on the opposite
side.
        Still no soda machine.
        She started back toward the ice machine (driven by the same
urge that prompts a person to look for the keys where they -ought- to
be for a sixth time), but stopped upon discovering a sign that she had
previously failed to notice.  Mounted on the wall opposite the
elevators, the sign proclaimed, "DISTRIBUTEUR AUTOMATIQUE: 25e ETAGE."
        OK, thought Kaitlyn to herself as she called for an elevator,
the hotel can't afford a vending machine on every floor.  Whatever...
        When the elevator doors opened, Kaitlyn stepped inside.  After
a brief smile and nod to the elderly couple that were already there,
she pressed "25".  The elevator whirred for a few moments, and then
opened to reveal a hallway identical to the one she had come from
except for the color; the 23rd floor was cream and coral, while the
25th was cream and teal.
        As promised, there was a vending machine.  However, the red
lights next to both blue-and-silver Hassy buttons and the single
silver-and-white Hassy Diete button made it clear that nothing was to
be gained by inserting coins.  Kaitlyn let out a growl of annoyance
and returned to the elevator.
        She rode in solitude up to the 27th floor, where she found
another machine.  This one was a newer model, sporting an image of a
can bearing the "I am a beverage of class and dignity" script-font
logo, rather than the "I am the beverage of the future" block-font
logo discontinued the previous year.  This year's vending machines
incorporated newly-designed Bait and Switch technology - that is to
say, they didn't inform Kaitlyn that both of her desired products were
sold out until -after- she inserted her money and pressed the buttons.
        The non-functional coin return was a nice added touch.
        Kate tried out a French expletive that she had learned but
never had occasion to employ, and grudgingly accepted a can of Moon
Mist as a consolation prize.  She then stormed back to the elevator.
        She was unable to access the 29th floor, since it required a
key, so instead she ventured down to the 21st floor.  As the doors
closed behind her, Kaitlyn stared icily at the sign which faced her:

                           GLACE: 23e ETAGE
                 DISTRIBUTEUR AUTOMATIQUE: 19e ETAGE

        Sure enough, a quick glance down the hallway confirmed that
the 21st floor had no equipment whatsoever in the (nominal) vending
area.  "W-what a w-w-way to r-run a railr-road," Kaitlyn muttered.
        The 19th floor had a soda machine, and cheerfully dispensed a
can of Hassy, but was sold out of Juri's preferred beverage.  Kate
briefly considered just getting another Hassy - it's not as if Juri
really -needed- the added benefit of a diet beverage - but discarded
the idea.  She had promised to come back with a Diet Hassy, and that's
what she was going to do.
        Now, it was a matter of honor.
        The machine on the 15th floor sat dark and powerless.
        Kaitlyn's next strategy was to bypass the 10th floor (l'Hotel
des Deux Iles being one of those places that refused to admit it had a
13th floor), and sneak up on the unsuspecting beverages from below.
She went all the way down to the 2nd floor (the 1st being listed on
the button as "C", whatever that stood for), but was greeted by
another sold-out machine.  The one on the 6th floor looked entirely
normal, but would respond to no provocation - at least the coin return
worked.  The 10th floor was another "no ice, no soda, no anything"
floor, and backtracking to the 8th only turned up a machine whose
display bore the ominous message "PORTE SVC".
        If the family of American tourists making their way up to the
26th floor was unnerved by the barefoot, scowling girl in the very
loud pajamas holding two soda cans under her right arm as she muttered
and waved indecisively over the button panel with her left hand, they
hid it well.
        It was on the 17th floor that Kaitlyn finally found a machine
containing (and willing to part with) Juri's preferred beverage.  She
purchased two, as well as a second Hassy Cola for herself.  At least
she wouldn't have to go through this ordeal a second time.  The extras
could go into the ice chest... and at this point, she knew exactly
where to go to get ice.
        "There must be a story here," said Juri dryly as Kate entered
room 2305, unloaded her pyramidal stack of beverage cans, and picked
up the ice chest.
        "Nnnrrgghh," said Kate, and she went back out after the ice.
        Juri looked after her for a moment with a bemused expression,
then smiled and cracked open one of the Diet Hassys.
        Kate returned in a slightly better mood, the ice machine not
having put up a fight, and told Juri about her ordeal.  Just as she
finished, the telephone rang.  Both glanced at the clock, confirmed
that it was midnight, and then looked with almost identical puzzled
expressions at the phone; then Juri answered it and discovered that it
was Utena, calling from Worcester (where it was only 6 PM) with
birthday greetings for Kate.  She knew, as most of them did back
there, that since Kate didn't have to get up until noon Paris time on
Friday, she would still be awake now.
        Kate chatted with her roommate for a few minutes, then Corwin
(what was -he- doing at WPI on a Thursday night?  Kate resolved to
investigate further when she returned home, since he wasn't
volunteering and she didn't feel like breaking up the mood by asking).
Then she received greetings from everybody who could be rounded up at
WPI as the phone was passed around on that end.  Shortly thereafter,
Aunt Bell called from Tomodachi, and another round of well-wishes came
from the Norse branch of the family.  Not long after -that-, it was
the turn of Kate's mother and her siblings back in New Avalon, with
Marty and Eiko Rose elbowing their way onto the line near the end of
the call.
        Things finally quieted down around 1.  Juri found a Maigret
movie on the Classic Film Network; they played a few hands of belote
decouverte (a popular French card game) and talked about the week.
Finally, at around 3, they turned out the lights, shut off the TV, and
settled down in the soft, homey, mismatched quilts of their creaky
iron beds and went to sleep.  As she drifted off, Kaitlyn reflected
that she'd have to dig back pretty deep to find a better birthday than
this had been.  As good, maybe, but better?  That would take some
doing.
        Halfway to unconsciousness, she turned over in her cocoon of
covers, tucked Seven a little more firmly against her chest, and
looked across the gap between the beds at Juri.  The elder girl didn't
curl up when she first went to sleep; she lay on her back with her
head tipped back on the pillows, face turned up to the ceiling, her
arms along her sides outside the covers.  Kate regarded her profile
for a few moments in the dim glow of the lights of Paris filtering
through the curtains, watched the patchwork of her quilt rise and fall
with her breathing.
        Some people, even rather mature, serious people like Juri
tended to be, become children when asleep.  Kaitlyn had seen the
phenomenon on the face of Amanda Dessler, who was often serious to the
point of appearing almost humorless: when Amanda slept, her visage
acquired a sort of innocent timelessness that gave her a little-girl
air.  Kate's own mother, an honorary Valkyrie and a veteran of
countless battles and three childbirths, looked as innocent, carefree,
and helpless as a newborn in her sleep.
        Juri, on the other hand, looked like Juri, only asleep.  She
had the same perfect, unruffled composure in sleep that she had in
wakefulness, the same slightly distant and slightly awesome aspect.
There was no vulnerability in it, only a sort of cool remove, like a
statue of a goddess in repose.  Kate felt a rather silly urge to get
up, go over there, and kiss that composed and lovely face and that
slim, inviting throat; to smash that shell of remoteness and reserve
and taste the warm, vibrant human being she sometimes glimpsed within
it; to run her hands along the smoothness of Juri's skin, hold the
redhead in her arms, and tell her all the secrets in the world...
        ... But if she kept thinking -that- way, she'd -never- get to
sleep, and she had a big day tomorrow.  So she turned over again,
exchanging that view for the blankness of the bathroom wall, and
sighed the sigh of a girl who knows, or thinks she knows, that she's
contending in the wrong weight class.
        The lyrics to a new song were wandering through her brain as
she shut it down.

        Kate rose at noon, dressed in her gray suit, put on her
maple-leaf earrings, and left the Hotel des Deux Iles carrying the
smaller of her two bags.  Juri had nothing to do with herself until
seven that night, when the International Conference of Modern
Composers' closing ceremonies began at the Centre Pompidou.  Well,
almost nothing.  Once Kate had gone, the redhead spent a few minutes
examining her invitation to the concert and reception, surveyed her
formalwear options, and decided they could be improved upon.
        She arrived at the Centre Pompidou at six-forty, and since she
was a bit early, she took the time to stand outside, across the
street, and... well, -admire- wasn't really the right word.  The
Centre Georges Pompidou was perhaps the ugliest building Juri had ever
seen, so comically hideous that she couldn't quite believe the
architects had really meant for it to look like that.
        To Juri, it looked more or less like a warehouse that the
construction crew had walked away from when they'd about half finished
it.  It was a long, low box covered with metal-tube scaffolding and
exposed support beams and sporting a rather incongruous canopied
escalator running up one of its sides.  This had apparently been a
bold architectural statement of some kind in the 1970s, when the
building was raised; and now, of course, it was An Historic Cultural
Icon, and so couldn't be pulled down no matter -how- much of an
eyesore it was.
        Reflecting that perhaps it did indeed take all kinds to make a
world, Juri entered the building (which had the same ragtag,
deliberately half-finished feel on the -inside-) and found her way to
the underground auditorium.  Upon surveying the other guests gathered
there, she decided she had made the right decision in mounting a
new-formalwear expedition.  The thousand or so people present ranged
quite widely, from the affectedly disaffected youths in black leather
and duct tape (who were constantly talking in tiredly disgusted tones
about the bourgeoisie), to the more traditional symphony-types in
black tie and tails, the women in frilly, bustly, ruffly dresses as
elaborately constructed as public-works projects, dripping with
conspicuous jewels.
        In her simple, broad-strapped, low-necked, wasp-waisted gown
of cream-colored satin, elbow-length matching gloves, and a string of
unembellished pearls, Juri prowled among them with a very faint and
self-satisfied smile.  She was elegant but understated, somehow
managing to make the antiformal proles and the overdressed bourgeois
look equally trashy when compared alongside her.
        Monsieur Carl Chalfant, a very boring middle-aged man wearing
a tuxedo and a shirt so stiffly starched it almost looked like it
might crack if he bent down, welcomed all to the sixty-seventh annual
Conference Internationale des Modernes Compositeurs.  A program of ten
musical compositions representing what he described as "the very best
that the finest modern composers and performers in the civilized
galaxy have to offer" followed his interminable opening remarks.
        Of the first nine pieces played, Juri enjoyed five, was
interested by but didn't enjoy one (an extremely intricate
all-percussion piece by an ensemble from Granvaal IV, which was
technically very intriguing but hurt her ears), was indifferent to
two, and completely loathed the ninth.  This was the offering of the
Ecole Musico-Technologique.  Owing to its "extreme complexity" and
reliance on "modern recording and signal-combination techniques", it
could not be performed live, it had to be played from an optical
crystal; the honor of introducing it, cuing it up, and kicking it off
went to the lanky, haughty, slightly greasy young man, maybe two or
three years older than Juri from the looks of him, who apparently bore
only the single name "Ragulin".
        When Kaitlyn had described her impressions of the Ecole
Musico-Technologique's output, Juri had assumed she was exaggerating
for comic effect, and possibly also out of a sense of rivalry with
this "Ragulin" character.  But no; no, it was, if anything, -worse-
than Kate had said.  It went on for nearly half an hour - various
scraping, twanging, whirring noises overlaid one atop another until
they blended into something that sounded rather like what Juri
imagined a ramjet would sound like if it tried to play the bagpipes,
interspersed with utterly random, spasmodic electrodrums and gravelly
samples of people saying very dire-sounding things in mixed German and
French.  When it ended, there was no warning; it merely stopped, as
though the crystal had run out of recording capacity in mid-muddle,
leaving a deafening, stunned silence in the auditorium.
        This lasted for perhaps five long, uneasy seconds, after which
the black-clad would-be socially-disenfranchised Marxist-anarchists
began applauding furiously... all five of them.  Everyone else
remained silent, their faces fixed in looks that varied from disgust
to disbelief to slightly pained social awkwardness, as if they had
just witnessed an acquaintance commit a monumental faux pas at a party
and didn't know how to react.
        Ragulin got stiffly up from his seat, retrieved the
datacrystal from the playback deck, held it up so that it glittered in
the stage lights, and declared loudly,
        "THIS is the future of Earth's music!  Don't you understand?
Fifteen thousand years of human cultural evolution has all been
leading up to THIS!"
        "Then may God save the people of the Earth, young man," a
gruff voice called anonymously from somewhere in the largest mass of
formally-dressed visitors.  A laugh made its way around the assembly,
in spots uncomfortable, in others hearty.  The five youths in black
got up and left in a huff, as, with a muttered imprecation about
Philistines, did Ragulin.
        "Er... well," said Monsieur Chalfant uneasily from the
podium.  "Yes.  Well, for those of you whose tastes are somewhat
less... shall we say catholic... "
        "Shall we say 'terrible'," said the waggish voice, drawing
another laugh.
        "... Er... if you please, M. Statler," said Chalfant in a tone
somewhere between embarrassed, guiltily amused, and admonitory.  "We
have one final performance for you this evening, of a somewhat more
traditional type.  Here from the United States to perform her Sonata
for Piano Number 14 in G, please welcome the student director of the
Worcester Preparatory Institute Orchestra, Miss Kaitlyn Hutchins."
        Kate emerged from the wings at stage right, and Juri, sitting
in the front row, blinked in surprise.  Where had she gotten -that-
dress?  Juri certainly hadn't bought it for her, but looking at it
now, she rather wished she had!  Black silk with orange trim, a
tight-fitting little bar-buttoned jacket and black roll-cuffed
gloves - it was really quite lovely, if in a style Juri found somewhat
unusual.  She made a mental note to interrogate Kate about it later.
        Now Kate stepped up to the front of the stage, next to
Chalfant, and bowed with her hands clasped before her in a fashion
that reminded Juri of home.  Then she turned and murmured something to
Chalfant, who smiled and addressed the microphone again:
        "Mademoiselle Kaitlyn has asked me to mention the help she has
received in perfecting this piece from her friend, colleague and
student deputy at WPI, M. Miki Kaoru, whose responsibilities at the
Institute prevented him from attending the Conference."
        Juri smiled.  That was just like Kate, wasn't it, to share
credit even when no one would have known the difference if she hadn't?
        Kate bowed again, then turned and went to the grand piano
which stood off to the left (set up out of the way of the Granvaalese
drummers, who had needed a lot of space).  She sat down, took off her
gloves, and laid them on the bench beside her, composed herself for a
moment, and then began to play.
        Being a friend of Miki, Juri had heard solo piano compositions
many, many times in her life.  She didn't know much about musical
theory or structure, but nevertheless, she thought she could recognize
the flavor of his touch in a few places in the piece Kaitlyn played
that night, seamlessly fused with the brown-haired girl's own
distinctive style.  The thought that, after only a few days or hours
or -minutes- of acquaintance (hadn't Utena said he'd started helping
Kate with one of her compositions the very day, the very -hour- the
two had met?), music could produce such a blending of arts, of... of
-souls- made Juri stop and think for a moment about the power that
this medium held.  The piano could bring two people together so
closely that their voices became one; or it could, she knew from
Miki's own history, make enemies of a brother and his sister.
        What a tremendous power... 
        She abandoned that train of thought, settled back in her seat,
and listened to the music rather than dwelling on the stories behind
it.  It seemed to tell a story itself, one of damaged happiness
reforged in the fires of a great trial - that was a rather fanciful
interpretation, perhaps, but that was the way it made Juri feel.  She
wondered, as Kate finished the towering crescendo that led to the
piece's climax, if the pianist had written it before or after learning
Utena's story.  If after, then it was a bold bit of prediction, wasn't
it?  Kaitlyn as seeress, truthsaying the future with a piano instead
of a crystal ball?
        The applause when Kaitlyn finished was rather more immediate
and heartfelt than that which had followed her piece's predecessor,
and when she stood to take her bow, she was flushed with triumph, like
a runner who has just won a race.  For her (and for Miki, unknowing
and thousands of miles away), Juri stood up, bringing the room with
her, and made her appreciation known - of the music itself, and of all
the thoughts and insights that it had caused to race across her mind
while it played.

        They ditched the post-concert reception as early as was even
vaguely decent, with sly smiles and silent conspiracy, and ate their
own celebratory dinner at Fouquet's on the Champs-Elysees.  Kaitlyn
was buoyant to the point of nearly floating away, what with the
success of her performance, the compliment she'd received on Aunt
Bell's dress from Juri, and the way -Juri- looked herself - oh my!
Dinner at the historic, elegant, and very expensive restaurant after
such an occasion felt almost like a date, even if she hadn't asked and
Juri hadn't answered the question that kept rattling around in the
back of Kate's head.
        Yes, even without that, Kate felt a bursting sort of pride
that this lovely, sophisticated creature would be willing to be seen in
a place like this with her, would talk to her, laugh with her,
congratulate her on her moral victory over the forces of cacophony.
        "How did Ragulin end up on the selection committee, anyway?"
Juri wondered as they waited for their soup.
        "H-he's the s-s-senior at-t-tendee from the E-Ecole," said
Kate.  "A c-couple of IRCAM's d-d-directors take the Ecole s-seriously 
enough to k-keep inv-viting them, and R-Ragulin's their b-b-bright
young s-star.  A 't-true visionary', they c-call him."
        "He can't be much older than we are."
        "H-he isn't," Kate confirmed, nodding.  "I th-think he's a
s-soph-phomore in c-college.  B-but the Ecole and p-parts of IRCAM
th-think he's a r-r-real p-prodigy, so... "  Kate shrugged.
"M. Ch-Chalfant and Mr. St-Statler - h-he's the c-c-conductor of the
B-Boston Pops, a d-dear man b-b-but a bit on the c-c-crusty side - "
        "He was the one who was heckling Ragulin?"
        "Mm-hmm," said Kate.  "H-he and Ragulin r-r-really dislike
each oth-ther.  It's k-kind of f-funny.  A-anyway, he and
M. Chalf-fant are alw-ways on the c-committee, and b-between them they
b-balance out Ragulin.  He's r-r-really n-not so b-bad, anyway.
K-kind of a p-p-prick, but I g-get the f-feeling he m-m-might g-grow
out of it, if s-somebody t-tied him to a ch-chair and made him
l-listen to g-g-GOOD m-music for a f-few weeks."
        Juri laughed.  "A service to all mankind," she said.
        Their conversation left the politics of IRCAM behind after
that.  They ate, and drank wine, and talked - of Juri's days in Paris
while Kate worked at the conference, of their evenings together
sampling the city, and of their plans and hopes for the upcoming
school term.  Kaitlyn asked where Juri was planning to spend the
summer holidays.  Juri, surprised, replied that she hadn't even
considered that yet, but that she might get an apartment there in
town, or perhaps in New Avalon - the city of which she was a citizen,
but which she had never yet seen.
        Kate smiled at that and said that she and Utena would
certainly be glad if she lived close by through the summer; Utena, of
course, would be staying with her at her father's house.  This
prompted Juri to remark that she'd welcome the opportunity to speak at
greater length with Kate's father, at some time when she wouldn't be
intruding on a special occasion.  Did she understand correctly that
the man was over four hundred years old?
        Indeed she did, and the explanation of that took much of the
rest of the meal.  They finished dessert, settled the bill without
examining it too closely, and left the restaurant almost arm in arm.
The night was much warmer than the evening before, unseasonably so,
as they strolled side by side down the broad sidewalk of the
Champs-Elysees toward the Place de la Concorde in their formal gowns
of satin and silk, the redhead in cream and the brunette in black and
orange.
        "Where did you get that dress?" Juri inquired quietly, smiling
privately as she did so at the sight of a young man in a waiter's
white waistcoat nearly tripping over a cafe-side curbstone as he tried
to watch them while still performing his duties.
        "Aunt B-Bell m-m-made it for m-me," Kate replied.  Then, her
cheeks coloring faintly, she asked, "D-d'you l-l-like it?"
        Juri nodded.  "It's very becoming," she said.  "A bit more
daring than I'd have expected from you," she added with a slightly
indulgent smile, "what with the sides and all."
        Kate's faint coloring deepened a little.  "Y-you sh-should see
it w-without the j-jacket.  The n-n-neckline on the d-dress itself is
ab-bout here," she said, holding a flattened hand at the approximate
level of the jacket's second button.
        Juri raised an eyebrow.  "My my," she said.  "Though the
jacket has its own charms," she went on.  "It makes the whole thing a
little more exotic than it would be if it were just a gown with a bold
neckline.  Quirky but charming, very you.  Your aunt understands a
thing or two about tailoring the style to the wearer."  She grinned
and pointed discreetly to a gentleman who had just nearly walked into
a lamppost.  "Even with the jacket -on- you're causing accidents."
        Kate's little touch of color upgraded itself to a full-on
blush; after a few moments, she managed to murmur, "It's y-YOU
th-they're l-l-looking at."
        "Partly," Juri allowed nonchalantly, "but not entirely."
        In fact, Juri thought she rather envied Kaitlyn, in a way.
The brown-haired girl could choose to be striking, or not.  She was
always pretty, and as she'd demonstrated tonight, with the right dress
and a little work she could be considerably more - but she didn't
-have- to be.  If she wanted to go back to being just pleasant to look
at, all she had to do was change - and that gave her more impact when
she -did- do herself up as she'd done tonight.
        But there wasn't really a way of saying that which didn't
stand a good chance of being misinterpreted as an insult, so Juri left
it unsaid and merely smiled to herself at the thought.
        For Kaitlyn's part, the lateness of the hour (it was nearly
midnight), the emotional and mental efforts of the day, the food and
wine, the beauty of the city, and the surprising warmth of the
realization that Juri had just complimented her on her looks blended
her buoyant mood down to something more like a contented lassitude,
and she knew that it was time for bed.  They hailed a taxi at the rue
du Colisee, one of the funny little black ones.  It almost had the
flavor of a dream as the cab carried them from the gleaming bustle of
the Champs-Elysees to the calm and quiet of the Ile Saint-Louis, and
Kate was feeling very warm and sleepy in a deeply satisfied kind of
way as they rode the elevator to the twenty-third floor.
        Still, after changing to her pajamas and brushing her teeth,
she did manage to stay awake long enough to murmur in the darkness,
"J-Juri?"
        "Mm?" Juri replied.
        Kate turned over to face her and smiled drowsily through the
darkness across the gap between the beds.
        "Th-thank you for c-c-coming," she said.  "It's... i-it's
m-m-made this t-t-trip... r-really special."
        Barely visible in the dark, Juri smiled.
        "You're welcome, Kaitlyn," she said.
        "S-say... " Kate went on, and then she stopped, half hoping
Juri hadn't heard her, half praying that she'd ask - 
        "Yes?"
        "Are... "  Kate paused, her cheeks feeling hot, drowsiness and
lingering euphoria drowning away some but not all of her
trepidation; then she continued, "A-are we... f-friends?"
        There was a pause, just long enough to make the first faint
tickle of dread - Oh no, I've gone too far, I've asked too much, I've
ruined everything - touch Kaitlyn's heart; but then Juri's voice came,
and there was still a smile in it:
        "Yes, Kaitlyn... I believe we are."
        Relief rushed through Kate like a wave through the pilings of
a pier, and knocked away the last props of tension holding her in
something like wakefulness.  She burrowed a little deeper into her
covers, the smile on her sleepy face becoming a little dreamy, and she
replied,
        "Good... I'm glad.  Good night, Juri."
        "Good night, Kaitlyn," said Juri, but Kate was already asleep.
        Juri smiled and closed her eyes as well.  The first time she
had ever seen Kate, she had been in that same warm, happy,
semiconscious state.  Even though she'd only known the girl for a
month, the memory made her feel pleasantly nostalgic.
        ("aw, that's sweet... you brought me a redhead.  good
night... ")
        Juri chuckled wryly at herself.  Just the random mental
wanderings of a sleepy mind, roused from who knew what sorts of
pleasant dreams and still half-experiencing them in midstream, of
course; it meant nothing.
        Kind of a shame, really.
        Ah, well.

        On Saturday morning, Kate and Juri rose refreshed and
energized, put on traveling clothes, and went to the Gare du Nord to
catch a EuroMag levitrain to London.  They didn't do anything in
particular there, just walked around looking at buildings and talking
(and getting odd looks from the people in the street until they
realized that, out of pure habit, they'd been talking French).  they
just felt like being able to say that they'd gone.  Why not?  The
train ride through the French and English countrysides (and the
Eurotunnel) only took an hour each way, and watching those
countrysides whip past at nearly 400 miles an hour was quite an
experience all by itself.  Though they traveled much more slowly than
the suborbital shuttle that brought them to Europe in the first place
had gone, it was all so much more -immediate- when you were screaming
along six inches above the rails.
        They got back to Paris at fiveish, just in time to take
advantage of the Gare du Nord's location to walk up Montmartre to
Sacre Coeur, climb the dome, and enjoy its famous view of the city at
nightfall.  Then, just for the hell of it - it was a just-for-the-
hell-of-it sort of day - they attended the basilica's six o'clock Mass
before walking back down the hill and catching the Metro back
downtown.
        On the Ile de la Cite they dined at the Brasserie Dauphine one
last time; the Janviers and the three cops from the Special Squad were
almost like old friends now, and the parting at the end of the meal
was pleasant but a trifle sad.  They walked the Quai des Orfevres one
last time, too.  Juri was struck by how odd it was that something done
only two or three times could get to feel like a habit, how something
done for the first time less than a week before could already evoke
nostalgia, but there it was.
        They went to Berthillon, the world-famous ice cream shop on
the rue Saint-Louis-en-l'Ile not far from their hotel, and indulged
themselves shamelessly.  Then they just walked at random around
central Paris, as they had done in London earlier that day, enjoying
the sights and sounds of the city around them and feeling the pleasant
but piquant satisfaction that comes in the winding-down phase of a
successful vacation.
        Having decided to stay up all night in order to beat jet lag
(since they would be leaving Paris at 6 AM and arriving in Worcester
at about 2), they ended up sitting at a cafe in the rue des Ecoles at
around one in the morning, drinking strong coffee and watching the
students of the Quartier Latin on their weekend missions.  Intense
young men with sketch pads, pretty girls in combat boots and jeans,
brightly decked hipsters of both sexes hurried here and there on their
way to who knows what.
        Presently a couple of girls came in together, the one tall and
handsome, raven-haired and Roman-nosed, in jeans and a honey-colored
turtleneck sweater, the other a gray-skinned, white-haired, slim and
coltish Nebari girl, festooned with bangles and black leather.  They
took a corner table, held hands, and whispered conspiratorially,
giggling and occasionally stealing kisses as they drank tea and read
from a textbook propped up on the table in front of them.
        Juri raised an eyebrow and mused, "Interesting."
        "Mm?" said Kate, who had been looking down the street at a
young man wearing the most remarkably ugly suitjacket she thought she
had ever seen in her life.
        "Those two in the corner," said Juri.  "Not very discreet, are
they?"
        Kate looked, then shrugged.  "W-why sh-should they b-b-be?
They're in P-Paris and in l-l-love."  She smiled, sipped her coffee,
and added, "I c-c-can't think of a-anything b-better."
        "I suppose," Juri said.  "It's just a bit startling to see,
right out in public like that.  It wasn't done back home.  Men and
women, yes, but... "  She gave a wry smile and added, "I guess I'm a
little shocked."
        "I th-think it's n-n-nice," said Kate.  "M-maybe I'll w-write
a song ab-bout them.  Two y-young w-w-women in l-love, w-with Paris
and th-their whole l-l-lives s-spread out in f-front of them l-like
the p-pages of their sh-shared t-t-textbook... "  She gestured
vaguely.
        Juri smiled, nodded, filed that fact fragment away somewhere,
and finished her coffee in a speculative frame of mind.
        Then the pair of them went back to their room, changed into
their nightclothes, packed their suitcases, and hunted up a movie on
TV to kill the remaining time before they would have to leave the
Hotel des Deux Iles behind them and make the trek out to de Gaulle and
their flight back to the United States.

        It was two-twelve in the morning, Worcester time, when Kaitlyn
and Juri said good night to each other in the hallway on the fourth
floor of Morgan Hall.  They were too fried by now to dwell much on
what a good week it had been, so they merely smiled at each other and
let the smiles carry with them all the things they both knew the other
wanted to say, then entered their respective rooms on opposite sides
of the hall.  In both cases, their roommates were asleep, and didn't
wake to the sounds of keys in locks and the slashes of light that cut
across the floors and were extinguished again by the openings and
closings of the doors.
        Juri put down her suitcases, changed into her nightdress in
the dark, and left everything until morning in favor of climbing into
bed and going immediately to sleep.
        Kaitlyn followed almost the same procedure, putting on her
pajamas and taking a moment to unpack Seven.  Unlike Morgan 413, where
the beds were on opposite sides of the room, the beds in Morgan 412
were bunked, and Kaitlyn paused at the base of the ladder to look
smilingly into the bottom bunk at the sleeping face of her roommate.
        Utena was one of those people whose cares and worries all
vanished from her face in sleep - not that they tended to ride her all
that visibly when she was awake! - and it gave Kaitlyn a distinct and
powerful feeling of homecoming to look on that face, faintly lit by
the glow from her alarm clock and barred by the lights of the Quad
through the Venetian blinds.  Paris was beautiful, but this place,
this room, this girl - this was home.
        Kate impulsively leaned down and kissed her roommate's
forehead.  At the contact, Utena stirred, murmured, and then opened
her eyes slowly.  Recognizing Kate, she smiled a bit blurrily.
        "hey," she said, raising a languid hand to brush Kate's face
as the standing girl stepped back a bit.
        "I'm s-sorry," Kate whispered.  "I d-didn't m-mean to w-wake
you."
        "'sOK," Utena replied in a sleepy murmur.  "how was Paris?"
        "G-good," said Kate.  "I'll t-tell you all ab-b-bout it
t-tomorrow."
        "'K," said Utena.  "'sgood to have you home."
        Kate smiled.  "It's g-good to b-be home," she replied.
"G-g'night."
        "'Night," said Utena, who was asleep before Kate reached her
top bunk, let alone settled in.
        Yeah... 
        ... it was good to be home.

           /*  Journey  "To Be Alive Again"  _Arrival_  */

Eyrie Productions, Unlimited            Doin' time where it takes you
presents                                You know it's time that can break you
UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES                   We get caught in the moment
FUTURE IMPERFECT                        Just sleepwalking most of our lives
 - Symphony of the Sword -              In your mind when you need it
Entr'acte: The Rose that Blooms         With a song to help you believe it
  in the City of Light                  You can reinvent your world
                                        Anytime you like
                                        
The Cast                                To be alive again
(in order of appearance)                Wakin' up from where you've been
Juri Arisugawa                          Younger now than you were then
Kaitlyn Hutchins                        You're comin' round again
Marcel Janvier                          Do you remember when
Superintendent Jules Marquette          Life was so much simpler then
Emile Charbonneaux                      Like summer nights that never end
Benjamin D. Hutchins                    To be alive again
Eveline Janvier                         
Sergeant Martin Lucas                   Find the smile you've been missin'
Inspector Francoise La Fontaine         There's someone that you could
Carl Chalfant                             be kissin'
Ragulin                                 So open your eyes and see what's
John C. Statler                           been there all along
Utena Tenjou                            Letting go of your feelings
                                        The doubt and fear - you don't need it
Visualizer                              Break the chains on the heart
Benjamin D. Hutchins                    Of a soul that's been waiting so long

Resident Juriologist                    To be alive again
Philip J. Moyer                         Wakin' up from where you've been
                                        Younger now than you were then
Guy who took French in high school,     You're comin' round again
hotel soda wrangler                     Do you remember when?
John Trussell                           Life was so much simpler then
                                        Like summer nights that never end
Paris research conducted with:          To be alive again

Travelers' Tales: Paris                 You're not among the walking 
edited by James O'Reilly,                 wounded anymore
Larry Habegger, and Sean O'Reilly       There's a time to fall
                                        There's a time to rise above it all
Fodor's Exploring Paris,
Fifth Edition, by Fiona Dunlop          To be alive again
                                        Wakin' up from where you've been
Culture Shock! Paris at Your Door       Younger now than you were then
by Frances Gendlin                      You're comin' round again
                                        Do you remember when?
The 2000 Streetwise Map of Paris        Life was so much simpler then
                                        Like summer nights that never end
and the works of Georges Simenon        To be alive again

Miss Hutchins's wardrobe by             (Alive again)
Anne Cross                              (Alive again)
(She's been to Paris!)                   To be alive again
                                        Yeah
MegaZone's been there too               You make me feel alive again
(but he didn't like it)                 To be alive again

                 and of course les Suspects Habituels

                       The Symphony will return