Yuuichirou and Ryo were sitting at a table with a pair of pop cans between them when the Senshi arrived, luggage in tow. Michiru had the case holding her treasured violin in one hand and a medium-sized suitcase in the other. Haruka and Makoto were both hauling wheeled steamer trunks which could likely have swallowed a person whole, and everyone except Usagi was carrying at least one other piece of luggage.

“No explosions?” Ryo asked, faking a look of astonishment.

“No explosions,” Minako replied. “A few flare-ups and a bit of a snap-crackle-pop, but no explosions. We bumped into somebody who looked familiar, but it turned out to be a false alarm.” She shrugged. “You know how that is.”

“Uh, yeah.” Ryo picked up the hint that the situation had been dealt with. For Yuuichirou’s benefit, he added, “Crowds can do that.”

Yuuichirou scratched his head, reasonably certain that he was missing half the conversation here, but decided to forget it. “Welcome home, Kaioh-san, Tennou-san. Good to see you again. Hey, Hotaru-chan.”

“Kumada-san,” Michiru replied, nodding. Haruka gave him a sort of half-salute of greeting; Hotaru smiled and waved. Yuuichirou noticed the fourth new arrival and blinked, looking quickly at Usagi.

“ChibiUsa,” Usagi replied evenly, causing Yuuichirou’s eyes to widen in surprise. ChibiUsa crooked a finger and raised her hand to one side of her mouth, to hide her words; Yuuichirou leaned forward to listen.

“I’m in disguise,” she said in a loud, dramatic whisper. Hotaru smothered a giggle, and Minako didn’t even manage that; most of the girls smiled. Yuuichirou scratched his head for a second time, again certain that he was not being told the whole story.

“Quit staring and make yourself useful,” Rei snapped, heaving the suitcase she was carrying into Yuuichirou’s arms. She added the one Ami had been carrying on top of it, then walked down the hall, loosening up the arm that had been holding the suitcase as she went.

“Still haven’t learned how to stand up for yourself, I see.” Haruka grinned, after most of the others had passed.

“Survival mechanism,” Yuuichirou grinned back, getting a better grip on the suitcases. “You don’t tell Kaioh-san what to do, Chiba-san somehow holds onto his sanity with Usagi-chan, and I haven’t got my hide flayed off yet.”

“Not yet,” Haruka agreed.

Ryo, having caught most of the conversation, looked questioningly at Ami, who shrugged. Yuuichirou’s casual inclusion of Haruka with himself and Mamoru certainly suggested that he believed she was actually a guy, but none of them were really certain whether that was the case, or if Yuuichirou knew the truth and was just playing along in good humor. Either way, Haruka was having too much fun to spoil her favorite running gag.

“So, you still driving that rust-ridden excuse for a van?” Haruka asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good. My car doesn’t have enough room for this stuff. We had to rent one of those haulers to carry everything when we left.”

“Getting around with one of those locked on to your rear bumper must have been fun. Especially considering the way you usually drive.” Yuuichirou hefted the heavier of the suitcases. “So, what’s the plan, exactly?”

“Assuming that rusty junkpile of yours doesn’t break down...”

“...and that you don’t get pulled over for speeding...”

“...we’ll drop this deadweight off at the house and then head to the hospital to check up on Setsuna. And for your information, I,’ve never been ticketed yet.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Yuuichirou said, using the same sort of voice which phone-in psychics rely on for delivering bad news. A nearby psychic heard those words and, on a whim, decided to see what he could see.

While his gift was mostly a random thing, over the years Ryo had learned that it was sometimes possible for him to control the visions. He had once described it to Ami as ‘looking into the future instead of waiting for the future to come looking for me.’ It took a lot more effort on Ryo’s part than the usual premonition—a lot of focused staring into infinity, the tensing of certain muscles, the relaxing of others, and likely the firing of several hundred synapses that he wasn’t even aware of—but it was also much less disturbing than having an image plow its way into his skull from out of nowhere.

Of course, it was also much less reliable, working only once for every three or four times Ryo gave it a try, but this appeared to be one of his better days, as reality began to blur out and the vision blur in almost as soon as he focused.

“Well?” Ami asked quietly.

“No ticket.” Ryo paused. “I see Haruka—Sailor Uranus, actually—and she looks awfully angry about something, but I don’t think it’s a speeding ticket. Nobody could get _that_ mad over a ticket.”

“You haven,’t seen her around her car yet.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” Ryo shook his head, wondering who or what was going to be unlucky enough to get on the receiving end of that killer glare. It was scary enough to see the _image_ of a very angry Uranus staring at you; the reality was something Ryo was profoundly glad _he_ wasn,’t going to be on the bad side of.

“Hello, Setsuna.”

Setsuna looked up from the loosely-bound sheaf of papers resting on her lap and smiled. It was a genuinely happy smile, Usagi thought, as she responded in kind. Just about the only good thing to have come out of Setsuna’s amnesia was that the Senshi were getting to see a side of her they might otherwise never have known existed. When Pluto smiled, there was always something mysterious in it, as if she were laughing silently at you because of what she knew was yet to come—unless the future was to be a bad one, in which case the smile was faintly touched with sadness.

This, though, was just a smile. No secretive humor, no regret; just Setsuna, happy to see a friend.

“Hello, Usagi-chan. Have a seat,” she added wryly as Usagi settled down on the end of the bed.

“Whatcha reading?” Usagi craned her neck around to get a look at the papers. Whatever it was, it looked complicated.

“More of those notes Yotogi-san promised to drop off.” Setsuna flipped through some of the sheets. “He adds a few pages every now and then. Most of it,’s just little factoids and half-finished theories, but there’s a few things that have been interesting.”

“Such as?”

“Some mental exercises for improving self-control, an article on residual psychic imprints and psychometry...” Noticing that the fog was starting to roll in behind Usagi’s eyes, Setsuna let the explanation go. “Let’s just say I don’t think I,’ll be ready to visit any museums or graveyards for a while.”

“I can understand that,” Usagi agreed.

“So,” Setsuna asked, putting the papers aside. “A good question would be why you’re visiting by yourself today. A better question would be how you managed to slip past the others to do it.”

“I didn’t slip past them; they’re down the hall. I wanted to talk to you about something.” Usagi took a deep breath. “Haruka, Michiru, and Hotaru got back this afternoon, and ChibiUsa was with them. They’re waiting with the others.”

“And you came ahead to warn me?”

“Partly,” Usagi admitted. “But there was something else, too. You see... ChibiUsa said that when she came through, Pluto was at the Time Gate.”

Setsuna blinked. “Is that possible?”

“I think you’re asking the wrong girl,” Usagi chuckled. “I go through ‘impossible’ for breakfast every morning. And again at lunch. But in this case, Ami-chan said that ChibiUsa could have seen you _before_ whatever took away your memories happened, or _after_ you get them back.” She made a face. “More of that fourth-dimensional thinking stuff.”

“Or it could mean that somebody’s out there impersonating me.” A line from that frightening letter worked its way through Setsuna,’s mind. *‘There is no danger to the Time Gate while Setsuna remains in your part of the continuum. WE are guarding it.’*

Setsuna wondered if one of THEM was masquerading as her alter-ego; if so, there was going to be merry hell to pay when she finally caught up with THEM. Even though she had not transformed into Pluto since her arrival, Setsuna could clearly recall what it had felt like—the uncanny strength, the rush of energy even in reverting to normal—and the very thought of having yet another piece of her identity stolen made Setsuna angry. More than that, she was surprised to discover that the idea that somebody might be out there, wielding or even misusing the power and responsibility Pluto was entrusted with, truly bothered her. Even if she couldn’t remember how or why, that responsibility was HERS.

“We thought of that, too.” Usagi shrugged. “Personally, I like the second option better. But like it or not, there’s really not much we can do about it just now; for the moment, all we can really do is try to get you back to your old self. And meeting old friends is part of that.” Mistaking Setsuna’s change in expression for apprehension, Usagi quickly added, “We can wait, though, if you’re not ready to meet them.”

“No. No, I think I can handle it.”

“You’re sure?” Setsuna nodded. “Okay. I’ll go get them. Oh,” Usagi added, from halfway out the door. “I almost forgot. Don’t worry if ChibiUsa looks older than you expected; for us, it’s only been about six months, but she’s been in the future for a few years since her last visit. And don’t be too surprised if she or Hotaru-chan call you ‘Pu.’”

Usagi left the room, and Setsuna sat back, arms locked around one knee as she gazed quietly out the window. A sound at the door made her turn around; the five Senshi she knew and the four she didn,’t were filing into the room. Ryo was there as well, nodding politely before getting out of the way; Yuuichirou had been dismissed by Rei after dropping the girls off.

“Hey, stranger,” Haruka said, grinning. “Long time no see.” Most of the room’s occupants groaned at the double dose of bad humor; without breaking her own smile, Michiru planted her elbow in Haruka’s ribs. The taller girl doubled over with a whoosh of escaping breath, and Setsuna laughed.

“You, I like.”

“This does seem to be my day for making friends,” Haruka said in a slightly wheezy voice, smiling, the arm next to Michiru held in place as a shield against any further critiques of her sense of humor. “But since I’m not usually this nice, it’s probably just another sign of the imminent end of the wo-ouch!” ChibiUsa, who stood in front of Haruka, had just brought her heel down on the older girl’s toes.

“Oops,” she murmured, rolling her eyes, smiling because she knew Haruka couldn’t see her face. “Sorry.”

“I’ll bet you are,” Haruka muttered, limping backwards to get out of range, accidentally striking her own elbow against the door in the process. She cradled the injured arm and bit back a number of curses, glaring suspiciously at everyone in the room—particularly Usagi, the one that these things were _supposed_ to happen to. Haruka,’s eyes narrowed further when they took note of Ryo, looking off into space with a badly faked indifference.

“Maybe you should sit down, Haruka. Before you hurt yourself.” Michiru glanced at Setsuna who was, by now, openly laughing. *That in itself confirms everything Usagi said; the Setsuna I remember never used to laugh about something so trivial.* Michiru sighed. Coming through the door, she had hoped that maybe Usagi had been wrong, that Setsuna would be her old, familiar—if mysterious—self. So much for hoping.

With the exception of Pluto, Michiru had the greatest combination of maturity and experience as a Senshi; only Minako had been active as long, and she’d had Artemis to guide her through the early difficulties of adjusting to life as a supernatural warrior. And to help her face the fear that came when you realized that the monsters you used to read about in bedtime stories were real, the terror that welled up inside you when something that simply couldn’t exist rose up from the sea and came at you with teeth and claws and horrible snarling sounds, and you realized that it _did_ exist, that it _was_ real, and more than anything in the world it wanted you dead, but if it couldn’t have you it would settle for the people you loved most in all the world, and there was nothing you could do in time to stop it...

Michiru shook her head, scattering the old, painful memory. Like most of the Senshi, her powers had been triggered during a moment of danger, something buried deep in her body, mind, and soul reacting to protect her from an unnatural threat. But unlike the rest, she had been alone, forced to discover the limits of her powers and the requirements of her duty by herself. As a result, she’d had to grow up much faster, to single-handedly take responsibility not only for herself, but for the entire world.

Finding Haruka had helped ease the burden in many ways, had taken some of the loneliness away, as did meeting the Inner Senshi, and, later on, Hotaru. But with all of them, even Haruka—in some ways, especially with Haruka—Michiru was still the adult, still making the decisions.

When the four Outer Senshi had lived together, Michiru had, in Setsuna, finally found someone else to take over the task of being the adult for a little while. Older and far wiser, Setsuna had been as much of a parent and teacher to Michiru and Haruka as they, in turn, had been to Hotaru. As long as Setsuna had been around, Michiru could put aside her problems for a time and focus simply on being young. To see her now, like this...

Michiru sighed. It was time to grow up again.

Setsuna noticed the sighing. “Why such a long face?”

“You’ve changed.”

“I should hope so; I was a wreck for a while there on New Year’s. Would it make you feel any better if I said it wasn’t my idea?”

Michiru managed a faint smile. “Not noticeably, but I appreciate the effort.”

“So,” Setsuna asked, facing ChibiUsa. “I understand you may have run into me.”

“Uh-huh.” The pink hair framed an uncharacteristically grim frown. “Would you mind it if I’m just a little bit angry with you for not telling me you’d be like this?”

“Only if it turns out that the Pluto you saw was me _after_ all this,” Setsuna countered. “If that was me _before,_ or somebody else...”

“But that takes all the fun out of it!” ChibiUsa protested.

“Were you planning on getting home any time soon?” Setsuna asked her. “_Before_ the next millennium rolls around on its own?” ChibiUsa stared blankly, not getting the hint, and Setsuna smiled a wicked sort of smile. “Unless Usagi-chan’s been lying to me, I _am_ the only one who can allow people to use the Time Gate—assuming I don’t accidentally create a space-time anomaly which wipes out the planet while trying to relearn how to reach and use the thing. But if you spend too much time being angry with me for something which may not even be my fault, well, I can’t see how it would be anything but detrimental to my efforts, to say nothing of your own chances of getting home.”

“You wouldn’t.” It was hard to tell whether Usagi or ChibiUsa sounded more aghast at the idea; Rei’s lips were squeezed into an uneven line as she fought to keep from laughing. Setsuna merely lifted one eyebrow in a silent, “Wouldn’t I?” ChibiUsa considered that wordless challenge, then stared suspiciously at her ‘friend.’ “I’ll bet you were one of those evil little girls when you were young, weren’t you?”

“Maybe. So what’s your answer?” ChibiUsa made a noncommittal sound, and Setsuna nodded graciously. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

“_This_ is your idea of an amnesiac?” Haruka asked—from a chair.

“No.” Usagi smiled triumphantly. “_This_ is a well-informed amnesiac. Don’t forget, I,’ve been through this nonsense at least twice with Mamo-chan, and this time, we’ve had a week to try and fill in the gaps.”

“And Setsuna happens to have a very good memory,” Makoto added.

“Except for the things I can’t remember,” Setsuna agreed, before breaking into a chuckle.

ChibiUsa sighed. “I was right. She WAS an evil little girl.”

“And it’s all coming back to me now,” Setsuna said ominously. They all laughed this time—all except one. Setsuna looked at Hotaru, who was looking back at her, who had in fact been watching her since entering the room. For a moment, Setsuna thought she could see a small flare of purple light in the youngest Senshi,’s eyes, but it was there and gone too quickly for her to be certain. In a soft voice, Setsuna asked, “So quiet, Firefly?”

“You sound like you remember us,” Hotaru said. “But you don’t, do you? Not really.”

“Not really,” Setsuna admitted. “Does that bother you?”

“I might be able to help.” Hotaru walked to the side of the bed, half- raising her hands to Setsuna’s head. “I could try...”

“It won’t work.” Setsuna smiled sadly and took Hotaru’s hands in her own, crushing down the flicker of purple with her will before a timeflow appeared. “There’s nothing physically broken except some bones in my arm and back, and they’re already healing anyway. And even if you could repair memories, Luna already tried it; there’s nothing left to put back in place.”

“You don’t know that,” Hotaru whispered. “Not for sure.”

“You think I haven’t been trying to remember on my own? Every morning, I wake up and see these ugly holes in my mind; they’re black and horrible and they scare me half to death, and I’ve spent hours trying to finding something—ANYTHING—inside them. But there’s NOTHING THERE.” Setsuna let out a long breath, loosening her grip on the younger girl’s hands; that was more intense than she’d meant to be. Setsuna forced herself to relax and looked directly into Hotaru’s eyes. “It,’s true that I can’t remember you, but Usagi-chan and the others have been telling me everything they could. I know from them what using your power can do to you—and I know that you’re the kind of person who wouldn’t care if it meant you could help someone, especially a friend. If I thought for a second that you _could_ help me, I’d let you. But there’s nothing to heal, and I won’t let you hurt yourself trying. I want you to promise me that you won’t do that.”

“But...”

“_Promise_ me.”

“I promise.” Tears of frustration were welling up in Hotaru’s eyes. “But I... I just...”

“Shhh.” Setsuna embraced the younger girl, patting her gently on the back. Two thousand years in limbo aside, Setsuna knew she wasn’t old enough to be even Hotaru’s mother—but at the moment, she certainly felt like it. “I know.”

It suddenly occurred to Setsuna that she _did_ know; she knew the right words, the proper tone of voice, the correct touch to soothe a crying child, knew them well and knew them to be right. Setsuna had no idea how she knew, and she had to wonder; was this sudden maternal knowledge just the result of a million years’ worth of instinct and evolution?

No time to analyze it now; Hotaru was speaking again.

“You used to sing to me when I was little, and sometimes at night even after I changed back to normal, but you can’t even remember the songs now, and I just...” Hotaru pulled away, sniffing, brushing at her eyes. “I just wanted things to go back to the way they were. I know they can’t, but...”

“...but you had to try.” Setsuna smiled. “Still friends?” Hotaru nodded fiercely, sniffing again, and managed a smile of her own. “Good. Now blow your nose.” Setsuna handed her a tissue. “You’re a mess.”

That was enough to get Hotaru and the others to laugh. In her best imitation of little-girl obedience—which was very good—Hotaru took the kleenex, wiped away the tears, and blew her nose. Then, in her best imitation of little-girl impudence—which was just as good—she smiled and stuck out her tongue.

Setsuna thought of something. “Your birthday was a few days ago, wasn’t it?”

“That was what got _me_ into this mess in the first place,” ChibiUsa grumbled.

“No comments from the peanut butter,” Minako said. While the others tried to figure that one out, she looked at Setsuna. “What exactly are you up to?”

Ignoring the question, Setsuna took one of Hotaru’s hands and focused. The purple light sprang up immediately; this time, instead of pushing it away, Setsuna took hold of the mental construct with an iron grip of pure will, attempting to gain control over the timeflow and see a specific instant in Hotaru,’s life rather than the entire thing.

On the other side of the room, Ryo nearly fell over, catching his balance only with help from Ami and a wild grab for the mattress of the unoccupied bed. He was seeing only a blur of distorted colors, and his head felt like a tiger had just unsheathed its claws directly into his brain—or at least, that was the image his mind seemed to think best suited this bizarre new sensation. There was a split second in which he saw a clear image, and then the whole thing went away. It was most definitely NOT how the visions were supposed to work!

“You _saw_ that?” Ryo’s head turned; Setsuna had let go of Hotaru,’s hand, and was looking at him in absolute astonishment.

“If it was just the one image, yes.” Wincing at the sound of his own voice, Ryo lowered the volume to just above a whisper. “And in the future, would you kindly WARN me before you do something like that?”

“Sorry,” Setsuna apologized. “But at least it worked.”

“Would one of you mind filling the rest of us in?” Rei said.

“Hino-san,” Ryo begged, “please; not so _loud._”

“In about ten seconds,” Rei predicted, not lowering her voice in the slightest, “a headache’s going to be the least of your worries.”

“I wanted to know if I could get a less cluttered reception from the timeflow, so I took a look into Hotaru-chan’s future.” Setsuna smiled. “Care to hear it?”

“What _did_ you see?” Hotaru asked cautiously.

“Don’t worry; it wasn’t anything incriminating.” Setsuna laughed briefly, then grew serious. “I saw you, older, in a building that... well, it was very big, and I think it was made of glass. Something transparent, anyway.”

“Sort of like a small mountain? Lots of levels, big gardens inside, towers and a city outside?” Setsuna nodded. “Crystal Tokyo,” ChibiUsa said decisively. “What’d you see?”

“A garden on the third major level. It wasn’t quite what I’d expected, but...”

“There were two of them, weren’t there?” Ryo asked. “The picture was a little weird on this end, so I’m not entirely sure if I saw the whole thing.”

“Only two _what?_” Hotaru demanded.

“Children,” Setsuna said.

“Children?” ChibiUsa repeated in a weak voice.

“A pair of girls, about three or four years old. You were watching them play.” Setsuna reached out and briefly touched the end of Hotaru,’s hair. “And one had hair just like this.”

“Me?” Hotaru squeaked, blushing a bit. “A... baby? You mean I’m... going to be a mom? But... no, I... when?”

“Not for a while yet,” Setsuna reassured her. “You looked about thirty in the vision. But eventually.” Setsuna smiled. “Is that an okay birthday present? Even if it is a couple of days late?”

Hotaru’s answering hug made Setsuna’s half-healed ribs creak.

“She didn’t even TELL me!” ChibiUsa exploded. She looked at Hotaru. “Nothing personal, Hotaru-chan, but when I get back home, you are going to be in so much trouble that...”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s happened yet in your time, either,” Ryo interrupted. “_One_ of the girls had to be Hotaru-chan’s; the hair and the eyes didn’t leave much question. The _other_ one, though, was definitely NOT hers.”

“Not with that hairstyle,” Setsuna agreed.

“WHAT hairstyle are you...” ChibiUsa broke off when both Ryo and Setsuna looked at her meaningfully. “Oh.” Now it was her turn to blush.

“Maybe there,’s something _you’d_ like to tell _us?_” Minako observed pointedly.

“What? Oh, no. Mama and I had a long talk about that. Several talks, actually. A lot of those ‘princess rules,’ sure can take the fun out of things, but in this case, I don’t mind.” She glanced at Usagi. “Unlike _some_ members of my family, _I_ know how to wait.”

“Hey!” Usagi was on her feet, and the red on her face was equal parts anger and embarrassment.

“She’s right,” Rei agreed. “You’ve got a lot of faults, but impatience is definitely one of the worst.”

Usagi spun around. “You stay out of this! I’ve got a good mind to...”

“Uh, Usagi-chan?” Ryo interrupted hesitantly.

“WHAT?” Usagi demanded, rounding on Ryo with an expression that probably should have thrown him through the far wall of the next room. Well, maybe not that far—but it _definitely_ made him flinch for a second. Then the most bizarre look flashed across Usagi’s face.

“I _was_ going to warn you,” Ryo defended himself. “You heard me try to warn her, right?”

“Warn her about _what?_” Minako asked.

“She kicked,” Usagi muttered, rubbing her belly.

“Good for her,” ChibiUsa beamed. “I mean, me. Or us.” The smile was sliding rapidly into a frown as she tried to figure the peculiar situation out. She finally settled for, “This is so weird.”

“Better get used to it,” Makoto advised her. “You’re going to see plenty of it while you’re here.” Then Makoto frowned and scratched her head. “By the way, Usagi-chan, what exactly were you planning on telling your mother?”

Usagi and ChibiUsa both turned absolutely white, looked at each other, and gulped.

Janus was again sitting in the darkened throne room, studying words of light which hovered in the air above the table which had been brought in to replace the one shattered some days before in a fit of anger. The current group of words would have made little sense to most observers—not because they were in some arcane script or foreign language, but because the words themselves were strange—but Janus scrolled through page after page without pause.

A faint chime drew the composite being’s attention from the glowing words, and one hand absently pressed a spot on the arm of the chair. The words disappeared, the column of light and shadows in which they had been suspended filling with the features of a man with black eyes.

“Yes, Archon?” the male half of Janus asked.

“The last of the units has been retrieved, my lord, and we are beginning the recombination experiments. Barring any complications, we should have a second-generation unit ready for you within two weeks.”

“Why such a delay?”

“As I told you, my lord, the process of purifying and blending low-grade units in order to create a superior model is a difficult task even under ideal conditions. We cannot afford mistakes with our power reserves so low, so I prefer to take things one step at a time.”

“Perhaps.” Janus sat in silence for a moment. “As ever, Archon, I yield to your superior experience in these matters.” The dark-eyed head bowed, and Janus changed the subject, calling up the glowing words again. “I’ve been studying the reports. Is the damage really as bad as they indicate?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Archon,’s cold face was twisted by an icy frustration. “The protective magics we left here were powerful, to be sure, but they are very, very old now, and it was inevitable that some of them would fail.”

“But _this_ many?”

“I think the shift in the ley lines is more to blame than any particular defect in the spells themselves, my lord. Whatever happened to cause such a massive change in the planetary energy fields, it has left this area of the world relatively poor in mana, and without mana to fuel them, the spells were doomed to collapse.”

“And we still have no idea as to what could have caused that?”

“None,” Archon admitted. “The ley lines may flow and change over time, but in ten thousand years of Atlantean history, they _never_ shifted this much. I suspect that the cause is somewhere near the new supernexus, but the watcher has reported no trace of any device large enough to create this kind of effect.” The black-eyed wizard paused.

“Yes?” Janus prompted. “Was there something else?”

“No, my lord. Merely a call to return to my duties.” Archon,’s head bowed. “Atlantis shall rise.” Then the display went dark.

In his private chambers, the Atlantean archmage sat back in his own chair, eyes closed in careful thought as the image of his master faded out.

Something in the latest report from the watcher intrigued him. The network of traps the unit was slowly constructing in the city of Tokyo allowed its senses a much greater range than those of its now-destroyed or recalled counterparts, and each new report was slightly larger and more detailed than the last. The watcher lacked the intelligence or the knowledge to make sense of most of what it recorded, but in looking through those reports, Archon had found a small fluctuation in mana energy. It was neither dangerous nor large enough to be useful as an energy source, so the watcher,’s preprogrammed awareness had merely made a note of the power shift and then forgotten about it, but any wizard worth his staff would have recognized the effect immediately.

Someone in Tokyo was using magic.

Archon suspected that there were more likely two someones—or groups of someones—using magic, because there were two distinct types being used. One type, he did not recognize. It was both very powerful and very simple, and something told the archmage that the mysterious enemy that had destroyed three units was its source.

But the other type of magic he recognized all too well, for it was the same as that he himself practiced, the same efficient draw and weave of mana that all Atlanteans had used since the founding of their now-destroyed empire. Despite the fact that the sands and seas of two millennia had buried the once-mighty nation and everything associated with it, despite the fact that the last of a once-proud people had been trapped in a realm beyond time and space where nothing of this world could go—despite all that and more, someone in Tokyo was using Atlantean magic.

Not very well, admittedly. The lowliest apprentice Archon could remember teaching had possessed better control than this unknown practitioner. But then again, even the lowliest of Archon’s students had come from a world rich in magic, where even the blood of the lowliest commoners hummed with mystic energy. Whoever was out there was most likely self-taught, uncertain of their own strength or the power of the forces they were trying to tap. Such a person would possess either a long lifetime of experience, or a tremendous force of will, or perhaps a latent gift just coming to light.

And control could always be taught.

Archon had woven spells that would alert him when next this unknown spellcaster tried their hand, spells which would track and identify them. The archmage wondered which of his guesses was correct, what sort of person he would find. Someone with a lifetime of mistakes behind them would be too set in their ways to be useful, and someone whose will was strong but clashed with his own would have to be destroyed as a possible threat. But if it was someone with a waking gift that could be tamed, or one whose thoughts were cut from the same dark cloth as the master mage’s own...

Archon smiled. It had been a long time since he’d had an apprentice.

“TSUKINO!”

Usagi’s head, which had been drifting towards the smooth, cool, inviting surface of her desk, snapped to attention.

“Hai, Haruna-sensei!” Haruna stood only a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes hard, foot tapping—a scenario Usagi had seen a thousand times. Thinking fast, she said, “The city of Istanbul used to be called Constantinople, after the Roman Emperor Constantine took it over as his new capitol city.”

“Correct,” Haruna said grudgingly.

“And it was called Byzantium before that,” Usagi added.

“Also correct.” Haruna’s flinty glare was replaced by a mix of neutral approval, long-standing resignation, and a sort of bemused whimsy. It was a look that said ‘why am I here?,’ and hadn’t yet found an answer.

Up until the end of the previous term, Haruna had taught at the junior high level, and once upon a time, for almost two years in that routinely crazed environment, Tsukino Usagi had been the bane of her existence. Late to class, lazy in class, SLEEPING in class, EATING in class, late with assignments, barely able to meet the grade curve. And then there was that awful whine... aiya.

The addition of her friends had been a mixed bag. Not really that much older than her students, Haruna had taken a certain measure of comfort in the fact that she was, by definition, always right, and that her authority could generally be reflected by her advantage of height. Mizuno Ami, while an absolute joy to have in class, had very neatly dispelled that first illusion of security, and Kino Makoto had shattered the second.

Juggling the three of them amidst the rest of her students had been an unenviable task, and Haruna had often paused to give thanks that she wasn’t also saddled with the other two members of Usagi’s odd little circle of friends. Hino Rei she could probably have managed, despite the girl’s explosive temper, but in the few times she’d met Aino Minako, Haruna thought she had detected signs of a second world-class scatterbrain; having to teach Usagi was bad enough, but she thought that trying to deal with the Aino girl at the same time would probably have killed her.

When tallying up the marks for finals, Haruna briefly considered taking up religion when she discovered that Usagi had somehow managed to pass. Several of her fellow instructors had expressed similar feelings of relief, but in the months since Juuban’s unchallenged Queen of Chaos had moved on to the next level of academic achievement—or failure—Haruna had found that she occasionally missed those snore-triggered interruptions and loose breadcrumbs. Her periodic encounters with Usagi and her friends, whether on the streets or in the malls, were often the high point of whatever given day they took place on.

Say what you might about her assorted shortcomings, academic and otherwise, there was an obscure quality about Usagi that made it almost impossible to dislike her. To be annoyed with her, yes. Frustrated, certainly. But Haruna found that, outside the classroom, she was really starting to like the clumsy, hyperactive nitwit.

Not that this meant she wanted to teach her again. Oh no.

So imagine the utter shock thrust upon Haruna when, in the dark hours of a morning only two days before New Year’s, the office of the school superintendent calls and explains that nine different teachers have suddenly resigned or taken leave for a variety of reasons, and that, as a teacher with degrees in math and history and all the other qualifications to teach at the high school level, she is suddenly to be transferred to Juuban High to fill the academic void. Imagine further her panic when she realizes that history and math are mandatory courses which ALL students must take, and that the class lists at the senior high include several of her former students. And just for fun, throw in the sudden recollection that the most dreaded student of all is, by this point, well into her fourth month of pregnancy—a condition which is notorious for triggering mood swings.

The assistant secretary on the other end of the line never did get a satisfactory answer as to what had caused that loud ‘thump,’ when it hit the floor.

As far as Haruna had been concerned, if a meteor had crashed into the school on her first day of classes, it would have been a blessing. To be fair, she had enjoyed seeing so many of her old students again, and she had taken a small—make that a large—dose of satisfaction in hearing a well-remembered voice blurt out her name in astonishment during the assembly that had introduced the students to their ‘new’ teachers. But it was basically gallows humor; she expected the class to be nothing less than a total disaster, especially upon reviewing the roster and finding that the Aino girl had enrolled in this school alongside her friends. A side discussion with the vice-principal had not improved her spirits, especially since she learned that at least two of the sudden resignations had come from teachers who had borne the brunt of Hurricane Usagi and Tropical Impression Minako. And now _she_ got the honor of dealing with those twinned forces of nature _twice_ every day.

Haruna was as fluent in English and Latin as her native Japanese, and she knew a fair bit of Chinese, German, and Russian as well. And in all those languages, there were no words adequately suited to describe the thoughts and feelings running through her brain; at least, not among the words you could use in polite company. Some of the others probably would have done the trick, though.

Usagi had, somehow, surprised her. In the last week, she had not once tried to sneak food into class, she had only fallen asleep twice, and—most stunning of all—she actually seemed to be paying attention. Hence the bemusement so evident on Haruna,’s face. She was reserving judgment until after she could see how well the ‘new and improved’ Usagi handled herself under REAL pressure—which was to say, a test—but it seemed that, as long as she stayed awake, she would present no further problems.

*Of course,* Haruka thought with a bleak smile, on her way back to the front of the room, *Aino seems to be going out of her way to make up the difference. How on Earth does she manage to get all these catch phrases so mixed up?*

“Haruna-sensei?”

*Right on cue,* Haruna thought wearily. “Yes, Minako?”

“There’s something I don’t understand. Why did they call it the ‘Wholly Roman Empire,’ when there were so many people who weren’t Roman living in it? All those Golfs and Huns and Vendors and Pickets and whatnot. Or was it because they all moved around so much?” Some of the other students laughed, but Haruna had learned in the last week that these questions were not an attempt at disruption; they were being asked in dead seriousness. Unfortunately, that only made things worse.

*This is going to be a long year,* Haruna thought, sighing, before answering the question. “First of all, it was ‘Holy,’ not ‘Wholly,’ and that part didn,’t really come into play until the Romans adopted Christianity. And the peoples you’re thinking of were the Gauls, Pickts, and Vandals. The Gauls lived across much of Europe before Rome even got built, and various tribes fought the Romans over the centuries, whereas the Pickt were concentrated mostly in England. The Huns and the Vandals were nomadic tribes who didn’t come along until later.”

“Ah.” There was a pause. “It says here that the Romans called all these people ‘barbarians,’” Minako noted, pointing to a page in her book. “Is that right?”

“Yes, it is.” Haruna waited. Doubtless there was about to be another show of Minako’s unique logic. Sure enough:

“That’s odd. If they’re all shown with such long hair and beards, there can’t have been all that many barbers around.” More students laughed.

*Yes,* Haruna thought, *it’s going to be a VERY long year.*

“I still don’t get why we have to learn all this stuff,” Minako complained.

The last period of the day had just ended, and now the four Senshi—plus Naru and Umino—were walking steadily homewards. Minako was ranting about the injustices of the modern educational system while the others did their best to weather the storm.

“I mean,” Minako continued, “learning _Japanese_ history I can understand. Or Chinese, or Indian; heck, even Russian makes a kind of sense, since they’re practically living next door. But why are they making us study things that happened two thousand years ago on the other side of the planet? What possible use is it? When am _I_ going to need to know that three hundred Suntans held the pass at Thermostat? Or that some Odd-Yes-He-Is guy spent ten years trying to get home just because he forgot to draw himself a map? Or what the Twelve Labors of Harry Cleese were?”

*Somewhere,* Ami reflected, trying not to laugh, *a lot of ancient Greeks are rolling in their graves.*

“Spartans at Thermopylae,” Umino corrected. In the months since he had begun to associate with Minako on a more or less day-to-day basis, Umino had taken it as a personal challenge to try and repair the damage she continually did to the language. Despite repeated attempts by the others to convince him of the futility of his chosen task, Umino continued to persevere in the face of overwhelmingly odd odds. “Odysseus, not ‘Odd-Yes-He-Is,’ and Heracles, not ‘Harry Cleese.’”

“Whatever. What’s the point?”

“It’s history,” Umino said, his tone indicating that he, at least, was enjoying the subject, and was clearly confused as to why anyone did not share that enjoyment. Minako was just as clearly confused as to why anyone _would_ share that enjoyment.

“_I_ like it,” Makoto said.

“You like anything with a few good fights and some romance in it,” Naru laughed.

“Well, yeah,” Makoto admitted. “But as long as I’m learning something in the process, it’s okay, right?”

“As long as you don’t go falling head over heels in love with some image of a guy from ancient Rome just because he reminds you of your senpai,” Usagi said, “yes.”

“Personally,” Ami remarked, “one thing I like about history is how you can find a lot of the same characters popping up all over the world. Look at everything from mythology to actual historical records, and you’ll see all these people who essentially did the same thing. There’s always an empire-builder or a great general or a religious movement in one place that’s virtually identical to its counterpart in another part of the world. Except for the names, of course. Once you know the trends, you have an easier time remembering everything.”

“I always like to imagine what might have happened if some of those people had met,” Umino added. “Caesar and Tokugawa, for instance, or Confucius and Plato. Or if some of the mythological characters like the Greek Heroes showed up in medieval Japan, you know?”

“I can see it now,” Ami laughed. “‘Heracles and the Seven Samurai.’”

“Or even better,” Umino added. “Imagine if they showed up in the modern world.”

“Don’t even _joke_ about that,” Naru said immediately. “The way things go around here, we’ll probably turn a corner and see a bunch of sun-bronzed bodybuilders in armor standing in the middle of the street.”

“And this is bad—how?” Minako asked archly. The girls laughed, while Umino merely shook his head.

“Well,” Naru said, “we go this way. Are you doing anything this weekend, Usagi-chan?”

Usagi nodded. “Setsuna-san’s getting out of the hospital this afternoon, so things are probably going to be busy until she gets settled in.”

“Is she any better?” Naru asked sympathetically.

“That depends on how you look at it.” Usagi sighed. “The doctors say she’s pretty much healed, but she hasn’t remembered anything, and it’s starting to look like it might be permanent.”

“She always made me a little nervous,” Umino admitted. “That way she had of looking at you like she knew what you were thinking was really creepy—but I hope she gets better.”

“So do I,” Naru said. “See you Monday, then.” She and Umino left, and the four Senshi proceeded on.

“You never did tell us exactly how you managed to smuggle ChibiUsa in,” Makoto pointed out. “Especially since you were already getting ready for Setsuna.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Usagi admitted, sighing.

Explaining to her folks how the nine-year-old niece that they only half-remembered had somehow put on four years of growth in a mere six months had been the easy part. The long-term effects of the hypnotic devices ChibiUsa had used to ‘smooth over’ the specific details of her prior stays at the Tsukino household had helped immensely; as far as Kenji, Ikuko, and Shingo were concerned, they had seen ChibiUsa as smaller and younger than she really was. Or she had been unusually short for her age. Or some other perfectly logical excuse. Whatever convenient explanation their own minds came up with, the Tsukinos had welcomed ChibiUsa back without any incidents.

There had, however, been quite an argument over the difficulties in having two houseguests at the same time. Not that anyone _wanted_ to kick either guest out—Ikuko had already promised that Setsuna could stay, and the sun would have frozen over before she let a family member stay somewhere else—but the details of finding the necessary space had taken hours to figure out.

“We finally ended up switching rooms,” Usagi explained. “We moved the spare mattress and all of my stuff into the master bedroom, and Mom and Dad moved their things into _my_ room. That gives us enough space for three people in one room. And I get a nice balcony view,” she added. “It sort of makes up for the fact that the bed’s smaller than what I’m used to.”

“I know the feeling,” Ami said.

“Hey,” Makoto objected. “Just remember that _I_ don’t get a balcony view, either. And _my_ bed’s not any roomier than yours is.”

“You’re bigger than I am,” Ami countered. “Even if you have the same proportionate amount of space that I do, that means your bed has to be larger than mine.”

“Well, _I’m_ bigger than both of you,” Usagi said, sounding almost triumphant about it. “So there.”

“I give up,” Makoto groaned, turning left. “Coming, Ami-chan?”

“You’ll be at the hospital on time?” Usagi asked.

Makoto gave her a thumbs up. “Count on it.” Ami nodded, and then they walked off. Minako started to say something, but Usagi shushed her and turned her head, listening. Sure enough, the two roomies were once again arguing about sleeping space as they shrank into the distance.

“That’s got to be the tenth time in the last three days I’ve heard them argue like that.” Minako chuckled. “You do realize that they’ll be as bad as you and Rei-chan inside of another week if this keeps up?”

“It’s a concern,” Usagi agreed. “And speaking of Rei...” She pointed down the street, where Rei was approaching with some of her classmates from T*A in tow.

“Good,” Minako said. “I was starting to think I’d have to walk you all the way home. Hey, Rei-chan.”

“Mina-chan, Usagi,” Rei nodded. “You remember Keiko-san and Himeko-san?”

“Of course.” Inchiki Keiko was a pale, willowy sort of girl with brown eyes and hair that was more brunette than red; Usagi and Minako knew her to be even quieter than Ami, but with a sense of humor that, when she chose to unleash it, was infectious. Kyoso Himeko had short dark hair and blue eyes, and was more tanned and athletic than either Rei or Keiko, which only made sense since she was a member of T*A,’s track-and-field, swimming, gymnastics, and karate clubs. As such, she’d competed against Minako on a number of occasions, and the two had a friendly rivalry going. It was a bit odd to see a diehard sports fanatic wearing glasses, but Himeko did—strictly as an aid to reading. She liked to joke that the real reason for the glasses was that they made her look about 20 IQ points smarter than she really was.

“Usagi-chan, Mina-chan.” Keiko’s greeting was a single smile, but Himeko made up for it. “Good to see you again.”

“And this,” Rei went on, indicating the third girl, “is Shimono Anya. She transferred to T*A just before New Year’s. Anya-san, these are Tsukino Usagi and Aino Minako. They go to Juuban High.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Anya said coolly. She was an angular girl; everything about her seemed to be sharp corners and straight lines, from the precise folds of her school uniform to the rigid set of her face. Only her hair, jaw-length pale blue, escaped the linear precision. Like Himeko, Anya wore glasses, through which she watched the world with grey eyes. She might be pretty, assuming she ever relaxed or smiled, but there was something in the way Anya looked at others reminiscent of how a teacher looks at you when you’re caught talking during an exam. Usagi got the feeling that Anya didn’t approve of her.

“Likewise,” Usagi replied, as much to the unspoken disapproval as the greeting. A subtle shift in the disapproval told her that Anya had picked up the hint.

“So, Hime-chan,” Minako was saying, “are those new glasses?”

“You like ’em?” Himeko struck a faintly modeling-style pose, the highly polished frames flashing almost as brightly in the sunlight as the lenses. “They were a gift from my uncle. I figure if I polish them enough and wear them at just the right angle at our next track meet, I can reflect enough light into your face to blind you and take the lead.”

“In your dreams,” Minako snorted. In any other event, the two rivals were pretty evenly matched, but Minako had consistently placed higher in the various sprinting events than Himeko.

“Her fondest one,” Keiko agreed softly.

“You’re supposed to be on _my_ side,” Himeko told her classmate. Keiko merely shrugged.

“What can I say?” Minako sighed. “I have such a magnetic personality that people just flock to me.”

“Like ducks in a thunderstorm,” Keiko added. She had a tendency to do that sort of thing, turning people’s words back on them in little puns and parodies. “But enough about foul weather,” she went on, punning herself. “Rei-san was in a hurry to get here, so I guess she must have something important to do. I can be funny some other time.”

“I appreciate it,” Rei thanked her. She had learned some time ago that it was generally a good idea to keep Minako’s garbled slang and Keiko’s sense of humor as far apart as possible; otherwise, you tended to end up going to bed with phrases that defied rational thought swimming around in your brain. Tomorrow was her night to stand vigil over the Tsukino household, and she needed all the sleep she could get tonight. Spending half the night trying to puzzle out the inherent meaning of dreams of quacking thunderbolts striking people wearing sparkling glasses was only going to get in the way.

“Could anyone tell me where the nearest library is?” Anya asked. “I haven’t had a chance to look around since we moved.”

“Two blocks that way and turn right at the intersection,” Usagi replied immediately. “You can’t miss it.” Anya looked mildly surprised, but the others seemed stunned that Usagi actually knew where the building was. “Hey,” she said, defending her hard-earned reputation, “you can’t hang around Ami-chan for almost three years without learning where the library is.”

“Who?” Anya asked.

“Mizuno Ami,” Minako said. “She’s a friend of ours who goes through books like Usagi-chan here goes through food and scores more points on a single test than most people can in three. You’ll probably run into her if you spend any time at the library; blue hair, blue eyes, talks a bit like a textbook—but she’s okay.”

“Oh.” Anya didn’t sound particularly interested, and she left without so much as a good-bye.

“Nice friend you’ve picked up there, Rei,” Usagi commented. She prided herself on being able to get along with almost anybody—heck, she’d even made friends with people whose hobbies included world domination and/or destruction—but Anya was the first person in quite a while that Usagi could say she disliked on sight.

“She loosens up a bit once you get to know her,” Himeko said.

“And she doesn’t fall asleep in class,” Rei added. “Unlike _some_ people I know.”

“I’m sleeping for two now,” Usagi reminded her. “Can I help it if it messes up my normal sleeping patterns?”

“That’s true,” Minako agreed. “She used to fall asleep in class almost daily; today was the first time in more than three months that it happened, and...”

“Do me a favor, Mina-chan?” Usagi asked sweetly. “Stop helping me.”

Keiko chuckled. “See you Monday, Rei-san. Usagi-chan, Mina-chan,” she added, nodding in farewell. Himeko waved, and then they were gone.

Setsuna checked the sleeves of her blouse, making sure they were relatively even and that the buttons on the cuffs were done up. Then she smoothed out the invisible wrinkles in her skirt. It was perhaps the fifth time in the last ten minutes she’d done this, but today was the day she finally left this hospital to move in with Usagi’s family, and first impressions were important. Of course, they’d all met her at least once before, and Ikuko had come by the hospital with Usagi a few times in the past week...

Setsuna sighed. *So much for that ‘first impressions’ excuse. Admit it; you’re nervous.*

There was a tall mirror standing in one corner of the room; in it, Setsuna studied her reflection and wondered. The image studying her in kind looked like it belonged in a corner office in some skyscraper downtown. Professional, that was the word. And it begged the question, just what sort of job was she professional at?

“Leaving so soon?” a voice asked from the door.

“I’d hardly call two weeks of recuperation ‘soon,’ Yotogi-san.” In the mirror, Setsuna could see the doctor’s reflection shrug.

“That depends on the patient. I want you to know that this rapid recovery of yours really hurt me in the hospital betting pool. I thought for sure you’d be here another week, at least.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Setsuna murmured.

“Where did this luggage come from, anyway?” Lucas glanced meaningfully at the open suitcases on the bed. “Or have you gained the ability to translocate matter without telling me?”

Setsuna put on her best look of innocence. “Would I keep a secret like that? Actually, Usagi-chan and the others dropped them off for me yesterday afternoon. Nothing personal, but I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing one of these hospital gowns in public.”

“I think that was the general idea when they came up with the things,” Lucas noted. “The gowns keep any stubborn patients with even a little fashion sense in the building, and they make the ones who decide to leave anyway a lot easier to identify.” He shook his head. “So, I understand that you’ll be living with the Tsukinos for the foreseeable future.”

Setsuna made a face. “You,ve been around Miko-san too long; your sense of humor’s starting to warp. And yes, I am staying with Usagi-chan for a while.”

“Not quite what I would consider ideal surroundings for recovering from a major case of amnesia,” Lucas said clinically. “Not based on what Doc’s told me about the place. Unless you,re hoping to aggravate your memory into surrender?”

“The thought had occurred to me.” Setsuna flipped one of the suitcases closed, and paused in the middle of shutting the other. “Maybe I’m just being gloomy, but somehow, I get the feeling that my memories aren’t going to come back.”

“Been looking into your own future?” Lucas asked quietly.

“I tried a few times,” Setsuna admitted, “but nothing happened. I seem to recall one of your papers mentioning something about that, how psychics can see other people’s futures, but not usually their own.”

“I remember the article,” Lucas agreed. “But what does that have to do with moving in with Usagi-chan?”

“If it turns out that I do recover, that’s all well and good, but if I don,’t, I’ll have to start my life over. The Tsukinos may be a little crazy, but they’re still a family. Doesn’t it make sense for someone trying to start over to _really_ start over? From the beginning, as part of a family?”

“You’ve got a point there,” Lucas said reluctantly, nodding. “There’s still a lot we don,’t know about the brain and how it retains information, but it’s possible that this sort of situation might trigger something in long-term memory.”

“And if it doesn’t, I’m no worse off.” She snapped the suitcase shut. “At the very least, I’ll be getting used to life in the outside world instead of being stuck in here.”

Lucas made a tragic sort of face. “And is my company really _that_ detestable?”

Setsuna smiled and put a hand on Lucas’ arm. “You’ve been wonderful, Lucas-san. I might still be seizing up every time I touch someone if it hadn’t been for your little hobby, and you’ve kept my secret for me when you could have alerted the media or written a paper about it.”

Lucas grinned. “You’re selling yourself short again. I could have written _two_ papers, easily.” Setsuna punched his arm. “But seriously, doctor-patient privilege and professional ethics aside... you’re an interesting sort of person, Meiou Setsuna. You’ve been challenging most of the accepted medical facts I know since the night you were admitted, and you may well be the first person my ‘hobby,’ has actually done any good for. Things just aren’t going to be the same around here after you’re gone.”

Setsuna wasn,’t entirely sure how to respond to that, but the appearance of Usagi and the others at the door saved her from the need to say anything.

“Hey, Setsuna. Hello, Yotogi-san.”

“Ladies,” Lucas replied. “Here to steal my favorite patient away at last, I see.”

Minako grinned. “If you like, we could always arrange to steal you, too. The more, the married, as I always say.”

Lucas managed to keep a straight face. “No, that’s all right. I’ll survive somehow.”

“Ready to go?” Usagi asked.

Setsuna nodded. “All set. Are there any release forms I have to sign? Any bills that have to be paid?”

Ami shook her head. “Your medical insurance was all paid up, and Mother and Ikuko-san dealt with the last of the paperwork yesterday.”

“Nuts,” Lucas said. “And here I was, hoping for some last minute delay.”

“Better luck next time,” Minako consoled him, taking one of the suitcases. Makoto took the other, and Setsuna had her purse. The girls filed out into the hall with Lucas; Setsuna remained behind a moment longer, taking one last look at the room that had been her home for the past two weeks before joining them.

“Well,” Lucas said, “this would appear to be good-bye.”

“So it would,” Setsuna agreed.

“Given the circumstances leading up to our first meeting, I’d more than understand if you said you hoped to never see me again.” Lucas grinned. “But if you need anything—medical advice, a copy of the latest book in extrasensory research, an ear to bend over a cup of coffee—just call.” He extended a hand.

“I’ll remember that,” Setsuna promised, shaking his hand. “Or at least,” she added, smiling, “I’ll try to.” On a whim, she took a small step forward and kissed Lucas on the cheek. That seemed to surprise him a little; it _definitely_ surprised the watching Senshi. “Good-bye, Lucas.”

“Uh... good-bye, Setsuna.” Lucas was at a bit of a loss for words as his now ex-patient turned and walked down the hall to the elevator, her friends following close behind.

When the elevator doors were sliding shut, Minako turned to Setsuna and asked, “Isn’t he a bit young for you?”

It wasn’t very far from the hospital to the Tsukino household, so the Senshi had elected to walk rather than get a ride—and after being stuck indoors for two weeks straight, Setsuna had no objections to the exercise this plan entailed. She stayed close to the others, though, and shied away noticeably whenever someone else walked by. Despite her rapid recovery and the information supplied by Lucas, Setsuna was still not entirely certain of her ability to control or suppress the appearance of a timeflow should she run into someone, and her hands were not only gloved but held close to her body.

It occurred to each Senshi that this was probably the first time Setsuna had been outside since New Year’s Eve. Moreover, she had been alone or in the company of just a few people for all that time. Her room had not been cramped, by any means, but it had still been an enclosed space, and one in which Setsuna could see anyone approach well before they reached her, and thus had the time to prepare herself in case her time-seeing ability was triggered.

Out here, there were no such guarantees. There were more people on this street than Setsuna had met during her entire stay in the hospital, and it was simply impossible for her to keep track of all of them at once. She could prepare for a run-in with someone she saw before her, but what about a person who walked up from behind or suddenly turned a corner? And this was not even a busy street, or a busy time of day; what effect might a rush-hour crowd have on Setsuna, even if no one actually touched her?

Then too, the outdoors itself was something she had to re-acquaint herself with. Setsuna’s only memory of being outside was the brief period on New Year’s, when she had been half-carried into Ami,s mother,s car, and a little later, going from the car into the hospital. It had been dark, then, making details hard to notice, and she had been hurt and tired and frightened besides. Now she was healed, rested, and alert, and the details were evident even in the dimming afternoon sky.

Setsuna kept a very firm grip on Usagi’s hand for the entire trip, and Usagi spent a great deal of time talking, equal parts tour guide and emotional support. Ami and Minako led the way, Minako swinging the suitcase and going on about something that Ami occasionally nodded politely about and otherwise seemed to ignore. Rei and Makoto brought up the rear, Makoto because the others had found it necessary to separate her and Ami for a while to stop the argument about sleeping space, and Rei because, from this vantage point, she could watch Usagi at the same time as everything else.

“Is it much further?” Setsuna asked after a close call with a bunch of kids. Chasing each other down the sidewalk, scooping snow up in loose handfuls to throw, hitting pedestrians with as much frequency and enthusiasm as their intended target, the group of children broke like a wave around Ami and Minako to sweep, laughing, past Usagi and Setsuna. The flash of panic triggered by the sudden appearance and rapid movement of the children outweighed the faint sense of delight Setsuna felt seeing ordinary children play ordinary games, and even though her ability had not kicked in, the close call—the knowledge that, because of a sudden burst of fear, she could not have stopped the surging vision of past, present, and future if it had appeared—left her drained.

“We’re almost there,” Usagi reassured her, pointing past Ami and Minako with her free hand. “That one there. And Mom’s probably already started cooking dinner.”

“Actually,” Luna announced, appearing atop the wall, “she’s been at it for the last half hour. Hello, Setsuna.”

“Hello, Luna. Would you mind not sneaking up on me like that?” Setsuna added plaintively.

“I apologize.” Feline shoulders shrugged. “It’s a cat thing. I’ll try to be a little less abrupt in the future.”

“Where’s Artemis?” Minako asked.

“He’s checking the sides of the house.” Luna looked at Usagi. “Shingo’s hiding somewhere. He went into seclusion in his room as soon as he got home, but he’s not there now, and nobody saw him leave. Two of his water guns are missing as well.”

“Terrific,” Usagi said flatly.

“He wouldn’t dare,” Rei said.

“And miss the opportunity to blast me _and_ ChibiUsa _and_ a whole bunch of our friends, all at the same time? The little weasel’s probably been planning this for a week.”

“But it’s the middle of winter,” Makoto protested.

“And I’ll just bet he’s been melting snow for the occasion instead of using tap water,” Usagi predicted gloomily.

“We could split up and look for him,” Minako offered.

“For-GET it,” Usagi said witheringly. “Shingo’s a weasel, but he’s at least half lizard, too—probably a chameleon. If he doesn’t want to be found, we won’t find him.” She shook her head. “Just be ready to dodge at a moment’s notice—because that’s all the warning we’re going to get.”

“If your brother gets my hair wet,” Makoto warned Usagi as they entered the yard, “he’s going to die. I didn’t bring a hat, and it’s too cold tonight to walk around with damp hair.”

“We’ve got towels,” Usagi noted absently, searching the yard for any signs of life. Spotting nothing except Artemis, coming around one corner of the house and shaking his head, Usagi sighed. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

Usagi opened the door and announced, “We’re home,” in a quiet voice, half-expecting to be soaked from head to toe before the words got out of her mouth. When nothing happened, she repeated the phrase with a little more volume, and nearly jumped out of her skin when ChibiUsa and Hotaru appeared from the next room.

“You can relax,” ChibiUsa told her. “We’re not Shingo.”

“How long has he been quiet?” Usagi asked, making room for the others to enter.

“At least an hour.”

That was bad news. Shingo was a genius when it came to water-based warfare; given fifteen minutes to prepare, he could put together enough aqua artillery to drench a fair-sized fire, to say nothing of the nasty little surprises he rigged for when Usagi recovered and tried to chase him down. Mudholes in the yard, precariously balanced buckets of water above half-closed doors, tripwires in the hall that dumped you face-first into Shingo only knew what sort of goo... Usagi didn,’t want to think about the level of insanity her sibling could cook up after an hour.

“Hi, Setsuna-chan.”

“Hello, Hotaru-chan.” Setsuna smiled faintly. “Braving the front lines on your own?”

“Michiru-mama and Haruka-papa send their apologies,” Hotaru recited, “but there’s a lecture at the university tonight that Michiru didn’t want to miss. They’ll stop by a little later to get me and see how things are going.”

“And incidentally miss the waterfight,” Usagi added. “Where _is_ that louse hiding?”

“Now, Usagi,” Ikuko said, coming into the room. “It’s not polite to call your brother names.”

“Even if he _is_ a louse,” Kenji added. “Hello, girls.” The Senshi murmured various greetings as Kenji turned to Setsuna. “And you must be Setsuna; welcome to our home.”

“Thank you. I know this must be a lot of trouble for you...”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Ikuko said. Kenji coughed, politely indicating that he didn’t quite share that opinion, but said nothing else. “Come in, girls. Make yourselves comfortable; dinner should be ready in another twenty minutes. Mako-chan, if you don’t mind, I could use a hand in the kitchen.”

“You’ve got it,” Makoto said, hanging her coat on the closet doorknob and passing the suitcase to Usagi.

“Where do we put all these coats?” Minako asked, juggling her own coat and the other suitcase.

“There’re some spare hangers in the closet,” Ikuko advised from the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Minako called back, sliding open the door. After a moment to study the closet, she added, “I’m not sure there’s enough room in here. A lot of the coats are jammed together as it is, and...”

“YAAAAH!!!” Usagi dropped the suitcase as a roar of ambush and a burst of very, very cold water exploded from the closet, followed closely by Shingo, who had been wedged in amongst the long jackets and thick coats with two fully-loaded water guns in his hands. The weapons were smaller cousins of the Super Soaker, limited in range and ammo, but more than suitable for this particular engagement.

Minako took the first volley head-on, even before she had a chance to fully back up in shock from the yell, and was quite nearly bowled over as Shingo jumped out of hiding. ChibiUsa dove for cover in the next room as the weapons fired again, squarely nailing Hotaru in the back of the head while Minako took a second hit to the face, tripping backwards over the suitcase she had set down and landing on Ami. The cats scrambled out of the way as the two girls hit the floor, but Shingo already had his sights set on his sister—who was half-bent over and holding her foot, which the suitcase had hit when it fell—and Setsuna by that point. He needed only a second to take aim and squeeze the triggers to complete the assault.

Setsuna needed even less than that. Her right hand had vanished into her purse when the ruckus had started, and it emerged now, holding a small, snub-nosed, low-priced version of the water guns Shingo carried, a translucent purple pistol which was suddenly pointed—and firing—straight into his face.

The water wasn’t even that cold, but the shock of getting hit in the middle of his own masterfully executed ambush threw Shingo’s aim off; one burst hit Rei instead of Usagi, and the other struck the wall. Setsuna zapped Shingo a second time for good measure and then waited, arms crossed, the half-empty squirt pistol dangling almost lazily in her hand. Blinking water out of his eyes, Shingo stared at Setsuna in amazement.

“Surprise,” she murmured.

The room was still dark. Most of the displays in the desk were shut off, increasing the depth of the shadows. Only one monitor remained on, the fold-out keyboard beneath it clicking softly as the user worked. The soft blue-white glow of the screen illuminated a few papers to either side of the monitor and keyboard, the hands of the woman using the keyboard, and very little else. Those hands paused as the faint sound of a door opening echoed through the room.

“Who’s there?” The voice was one of those that had been in attendance at the last meeting in this room, the cool, emotionally detached woman.

“Just me.” Again, another voice from the meeting, that of the dreary, dull-voiced man who had been seated across from the icy woman. “Am I disturbing you?”

“No,” Cool Voice replied, going back to her typing without offering any clues about what she was doing.

“Good,” Dull Voice said. The word sounded anything _but_ good. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Catching up on paperwork, mostly. I find it much easier to work here than in my office. Fewer distractions. Was there something you wanted?”

“Nothing in particular. You come here to work; I come here to think.”

“And am _I_ disturbing _you?_” she asked.

“Not particularly.”

“Good.” Again, the sound of the word didn’t match up with its meaning. The typing continued for several moments.

“A report came to my attention this afternoon,” Dull Voice said suddenly. “Personnel and Special Resources were both a little put out with your sudden and ongoing hijacking of manpower and equipment this week and last.”

“I needed information,” Cool Voice stated. “And before you ask, no, it wasn’t the kind I could have gotten from your files.”

“Something to do with that ‘other matter’ you mentioned at the last meeting?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“What is it about this Setsuna girl that bothers you so much?” Dull Voice didn’t sound quite so dull now. “If you wanted her followed, I could have arranged it.”

“She’s been in the hospital this entire time; ‘following’ her was not the problem.” Cool Voice stopped typing. “Did you read her file?”

“Of course.”

“And how large was it?”

“Not very. Bare bones information, most of it from official sources—census office, university registrars, hall of records, that sort of thing. Not surprising, considering that there was never a need for any detailed observation or study of the girl.” Dull Voice paused, then continued with a hint of wry sympathy in his tone. “We probably know more about her than she does about herself, if the amnesia is as extensive as was indicated.”

“That was the third thing that I found odd,” Cool Voice said. “Her background information, not her amnesia. Her record is so clean that it squeaks—not so much as a parking ticket or a late bank payment—but it’s also all but devoid of prominent events—grades that were above average but not outstanding, a modest annual income, no sudden twists of fortune, whether good or bad. It’s too bland. And since when does an aspiring fashion designer in her mid-twenties need—let alone obtain—citizenship in a half-dozen different countries around the world?”

“A bit unusual,” Dull Voice admitted. “What were the first and second things that led you to the rest of it?”

“The second was a comparison of her file with those of the other people involved in the New Year’s attack. The five girls who were present have fairly extensive files; they’ve all been involved in a number of recorded attacks, while Miss Meiou, from all we know, has had no such experience. Why, then, would she be singled out for such extensive and damaging attention?”

“Variety, perhaps. And the first reason?”

“A report from one of our people in the hospital.” There was a slight emphasis on those last two words. “It came in the day after the attack. There was an interesting discussion which would seem to suggest that our ordinary young lady may be hiding some sort of extrasensory ability.”

“What sort of ability?”

“Precognition. And perhaps retrocognition as well.”

“Well now. Well, well, well.” Dull Voice was no longer even remotely dull; he sounded _very_ interested. “I could find any number of uses for a gift like that. I take it _that_ was what sparked your sudden spree of requisitioning?”

“Correct. The report listed several past events that were mentioned and some future ones that she predicted. We were able to confirm the past events—a birthdate and an event connected to a plane crash—but no progress on proving or disproving the predictions has been made yet. I left orders for the agent to keep close to the girl, but she checked out of the hospital today, so observation is going to be a little more difficult.”

“Difficult, but not impossible. I have some people who are better suited to field work than your borrowed operatives. And I’ll have someone do a more in-depth analysis of her file, to see if we can turn up anything more.” Dull Voice got up from his chair and headed for the unseen door he had entered through.

Cool Voice went back to her typing.

Archon was meditating when the detection spells were triggered, his eerie eyes closed and his normally harsh, chilling features relaxed and peaceful. A subtle shift in his expression was all the outward sign the master mage gave as he projected his awareness from his body, entering the global energy web and following the almost magnetic pull of his spells along the ley lines, directly to the location of the unknown spellcaster.

There were thousands of miles between the spot where Archon’s body rested, in a room in a city on the bottom of the sea, and the room in the city where his mind was headed, but he crossed that distance in seconds. And as he traveled, information about his target was being relayed by his spells.

A girl. Young, to be wielding magic at all. Though Archon’s spells detected no latent gift for spellcraft, she had considerable strength of will and a keen intellect—both key assets for any prospective wizard. There was also a black presence in her mind, something with the mass of a mountain and the edge of a razor. This was a kind of hatred Archon had rarely encountered, and it easily explained what was giving someone so young and unskilled the means to access this much magical force.

In that instant, as he considered the girl’s state of mind and the level of power she was tapping into, Archon decided that she would be a worthwhile student.

Which was just as well for her, because as the initial gathering of energy passed and the spell began to take shape, Archon recognized it as a summons, an attempt to invoke a supernatural entity from another plane of existence. This particular summons was heading straight for one of the darkest levels of reality; no matter how strong her potential, the girl wasn’t ready to deal with the kind of creature her incantation was about to make manifest. And even if she was—hate could be a strong shield as well as a strong motivater—her spell was only half-complete, and in no way strong enough to hold the thing coming through.

Of course, that also meant that it couldn’t keep Archon out. His awareness slipped past the frayed edges of the invocation and settled itself in the otherworldly place where such disembodied intellects waited before passing fully from one realm to the next, filling the extraplanar space that had been intended for another.

Just in time. The formless will of something hideous and dark and terrible appeared in the otherworld, swirling up around Archon like a cloud of utter darkness, eager to enter the physical plane, and not at all happy to find something else in its way. But as it raised an immaterial fist of willpower to smash at the obstacle in its way, Archon raised his defenses. The attack, which would have crushed a normal mind in much the same way that a meteor shatters anything it falls on, was itself shattered upon a wall of pure will.

The creature hesitated. A looming weapon born of terror and malice melted away into a cautious, questing probe as the nightmarish entity tested and learned the nature of what lay before it. The mind-probe withdrew, and the creature’s black essence gathered back into itself as the thing bowed solemnly.

*Begone,* Archon commanded silently, and the creature vanished back to its own plane.

That task done, Archon turned his attention to the girl. His awareness flooded back into reality, taking on a wispy form that mirrored his dormant body. When all was in readiness, he opened his eyes. The girl was reading the words of the rite from a sheet of paper, and Archon listened carefully, noting how she pronounced each word. There were some mistakes, but considering that she was using a language that had been dead for over two thousand years, he was impressed.

“That should be ‘kaagrokieezasz,’” he corrected her, “not ‘kaajroquieksasz.’” Archon knew she understood him, just as he would understand her when she spoke. Part of the makeup of these spells was to facilitate communication between a human summoner and creatures whose native languages were nothing like any human speech. Translating Atlantean into whatever modern tongue the girl spoke should be no problem at all.

“Be quiet,” she commanded—and as a compulsion of silence fell on him, Archon was again impressed. The spells of command had evidently been pronounced _much_ better than the spells of containment. Not that this was a problem; he located the weave of the command and bent down on it with his mind, severing the flow of energy while holding the essence of the spell in his memory.

“Now then,” the girl said, setting the paper down in a pile of other such sheets. “Let’s have a look at you.” While she studied his image, Archon noted several books nearby, some closed, others open to various pages. None of what he could see appeared Atlantean in origin, so where had the girl found that spell? “This isn’t right,” she said, obviously disappointed. “You’re human!”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” Archon said mildly. “I could very easily be something wearing the shape of a human.”

“But you’re not, are you?” It wasn’t a question.

“No.”

“Terrific. Just perfect.” The girl sat down on a padded stool. After a moment, she cursed and swung her arm, knocking papers, books, and small odds and ends off the table in front of her. “Useless junk! What good is a dead human spirit?!”

“I’m not dead.”

She looked up. “What?”

“The image before you is a projection created by my mind. My real body is elsewhere, and quite alive.”

The girl blinked, taking in the black eyes, the strange robes, and the archaic symbols on those robes. Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

“A master of magic. My name is Archon.” As he spoke, Archon twisted the energies of the compulsion of silence into a compulsion of speech, holding it ready in his mind. “Now, what is _your_ name?”

“I don’t have to t...” The girl froze in mid-word as Archon sent the reshaped spell back at her. She struggled for a moment, then blurted out two words. Its energy spent, Archon let the compulsion go, and the girl glared at him in fury. “How did you do that?”

“Quite easily. And if you don’t know how, you’re obviously not ready to try your hand at _this_ level of magic.” The sweep of his hands indicated his own image.

The girl stood suddenly, holding something in one hand, pointing at Archon with the other, and hissed a word. Something invisible and very hard shot through the space occupied by Archon,’s head—but since he was just a projection, the invisible thing passed through and hit the wall behind him.

“Not bad,” Archon said, his face reconstructing itself around the hole the passage of the spell had caused. He turned his head about to inspect the cracks in the wall. “Not the best choice for a noncorporeal target, but excellent technique. Care to try again?”

She did. This time, it was a clutching, clawing sort of motion with both hands, and two short, sharp syllables. Thin lengths of green lightning sprang into being all around Archon’s image and shot energy across the space between them, rather like a bunch of Jacob’s Ladders.

“Much better,” Archon said approvingly, as his image was sliced into hundreds of thin strips by the arcing energy. “And now it’s my turn.” He raised one hand, and the lines of energy suddenly swirled into his fist and were extinguished. Then he motioned with his other hand, and the girl’s entire body went rigid, as if huge, unseen fingers had closed around her. Archon waited. “Anything else? No? Very well.” He released the spell, and the girl fell to the ground.

“What... do you... want?”

“A great many things, none of which have to do with you. No, the question now is not ‘what do _I_ want?’ Rather, it is, ‘what do _you_ want?’”

“None of your damn business.”

“Very true. But you are using magic to get what you want, and magic is very much my business.” Archon considered her, and what his spells had shown him. “There is someone you hate very much, enough to risk casting a spell you were quite unprepared for, enough to turn loose a creature of tremendous evil power on a person who would have even less defense against it than you yourself.”

“So what?” The girl made no attempt to deny anything. “What are you, some benevolent spirit come to tell me to be a good little girl? To stop trying to use magic to get what I want?”

“‘Trying’ would be the operative word, there,” Archon pointed out dryly. “And no, I am not trying to stop you from using magic to get what you want. Quite the opposite; I am in a position to help.”

“Help?” The girl laughed. “How?”

Archon glanced at the scattered papers. Several pulled loose from the others and floated across the room to hang in the air before him. After examining the words written on them, he sent one page floating over to the girl.

“Let’s start with this.”

*Archon,* Proteus thought. *Yes, I remember you. The master-maker, the creator-father.*

Proteus shut off most of the functions in that particular part of itself that was observing the wizard and his new student, until only the most basic abilities of observation were left. It had originally extended to that location when it had detected a sudden buildup of energy, thinking perhaps to secure a useful power source. Now, by pure chance, it had found something even better: a source of information.

As long as Archon did not notice its presence, his second, unseen student would continue to observe this lesson.

And perhaps many more.

 

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