I have a message from another time...

                     Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
                               presents

                UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT
                      - SYMPHONY OF THE SWORD -

                Fourth Movement: Duelists of the Rose

                         Benjamin D. Hutchins
                         with Kris Overstreet

                (c) 2001 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited


                       FRIDAY, JANUARY 7, 2405
                WORCESTER PREPARATORY INSTITUTE, EARTH

        The Honourable J. Maurice MacEchearn, universally known as
Moose, leaned his considerable bulk back into the depths of Wedge
Bench Number One and sighed.  The first day back from a school holiday
was always an interesting combination of hectic activity and dull
lassitude.  In this case, more of the latter, because he didn't have
much of anybody to talk to.  No one else in the Institute Band Geeks
Federation had returned to the Institute yet.  Azalynn hadn't gone
away for the holidays, but she was nowhere to be found.  Normally,
Moose would have killed time the first day back by sitting around
jawing about the break with his roommate, Davy Crockett, but Davy
wasn't around either.
        That was odd, even a bit unsettling.  Davy was Tenctonese,
assiduous and punctual in all things.  For him not to show up the
first day dorms opened was so out of character it made even laid-back
Moose a little nervous.  In fact, there were quite a few familiar
faces not around, as he sat and people-watched.  The more he watched,
the more it weighed on his mind, as if to counterbalance the delicious
lightness of his body after a Christmas vacation spend in the three
point two standard Gs of Hoffman.  Something weird was going on, he
could feel it.
        As he sat and pondered this, he noticed the short, slightly
rounded (very slightly, from Moose's Hoffmanite perspective) form of
Miss Claudia Montaigne, the Dean of Student Life, crossing the Wedge.
He gave her closer attention.  She looked worried, her bun of
strawberry blonde hair slightly disordered, and she had a rather
crumpled piece of paper in her hand.  She made straight for Moose.
        "Morning, Miss Montaigne," he rumbled, sitting up straighter
and getting his feet off the booth's center platform (too low to call
it a 'table', really, in his opinion).  Such deference wasn't really
required - Miss Montaigne was not one to stand on ceremony - but that
very fact made Moose respect her more than he did many of the
so-called administrators he'd met in his lifetime so far.
        "Good morning, Maurice," she said, sounding as harried as she
looked.  "I'm sorry to be so brief, but I have a lot of these to do
and I want to do them all personally... "  She paused, patting at her
hair as though trying to organize her thoughts along with it.
        "Have a seat," said Moose affably.  "You look like you could
use a rest, however busy you are.  Can I get you something to drink?"
he asked, gesturing toward the snack bar off to the right.
        "No, thank you, Maurice," said Miss Montaigne, but she did
sit, and looked a little more at ease.  Moose had that effect on
people, especially women; no one, Moose certainly included, really
understood why.  "I'm afraid... I have some bad news."
        Moose blinked at her.  Bad news?  When Claudia Montaigne had
bad news, it could mean anything from "you're on academic probation"
to "your mother just died".  That was one of the bad parts of her
tough job here.
        "Yes?" he asked, since she seemed to be expecting him to.
        "Your roommate, David Crockett... "
        "Something's happened to Davy?" said Moose, his dinner-plate
hands going flat on the table.
        "No, he's well," Miss Montaigne assured him, "but... he's
withdrawn from the Institute.  He won't be returning for the spring
terms."
        "Withdrawn?  What for?  Some problem in his family?  Money
trouble?  It couldn't be the course load.  Davy was one of the best
students I know."
        "No," said Miss Montaigne sadly.  "It wasn't his choice.  The
Tenctonese government has recalled all their citizens from Earth."
        "-All-?!" Moose blurted.  "There's a quarter -million- of them
in LA!"
        "Most of those are still here.  They're Earth citizens,
remember, going back generations now.  But David was born on Tencton.
He came here on a student visa, which his government revoked while he
was at home for the break.  There's nothing to be done."
        "You said you had a lot of those to do," Moose mused.  "This
is bigger than just Tencton, isn't it?"
        Miss Montaigne nodded.  "You're sharp, Maurice," she said.
"Very sharp.  Yes, it's bigger, much bigger.  A dozen worlds chose to
recall their people during the holidays - undoubtedly not a
coincidence.  The Institute has lost... "  She checked her list.
"Fifty-two students."
        "Which worlds?  Tencton, who else?  Not - "  A chill finger of
dread touched his heart.  "Not Zeta Cygni?"
        "No," said Miss Montaigne with a touch of a smile.  "No, Zeta
Cygni is hanging in.  Of course, they're a former Earth colony, so
their bonds are stronger, even if they have been independent for four
hundred years.  No, it's mainly non-human worlds.  Tencton, Minbar,
Vulcan, New Skaro... I can't remember the rest off the top of my head,
and I haven't time to look it up.  The President's office will be
issuing a statement to all students tonight, once everyone is back.  I
wouldn't be surprised if President Tiefeld addressed the student body
himself."
        "Minbar and Vulcan.  So Chenann is gone too... and Strom.
Man.  Galaxy House is going to be a whole different place."
        Miss Montaigne's face somehow managed to fall further, then
brightened slightly as she went on, "Fortunately, we do have some new
students coming in as well.  Two more will be joining us from Zeta
Cygni, in fact - your friend Miss Tenjou has persuaded one of her
classmates from her former school to join us here, as a matter of
fact, a young man named Miki Kaoru, and a friend of one of Kaitlyn's
relatives is coming as well.  They'll be taking David and Strom's
places.  I haven't been able to get everything arranged officially
yet, with all these notifications to do and everything, so if you see
them before I do... "
        "I understand," said Moose.  "You'd better get going.  I'm
sorry for taking up your time with my questions, when everything will
be answered tonight."
        "It's all right."  Miss Montaigne got to her feet and sighed.
"I needed the break anyway."
        "I don't mind if you put the new guy in with me," Moose told
her.  "Any friend of Utena's is unlikely to get on -my- nerves," he
added with a grin.  "I guess all I can do is wish you good luck with
the rest of it."
        She smiled wearily.  "Thanks.  I'll need it... "
        He watched her move off toward the stairs up to Morgan Hall's
room floors, then settled back into his previous position and thought.
        He was still thinking when arms encircled his bull neck from
behind and a cheek pressed warmly against his own.
        "Hello, Azalynn," he said with a smile, raising a hand to pat
the bushy gray hair he knew, without looking, would be above that
cheek.
        "Hello yourself, Mr. Moose," Azalynn dv'Ir Natashkan replied,
releasing him to scramble over the back of the bench, hop lightly
across the table, and settle herself into a lotus position opposite,
facing him.  "You look worried about something," she observed without
preamble.
        "I am," Moose replied, "but I want to save my thoughts until
we're all here."
        "Fair enough," said Azalynn.  "I've got something I need to
tell everybody too.  Seen anybody else yet?"
        "Nope.  Devlin said he wouldn't be back until this afternoon,
anyway.  Dunno about the others."
        "Oh.  Hum.  That's no fun.  You want to play cards or
something?"
        "Sure."

        They were about halfway through a game of some mutant version
of gin rummy (involving three decks of cards, each with five suits)
which Azalynn had learned from a gaming contact over at Wellesley when
Amanda Dessler arrived, still decked out in a leather motorcycling
costume that made her look like a cross between an international rally
racer and a messenger goddess.  Azalynn jumped up, stepped nimbly
between the stacks of cards on the table without disturbing any of
them, and flung her arms around the Gamilon's neck, hugging her with
her own feet completely off the floor.  Amanda didn't seem
particularly daunted by this; she just returned the embrace for as
long as she felt proper, then brushed the Dantrovian off and shooed
her back to her place before greeting Moose.
        "Moose," she said - rather coolly, it would have seemed to an
outside observer.
        "'Manda," Moose replied, without looking up from his hand of
cards.
        This rather perfunctory exchange contained, in fact, none of
the distance or coldness an untrained viewer would have believed; it
was just the way Moose and Amanda greeted each other after long
absences.
        "Is Carter back yet?" Amanda wondered.
        "Not yet," said Azalynn, scoring a couple of cards and making
a discard.
        "Ah, this game," Amanda noted, looking over the cards.  "I
regret being unable to stay.  There's been some mishap with my class
registration for this term; I must go and see to that."
        "I'm calling a dinner meeting for tonight," said Azalynn.
"I've got something important to tell everybody."
        Amanda nodded.  "This shouldn't take long," she said, then
turned and left.
        "Famous last words for reg screw-ups," Moose murmured darkly.
"First gin."
        "Bah!" Azalynn grumbled as Moose scored his cards, then picked
up his reserve hand and sorted it.

        Half an hour or so after that, their game finished, Moose and
Azalynn were sitting, bored, watching people cross the Quad through
the Wedge windows, when a car drove around said Quad and
pulled to a halt in one the front parking spaces.  It was of
a type they'd never seen before, some kind of antique limousine, long
and low and very black, and it had New Avalon plates.
        "Hey!" Azalynn cried as one of the car's rear doors opened.
"That's Katie!"

        Kaitlyn Hutchins was just hauling her suitcase out of the
Griffon's trunk when the Wedge doors burst open and Azalynn jumped
down over the steps.  "Katie!" the Dantrovian declared as she dashed
across the narrow drive separating the Wedge from the Quad.  "Did you
have a good Christmas?"
        Kate smiled and dropped the case just before Azalynn
catapulted into her arms, almost knocking her into the trunk.  "Y-yes,
I d-did," she said.  "I h-had a v-very good Ch-Christmas."
        "I don't see how anyone could spend Christmas in that house
and -not- have a good one," said Utena Tenjou as she climbed out of
the passenger side.  "It's Fun Central over there."
        Azalynn turned Kate loose and applied the same treatment to her
roommate.  "So you had a good Christmas too?" she asked.
        "I sure did," Utena replied.  "And a good birthday too."  She
gave the Dantrovian a sly grin and nudged her with an elbow.  "Kate's
family really knows how to show a guest a good time."
        Azalynn laughed.  "Now you're just making fun of me," she said
with mock petulance.
        "Help you with any of that stuff?" Moose inquired.  "Or all of
it, for that matter?"
        A black-haired, black-clad boy, perhaps a year or two younger
than Kate, got out of the driver's seat of the long black car, came
back to the trunk, and observed, "You have got to be Moose MacEchearn."
        "Indeed I have," said Moose expansively, "as my frame, for all
its massive size, will accommodate no other man's spark.  And you,
sir, must be Kaitlyn's brother Corwin, of whom she has spoken so often
and glowingly that I feel we must already be friends."
        "Has she really?" Corwin asked artlessly, his cheeks going a
little pink.  "Um, anyway, yeah, that's me.  Corwin Ravenhair," he
added with a little bow, "at your service.  Although I'm hoping you
can be at my service for a minute.  I've got a piece of equipment in
here that's kind of heavy."
        "The big black case?" Moose asked, indicating a valise about
the size of a steamer trunk, in durable black polycarb.
        "That's the one," said Corwin.
        "I can manage that," said a slim, pale, auburn-haired girl in
a subdued dark green dress and black overcoat as she emerged from the
passenger seat of the limo.  Without further comment or much
expression, she stepped around Moose, reached into the trunk, closed
her hand around the case's handle, and lifted the case out without
apparent effort, for all that it was roughly her own size.
        "Where shall I take it?" she asked Corwin flatly.
        "Um... into the Wedge for now, but wait until the rest of us
are ready... "
        "As you wish."
        Moose raised an eyebrow; Corwin shrugged and got a couple of
suitcases out of the trunk.  Utena and Kate got the rest of their
things, and another new person emerged from the back seat, closed the
door behind him, and came back in search of luggage.
        "You, sir, I don't believe I've heard of.  You're not a
redhead, so you must not be one of Kate's other brothers, and so I'm
at a loss.  Unless," he added with a twinkle in one green eye, "you're
the famous Mr. Miki Kaoru of whom I've lately heard so much."
        The slim, blue-haired boy froze suddenly, his face taking on a
look of startled puzzlement.  "Famous?" he inquired.
        Moose laughed.  "I'm teasing.  I ran into the Dean of Student
Life a bit ago, and she mentioned a new student by that name was
joining us from Utena's old school.  The rest was, as they say,
elementary."  Moose stuck out a hand.  "The Honourable J. Maurice
MacEchearn the Fourth, your humble servant.  I understand we're to be
roommates."
        "Oh!" said Miki, shaking the proffered hand as best he could,
given the way it dwarfed his own.  "Well, I'm pleased to meet you,
then!"
        "Something happen to your old one?" Utena asked.
        "Indeed," said Moose.  "We'll talk about it in a bit."  She
nodded, understanding.
        "So you're a friend of Utena's from before she came here?"
Azalynn asked Miki.
        "That's right," said Miki.
        "That's cool," said Azalynn.  She was standing a little closer
to Miki than his personal comfort zone allowed for, and gazing at him
intently with her slightly-unnerving molten-gold eyes.  As he stood
looking back, growing slightly more nervous with each second, she
moved closer still, until they were almost nose to nose.
        "You've got really nice eyes," she told him flatly, then
stepped back with her hands folded behind her back and a big grin on
her face.  "I'm Azalynn.  Welcome to the Institute, Miki.  We're going
to be great friends, you and me.  I can tell just looking at you."
        "Er," said Miki.  He cast about mentally for something to say
to that, and finally came up with, "Well... I hope so."

        They went inside and piled their things around Bench Number
One, for the time being.  As they were bringing them in, a wiry boy
with a shock of blond hair and a long gray coat appeared from the
Daniels Hall side of things and greeted them all with a cheery,
slightly reedy, "What, ho, comrades!"
        "Devlin!" said Azalynn, and she repeated on him the process
she'd performed on all of her returning friends so far.  "Amanda was
looking for you," she told him as she released him and led him over to
the booth to join the others.  "She had to go to Harrington, some kind
of reg problem.  Said she'd be back later."
        "If she's lucky," Devlin replied.  "Hullo!  New faces, and it
didn't take me ten minutes to spot 'em this time, eh, what?" he said
with a wink for Utena.
        "D-Devlin," said Kate, "I w-want you t-to m-m-meet Miki
K-Kaoru, an old sch-schoolmate of Utena's w-who's d-decided to j-join
us here... "
        "Pleasure, old bean, pleasure," said Devlin, pumping Miki's
outstretched hand and releasing it.
        "... and th-this is my b-brother Corwin... "
        "'Course!  'Course!  Unmistakable fellow.  Couldn't be anybody
else.  Absolutely -thrilled- to make your acquaintance, what?  Heard
so much about you it's like I practically know you already."
        "... and his f-friend Dorothy W-Wayner-right, who's a-also
s-starting at the D-Double-U this t-term."
        Dorothy offered her hand rather half-heartedly; Devlin took
it, but didn't pump it.  Instead, he bowed, quite formally despite the
antiformality of his flappy coat and upstanding hair, and kissed it.
        "Charmed beyond repair," said Devlin.  "Carter Devlin, dear
lady, or Devlin Carter - take your pick, it don't matter."
        Dorothy retrieved her hand and calmly corrected Kaitlyn: "I'm
R. Dorothy Wayneright."
        There was a moment's pause, and then Devlin inquired, "The 'R'
bein' for the usual thing?"
        "Robot," Dorothy said flatly.
        "Mm."  Devlin nodded.  "Well, charmed all the same, what?"
        "If you insist," said Dorothy.
        "Have our new arrivals been assigned places to live yet?"
Utena wondered.
        "Well, Miki has," Moose told her.  "I saw Miss Montaigne a
while ago and - well, why don't we sit down... there's a quorum, we
can fill Amanda in later."
        "OK, but give me a minute," Utena said.  "I'm starving.  I
can't wait for lunchtime."  She turned and went toward the snack bar,
a miniature grill-service spot commonly referred to, since it was run
by the same concession company that handled the main dining halls, as
"Mini-DAKA" (first 'A' long).  Mini-DAKA served the same food as DAKA,
which wasn't all that good, but it at least had the advantage of being
made fresh.  On the other hand, you had to pay extra for it.  Right
now, Utena didn't really care about that.  In fact, she customarily
ate breakfast there, either through having missed the dining hall's
hours or just out of an unwillingness to suffer its rubbery, cold
omelets.
        "Um, Utena," said Azalynn, but Utena waved the Dantrovian back
without turning around.
        "In a minute, I'm too hungry to listen."
        "But - ohhh... "
        She went into the place, which was deserted at the
after-breakfast hour of 11:15 AM, and froze for a moment in the
doorway.  The guy at the grill had his back turned to her, and the
long, slightly wavy green ponytail trailing down his back, as well as
the slim but broad-shouldered build of that back, stopped her in her
tracks for a second.
        Man, she thought, the new grill guy looks just like Saionji
from the back.  That's gonna take some getting used to.
        "'Scuse me," she said, grabbing a plastic tray and stepping up
to the stainless steel counter that bordered the grill.
        "Yes, may I help - " the grill guy began, turning around; then
he saw her, she saw him, and they both froze in place.
        The new grill guy -was- Kyouichi Saionji.
        There was a long, long, tense pause.
        "You!" Utena finally blurted.
        "Well, yes, that -was- what I should have said next," Saionji
admitted.  "May I help you?"
        "What... what are you doing here?"
        "Taking your order," Saionji said.  "I see you weren't
notified that I'm here."
        "Um... no."
        "Shame.  I'd hoped to spare you the shock, and myself the
potential injury."  He put his hands on top of the sneeze guard
covering the preparation counter and leaned forward a little, his eyes
intent.  "I know we have a lot to talk about, Tenjou, but right now
I'm working.  My time isn't my own.  What can I get you?"
        Utena felt a little dizzy.  She wondered if she would ever get
used to having surreal things happen to her, since they seemed bent on
doing so with annoying regularity.
        "Um... a sausage biscuit.  And a couple of those English
muffin-Canadian bacon things, I forget what they're called.  A ham
omelet.  Hash browns.  A large Coke."
        Saionji blinked.  "Do you always eat breakfasts like that?"
        "Usually."
        He gave her a look-over, then shook his head in amazement and
turned his attention to the grill.
        Utena emerged from the snack bar with her tray a few minutes
later, still looking dumbfounded.
        "I tried to warn you," Azalynn remarked as Utena sat down next
to Kate.
        "W-warn her ab-bout what?"
        "Oh, you remember Kyouichi Saionji?"
        Kate gave her a look.
        "OK, stupid question.  Anyway.  I ran into him over break.
Now don't get excited.  He's feeling much better and would like to
come back inside."
        "He's working in the snack bar," Utena said to her sausage
biscuit, disbelief still on her face.  "He made this."  She bit into
it, chewed, swallowed.  "And it's -good-.  Saionji's a good cook.  Who
the hell knew?"
        "That's just a part-time thing to make some spending money,"
said Azalynn.  "He's a student."
        Utena nearly choked.  "Here?!"
        "Of course here.  Where'd you think, Doherty High?  He had a
little trouble with the test and got knocked back a couple grades from
where he says he was at the old place, but he got in.  He's in our
class.  You'll probably have Galactic History 203 with him."
        "This was the important thing you had to tell us?"  Moose
wondered.
        "Yeah.  I didn't want anybody to, you know, bug out and try to
take his head off or anything before he got a chance to explain.  When
he gets off work he wants to talk to you two.  I imagine he's going to
apologize.  If he doesn't, I'm going to throttle him."  She grinned at
Miki.  "He'll probably be glad to see you, too.  It's always good to
see a face or two from back home in a new setting."
        "Um... perhaps," said Miki.  "We weren't... really close."
        Azalynn shrugged.  "Well, yeah, he did mention that he used to
be a real bastard.  But like I said, he wants to apologize now - start
over and all that.  So who knows?"
        "Apologize," said Utena to her sausage biscuit.  Then she
looked over it at Azalynn.  "What'd you -do- to him?"
        "Oh, you know, this and that," said Azalynn offhandedly.
"Talked, mostly.  I found him freezing his tail off up at Bancroft
Tower.  Gave him dinner, talked some sense into him.  The usual."
        "Was it a holiday?" Utena asked, looking as if she didn't
really want to know, but had to.
        "Duh, it was Christmas?" Azalynn replied with exaggerated
patience.
        Utena gave that a moment's thought and replied, "..."
        "W-what was your n-n-news, Moose?" Kaitlyn asked.
        "Trouble," said Moose.  "You'll all start noticing it, and
there's supposed to be an announcement tonight after everybody's back,
but... a bunch of governments yanked their citizens off Earth over the
break.  52 students aren't coming back."
        "Oh no!" said Azalynn.  "Anybody we know?"
        Moose nodded.  "Miss Montaigne didn't give me the complete
list, but Davy's gone, and so are Chenann and Strom.  I haven't been
over to the House since I dropped off my bag, so I dunno who else,
but... "  He spread his hands.  "Looks bad."
        "Why'd they do it, I wonder?" Azalynn mused.
        "The Extension to the Psionics Regulation and Protection Act
is before the Earthdome Assembly again," Devlin pointed out, his tone
graver than usual.  "And it looks like it has a good chance of passin'
this time, what?  Off-Earth conscription powers for the Psi Corps,
expansion of their jurisdiction from the homeworld to the borders of
the whole Alliance, all that rot.  High-psionic-potential races are
nervous, an' well they should be.  They're backin' away from Earth as
a gesture of protest."  He shook his head.  "Won't work.  'Internal
operations of a sovereign nation' and all that.  Won't be too long
before they're pushing a similar Extension for the whole Federation,
and if the outer races back off instead of fightin'... well, 'peace in
our time,' as they say."
        "You know a lot about it," said Azalynn, sounding surprised.
        "Big news back in the Old Country," Devlin replied
offhandedly.  "Most of the country's top physicists suddenly leavin'
will have a tendency to make the papers.  More Vulcans in Britain than
anyplace else on Earth, until last week, you know."
        "Mm," nodded Azalynn.
        Corwin glanced at his watch.  "I don't want to be a pain," he
said, "but I've got to get back to New Avalon before the middle of the
night this time."
        "Right, well, let's get everything squared away," said Utena,
"and we'll meet back here for lunch."

        WPI's campus is bordered to the south by a line of eight
pleasant, tree-lined side streets which lead down the side of
Institute Hill, perpendicular to Institute Road, five of them lying to
the west of West Street, which bisects the campus along the
north-south line, the other two east of it.  These streets make up a
quiet residential neighborhood, which is a nice one-block-deep buffer
zone between WPI and the (relative) bustle of Highland Street's
commercial strip.
        Several of the old-fashioned wood-frame houses on these
streets belong to the Institute, and are used as student residences.
They fall under the same aegis and basic guidelines as the dormitories
and the on-campus Ellsworth and Fuller apartments (which are located
just across Institute Road from the three main dormitories, Morgan,
Daniels and Sanford Riley Halls), but are a bit further from school, a
bit quieter, and smaller, providing a semi-off-campus living
experience for the lucky students to be assigned to them while
remaining close enough to campus to prevent that sense of
disconnection so common to off-campus living.
        One of these, the two-story yellow affair at 22 Schussler
Road, is known by the school's administration as "Galaxy House".
Galaxy House is part of the Worcester Preparatory Institute's
much-publicized Commitment to Diversity.  The criteria for being
assigned as one of its seven residents are simple: one must be other
than a first-year student, and not from Earth, nor an Earth colony
independent for less than two centuries.
        Moose MacEchearn was such a student, and had lived in Galaxy
House since the start of this school year.  It was here that he led
Miki, Corwin, and Dorothy, the last of whom still carried that
enormous case without apparent difficulty.  Someone from Residental
Life had been along to stick Post-It notes on the doors of the
upstairs bedrooms, denoting the revised living assignments.  It was
with a glum expression that Moose found one of the double rooms now
completely vacant.  He already knew, of course, but seeing it that
way, in black and white - well, black and yellow - somehow made it
harder to take.
        He sighed.
        "Well, this is the place," he said.  "Man.  Gonna be quiet
around here without Beld and G'Kron."
        "G'Kron hasn't gone anywhere," a disgruntled voice remarked
from behind them, and a burly Narn (well, perhaps not in comparison to
Moose, but against Miki and Corwin, burly) shouldered past, yanked the
Post-It off the door of Room 22S/2, and crumpled it.  Miki, who had
never knowingly seen a non-human before (he hadn't noticed that
Azalynn was one), tried not to stare.
        G'Kron was humanoid in general arrangement, with the
appropriate numbers of limbs, digits and sensory organs in the correct
configuration, but there the resemblance ended.  He was tall, though
not as tall as Moose, and broad, though not as broad as Moose.  His
skin was mottled in different shades of brown, and hairless; his head
was bald and vaguely wedge-shaped, with deep hollows around his eyes,
which were a red so bright they almost seemed to glow.  He had a very
pointed chin.  It was a face which was well-suited to indignant
scowling, which was just what it was doing now.
        There was something odd, thought Miki, about seeing such a
creature dressed in blue jeans, hiking sandals, and a t-shirt
emblazoned with incomprehensible alien script.
        "Narn's not pulling out?" Moose asked.
        "-This- Narn isn't," G'Kron replied, almost sputtering with
annoyance.  "To suggest that my education be interrupted because of
some internal political wrangling to do with this human... -organization-
which has nothing to -do- with us...  This is an outrage!"
        "Mm-hmm," said Moose, who was apparently accustomed to his
housemate's bursts of temper.  "G'Kron, I'd like you to meet a couple
of -incoming- students, in the middle of all this mess.  This is Miki
Kaoru, who's going to be rooming with me, and Dorothy Wayneright.  And
this is Kate Hutchins's brother Corwin, he's helping Dorothy get
settled in."
        "I'm very pleased to meet all of you," said G'Kron, who didn't
really sound it, but was so caught between seeming harried and
blustering that he didn't sound sarcastic about it either.  "If you'll
excuse me, I have to write a letter to the Narn Consulate while the
vitriol is still fresh, telling them what I think of this - " He
pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and refreshed
his memory.  " - 'purely voluntary but strongly suggested withdrawal
from an area of crisis.'  Bah!"
        Crumpling that paper too, he turned on his heel and stalked
into his room, slamming the door behind him.
        "... Well, that was G'Kron," said Moose.  "Don't worry, you'll
get used to him.  He caps off like that about once a week about
something or other, but he's mostly harmless."  He shook his head.
"Anyway."  He led the way down the hall to the door at the end, which
had, over its 22S/4 plate, a Post-It reading "WAYNERIGHT, R. 
DOROTHY".  This door he opened, swung wide, and stood aside from,
allowing Dorothy to pass him and plunk the giant case she carried down
next to the bed.
        The room wasn't all that big - big enough for the bed, a
dresser, and enough floor space not to seem claustrophobic, until she
put that case down and took up most of it.  It had a dormered window,
a couple of odd slants to the ceiling because of the house's double
gambrel roof, and a closet, and the walls were painted in a pleasantly
neutral shade.  Dorothy stood where she'd stopped to put down the case
and looked around, as ever seeming somewhat disinterested.
        "So... " Moose wondered from the doorway.  "What's in the
case?"
        "It's a portable maintenance bay for Dorothy," said Corwin as
he put her suitcases on the bed.  "Should take care of all her basic
needs - day-to-day adjustments, lubrication, minor repairs, that kind
of thing.  Kate told me you're an engineering student?"
        "That's right.  Mostly amplification and the like, but I have
a little robotics."
        "Good enough.  Miki, can you give him the checkout run on the
box sometime soon?  It'd be nice if there were more than one person
around who can run it in case something happens."
        "I'll do that," said Miki, nodding.
        "Well, Dorothy?  What do you think?" asked Corwin, looking
around.
        "I won't need the bed," said Dorothy.
        "You should keep it anyway," Corwin advised her.  "They're
handy to have around sometimes."
        Dorothy looked the institution-issue wood-framed rack over
from one end to the other, turned to him, and deadpanned, "I doubt it
would support me, let alone me and someone else."
        Corwin went bright red.  (Behind him, so did Miki, who then
timed something.)  "That's -not- what I meant," he replied.  "Where'd
you get an idea like that?"
        "Usenet," said Dorothy.
        "Stop reading alt groups," said Corwin, annoyed.

        "Ah, home sweet home," Utena declared, dropping her bags next
to the wardrobe at the foot of Morgan 412's bunk bed and then
sprawling (so much as one can sprawl on college beds) on the lower
bunk.  "Be it ever so institutional... "
        "So what'd you guys get for Christmas?" Azalynn asked.
        Utena sat up, crossed her legs, and leaned forward to snag the
strap of the smallish black plastic case that was among her items of
baggage, while Kate did the same with the matching (slightly smaller)
case she had.  The two girls shared a conspiratorial grin, then
snapped the catches open together.
        "L-Lesser Maz-zinger!" Kate declared.  "P-p-power ON!  M-Mazin
GO!"
        There was a soft, bright sound, and Lesser Mazinger rose up
from his protective prison of formed foam to brandish his mighty fists
on high.
        "Wow!" said Azalynn.
        "Tiny Robo!" Utena announced to her wristwatch, which seemed
to have turned into a small communication device.  "It's showtime!"
        "(Grr,)" said something inside her case, and then the lid was
flung open by a mighty (tiny) blow, and Tiny Robo raised himself to
action as well.
        The two small robots spotted each other, and immediately leapt
into action, rushing together in the middle of the floor and locking
into a feigned clash.  Azalynn sat down on the floor to watch them,
bubbling over with delight.
        "These are so cool!  Did your brother make them, Kate?"
        "Mm-hmm," Kate replied, looking a little smug.  She watched
the robots pretend to fight for a bit, then turned to her computer,
humming a little tune.
        "He made me a great birthday present, too," said Utena.  "Poor
guy, all those birthdays in that same week... he was just about worn
out by New Year's.  Want to see?"
        "Sure," said Azalynn, beaming with anticipation.
        Utena got hold of her duffel bag by the strap and dragged it
up onto the bed.  Grinning, she unzipped it, rummaged around inside
it, and then pulled out a long, narrow object which had been buried
within the clothes and such.  Azalynn's eyes widened in surprise.
        "Whoa!" she declared.
        Utena grinned, turning the sword over in her hands to slip her
hand into the basket over its hilt and draw it from its scabbard.
"Oooh," said Azalynn as the blade, its steel blued as deep as the
basket, slid into view.
        "Like it?" Utena asked.  She rose to her feet, struck an
en-garde, and made a couple of easy cuts.
        "It's beautiful!  Corwin -made- it?  You mean, by hand?"
        "Mm-hmm," said Kate.  "I w-watched him d-do p-p-part of it.
The b-basket took him a wh-h-hole d-day."
        "I didn't know your brother was a swordsmith, Katie," said
Azalynn.
        "Oh, C-Corwin's a l-l-lot of th-things," said Kate offhandedly
from her desk.  She was deeply engrossed in what appeared to be a Web
search, the reflection of her display screen making her glasses look
like datagoggles.
        "What's it -for-?" Azalynn wondered.
        "Well, when I decided I needed one, I thought Saionji would
probably be coming back around sometime, still cracked," Utena
replied.  "That's not a problem now, I guess, but even so... "  She
shrugged.  "I feel better having it."
        "Gosh, you should.  It's gorgeous."  Azalynn got up and
stepped closer, bending to examine the rose-vine basket hilt with a
critical eye.  "Look at the -detail-!  It has power, too," she added.
Utena glanced at her, surprised that she could tell.  Azalynn looked
up at her and smiled.  "Corwin must really think you're something
special."
        Utena's face went a bit pink as she replied, "Uh... yeah, I
get the impression.  Don't give him a hard time about it, huh?
He's... sort of sensitive.  And his little sister's friend gave him
nothing but grief about it all vacation."
        Azalynn looked mildly offended.  "I would never give someone a
hard time for friendship and warmth.  It's a thing to be admired."
        Utena chuckled.  "Right, I forgot.  It's part of your
religion.  I'm sorry."
        "It's all right.  Kate, what -are- you looking up?"
        "W-w-weapons laws and r-reg-gulations," Kate replied.
"L-looks like you c-c-COULD wear the Th-Thorn in p-public, Utena... if
you w-were a mem-mber of a c-campus club whose act-tivities had
s-something to d-do with s-swords."
        "Huh."  Utena sheathed the Thorn of the Rose and regarded it.
"Guess I'll have to join the Fencing Club or something, then."
        "G-good luck," said Kate glumly.
        "Why?"
        "The Fencing Club belongs to Liza Broadbitch," said Azalynn,
scowling.  "Professor Harris is supposed to be the faculty advisor and
all, but Liza's the captain, and Harris doesn't pay any attention.
She runs it the way she wants."
        "Oh."  Utena sat down on the edge of her bed and looked
gloomy.  "That'll make it harder."
        Elizabeth Broadbank, eldest daughter of one of New Avalon's
wealthier corporate families, was a fellow sophomore, the
vice-president of the Student Council, and at times appeared to be
Kaitlyn's personal nemesis.  She was unlikely to do Kate's roommate
(who, unknown to Liza, had once impersonated her to the Boston Police
during an unauthorized adventure with the Student Council activities
van) any favors.
        "Es-specially since you're n-not really a f-fencer," said
Kate.  "Liza's v-very b-b-big on f-form."
        "Hmph.  I guess I might as well at least -ask-.  The worst she
can do is say 'no'."  Utena put the sword down on her bed, got up, and
collected her overcoat and hat from the back of her chair.  "Do you
know where she lives?"
        "Founders Hall," said Azalynn.  "One of the suites, but I
don't know which one."
        "T-two-oh-one," said Kate.  "It's in the C-Council
h-handbook."
        "Thanks," said Utena.  "Maybe I can catch her before lunch.
See you there," she said, and opened the door to leave, nearly
colliding as she did so with Corwin, who was just raising his hand to
knock.
        "Oops!" she said, stopping and backing up to let him in.
"Everybody settled over at Galaxy House?"
        "Yep," said Corwin.  "I left them talking in the living room.
Well, Moose and Miki were talking, anyway.  Dorothy doesn't have much
to say yet."  He grinned.  "But she wasn't hiding in her room,
anyway."
        "Those t-two are g-g-going to need unif-forms," said Kate, the
thought just having struck her.
        "They know," Corwin told her.  "Moose said he'd see to it
after lunch.  They'll come up here to eat with the rest of your gang."
        "Aren't you staying for lunch?" asked Utena.
        "Nah, I wish I could, but I gotta get back," Corwin replied.
"I promised Hiroshi I'd be on Tomodachi tonight - I'm supposed to help
him put together one of his Christmas presents - and I have to get
Daggerdisc home for Dad before I can do that."  He sighed.  "Man,
this'll be so much easier when I have my own ship.  Or learn how to
gate... anyway, I can't stick around, much as I'd like to."
        "Oh.  That's too bad.  Well, c'mon, then, I'll walk you to
your car.  I was just on my way to ask an enemy of a friend for a
favor."
        Corwin gave her a puzzled look at that, then went to take his
leave of his sister.
        "Mmmm... g-g'bye, C-Corwin," said Kate as she hugged him.
"Th-thanks... f-for everyth-thing."  Then she spoke the only phrase of
Old Norse she knew, a parting she had learned from Skuld: >Walk in
glory, little brother.<
        >Live with courage, elder sister,< he replied, squeezed her a
little harder, and then let her go with a kiss on the cheek.  "See you
soon, though."
        "Mm," said Kate, nodding with a bright smile.  Corwin turned
and said it was nice seeing Azalynn again (she'd met him the previous
year, when she'd visited New Avalon during the summer), received a
pleasantry in turn, and then he and Utena went downstairs and exited
the Wedge on the Quad side.  They reached the back of his car and
paused, a little awkwardly.
        "Um... well... " said Corwin.  "I guess I'll see you around."
        "I'll be here," Utena replied.  "'Til summer, anyway, unless
Kate decides to go home for C-D break."
        "Well, uh... yeah.  I'll be back to visit soon."
        "I'll look forward to it," she said with a smile.  The more
awkward he became, the more at her ease she seemed to get in
response.  He smiled self-consciously and rubbed at the back of his
neck with one hand, a gesture she'd noticed he indulged in often when
he didn't quite know what to say.  Now that she thought about it, it
was a habit she shared at times.  She wondered if maybe he'd picked it
up from her; she'd have to ask Kate if he'd done it before.
        "Thanks," he said.  "Well... so long, I guess," he went on,
and stuck out his hand as if he were parting from his cousin Hiroshi.
        Hiroshi didn't usually use the hand as a lever to haul him
into an embrace, though.  For a second he was utterly at a loss before
instinct kicked in and told him, there's a girl hugging you, get your
arms around her and hug her back before you lose your window, fool!
        This he did, and as he held her and felt dizzy, Utena repeated
the syllables Kate had used, not understanding exactly what they
meant, but trusting in context to make them appropriate.  Corwin gave
her the same reply; then she let him go, whacked him cheerily on the
shoulder, and said with a grin,
        "So long, Corwin!  Don't be a stranger, huh?"
        "Count... count on it," he said, and she turned and went away
from him with a spring in her step, pausing at the stone in the middle
of the Quad to turn back and wave.  He waved back, then shook his
head, got into his car, and fired it up; then he sat there, watching
the pink smudge of her hair until it disappeared around the back of
Higgins Labs, before putting the Griffon in gear and backing out to
leave.
        Above, Kate watched the car turn right and vanish around the
end of Daniels, in the other direction, and sighed.  It was sweet and
all, but this had the potential to get kind of complicated... 
        ... Ah, well, these things work themselves out or they don't.
        "'S'matter, Katie?" asked Azalynn from the floor, where she
lay propped on her elbows reading Kate's new issue of Pianoforte
magazine.
        "N-nothing," Kate replied.  "I h-hope."

        Utena returned to Morgan 412 twenty minutes later, in a
considerably poorer mood than she had left.
        "What an unbelievable bitch that girl is," were the first
words out of her mouth as she entered, kicking the door shut behind
her.
        "I warned you," said Azalynn.
        "Do you know what she called me?" Utena demanded, tossing her
coat and hat onto her bed.  "A girl I've never spoken to before in my
life!  I was nice, I was pleasant, I was polite - "
        "She called you a plebeian?" Azalynn guessed.
        "She called me a -barbarian-!" Utena replied.
        "Ooh.  That's new."
        "-Then- she looked over my clothes and said," (And here, Utena
adopted a fairly decent rendition of Liza Broadbank's affected
aristocratic drawl) "'You know, darling, if you really wanted to be a
man, I know a perfectly adequate clinic in Austria that shouldn't set
your parents back more than ten or twelve years' pay.'"
        "Ouch!" said Azalynn; then, with a hopeful look, the
Dantrovian asked, "Did you kill her?"
        "No, dammit!" Utena replied, throwing herself down in her
armchair.  "I wanted to, but then I thought I'd probably get expelled
for it," she added, cracking the joke to keep from screaming or
throwing something.  "God!  What a hateful person."  She held up her
hands, examining them, and went on, "Then she said she didn't think it
would be worth giving me a tryout, because with these indelicate
hands, there's no way I'd be more than an adequate fencer, and 'the
Worcester Preparatory Institute team is for only the very best,
darling, you understand.'"  She frowned.  "I don't think I have
indelicate hands."
        As it often did when she looked at her left hand, Utena's gaze
went briefly to the little white scar at the base of her left ring
finger, and as it did, her expression changed from a glum frown to a
thoughtful one, and from that to look of dawning realization, and from
that to a sly grin.
        "Kate," she said, lowering her right hand and continuing to
survey her left.
        "Mm?"
        "If we can't get into the Fencing Club," said Utena, "then why
don't we start our own?"

        They unveiled it at Table 11 over lunch, having spent fifteen
minutes sketching the concept out before dashing down to catch the
tail end of the DAKA lunch window.  There were a lot of parents on
campus today, dropping off their kids and grabbing a bite before
leaving again, so the food was considerably more palatable than
normal.
        Moose MacEchearn looked a bit skeptical.
        "... The... Institute Duelists' Society," he said.
        "Yeah," Utena replied.  "Listen, the only weapons-based
martial-arts club on this campus right now is the Fencing Club,
right?"
        "Unl-less you c-count archery and sh-shooting as m-martial
arts," said Kaitlyn, "w-which I th-think you r-really should."
        "OK, fine," Utena conceded.  "But it's the only one with melee
weapons.  Right?"
        "Uh-huh," said Moose.
        "And," Utena went on, "the Fencing Club is extremely strict
about their definition of 'fencing'.  Even kendoka and the like can't
get in.  European-style fencing only.  And because Liza Broadbank is
running it, you also have to be in her little clique."
        "For the most part," said Moose, "true."
        "So," said Utena, "there's your need right there."
        "But -Duelists' Society-?" Devlin Carter protested.  "I don't
think it'll fly if you present it to the Deans like that, eh, what?
This isn't the kind of school where they want the students goin' round
scarrin' each other, cuttin' each other's ears off an' whatnot."
        "No need for that.  I know another way.  At my old school we
had this system... "

        "... loses the duel," she finished, and waited with a
respectful expectancy.
        There was a rather long silence.  President Roland Tiefeld
cleared his throat, shuffled some papers on the desk in front of him,
and then regarded her over the tops of his small oblong spectacles.
        "These duels were fought with real weapons?  Live steel?" he
asked her.
        "That's right, yes sir," Utena replied.
        "Isn't that dangerous?" asked Clarice Garwood.  As the Dean of
Campus Safety and Security, she cut straight to the part of the
equation that interested her most.
        "It can be," Utena admitted, "but it's the surest way of
ensuring that the duelists give it their best, and if the selection is
careful enough, no one will be unskilled enough to be in any real
danger."
        She ignored the little voice in her head reminding her that
she had been unskilled enough to be in -plenty- of real danger, back
in the day.
        "Hmm," said Professor Aaron Harris, faculty advisor and coach
of the Fencing Club.  "I don't see the need.  We already have a
perfectly fine venue for this in the Fencing Club, and -we- use safety
equipment."
        "With all due respect, Professor, dueling is not fencing,"
Utena replied.  "The whole point of the Duelists' Society is to create
a venue for weapons artists of all different styles and traditions to
test themselves against one another, to face diverse opponents in a
freestyle contest.  Isn't diversity supposed to be one of the
Institute's cornerstones, Mr. President?"
        "Mm - h'm," said the President.  "She has a point, you know,
Aaron.  Your fencers are all of a type; that's the nature of the
sport.  What Miss Tenjou is talking about isn't so much a sport as
a... a self-betterment exercise."
        "A dangerous and foolhardy one, if you ask me," said Harris.
"The administration of her old school must have been out of their mind
to permit students to attack each other with live weapons and no
safeguards."
        You should have seen the -arena-, thought Utena.
        "They didn't just permit it, they encouraged it," she told the
panel.  "At the Academy, duelists were selected by the Deputy Chairman
of the school's Board of Trustees."
        "Who will screen your members here?  No one on the faculty has
the martial skill, experience, or spare time for such an endeavor,"
said Dean Garwood.  Professor Harris looked a little miffed at having
been left out of the "martial skill" category, but said nothing.
        "We'll do it ourselves," said Utena, "with the help of our
administrative advisor."  At Garwood's skeptical look, she plunged
recklessly on, "I was the Champion Duelist of Ohtori Academy last
year.  That means I defeated every other Duelist there more than once
over the course of the school year, without anyone ever getting
seriously hurt.  I think I'm qualified to judge who is and isn't
duelist material."
        You do?! she blurted internally as the words came out of her
mouth.
        "How is it, if this school was so advanced, that none of us
have ever heard of it?" said Professor Harris pointedly.
        "It was a good school," said Utena, and she steeled herself
internally for the first (and hopefully last) bald-faced lie she would
have to tell the assembled administrators: "But it was on the Outer
Rim, and... well... "  She did her best to look as troubled as
possible as she went on, "... The raiders... "  She shook her head and
returned to the more comfortable realm of semi-truth.  "I have no home
to go back to now," she said, hanging her head.
        For such an utterly untalented liar, she did a pretty decent
job with that one.  President Tiefeld cleared his throat uncomfortably.  
"Er, there now, Miss Tenjou," he said.  "I'm sure Professor Harris
didn't mean to dredge up unpleasant memories.  Certainly we accept
your word as a, a student and a gentlewoman, as to your former
situation.  It's just that... well... this is all quite irregular, and
we must be sure we are't letting the Institute in for
any... problems."
        "Think of the insurance," said Professor Harris.  "The
parental protests."
        "I'm not proposing we -force- people to be duelists," Utena
pointed out, 'pulling herself together' from her 'memories' of her
fictitious homeworld on the Rim.  "Of course we'll have to get
releases from the parents involved, and explain to them exactly what
their kids will be doing, but... "
        "I've heard enough," said Harris peremptorily.  "Mr. President, 
there's no need to continue this further.  My mind is made up.  My
decision is 'no'."
        "You aren't the only one who gets to decide, Aaron," said
Tiefeld gently.
        "Professor Harris has - " began Dean Garwood, but Utena cut her
off, rising to her feet and speaking hotly.
        "The Code of the Worcester Preparatory Institute," she
declared, slapping an open palm down on her copy of the WPI Student
Handbook, "states that the purpose of this Institute is 'to promote
the intellectual growth, physical strength, and emotional well-being
of its students by challenging them to excel -in every possible facet
of sentient existence-, to -strive for greatness in all that they do-,
and to -take control of their destinies to the fullest extent
possible-.'  Are those just words, or do they mean something to this
board?" she inquired, leaning forward with her hands on the table.
        "We -realize- that our request is an exceptional one - but we
are exceptional individuals.  This school is supposed to be here to
train the leaders of tomorrow.  Well, judging by current events, that
tomorrow is likely to be a difficult and dangerous time.  How can we
be expected to shoulder that responsibility if we're protected from
the danger of striving to be our best?"
        President Tiefeld gazed across the boardroom at the
impassioned face of this unusual student, looked her square in the
eyes, and smiled, ever so slightly.
        "Miss Tenjou," he said, "you raise an excellent point.  Dean
Garwood, Professor Harris and I will need to discuss your proposal
privately for a few minutes.  If you could wait outside?  We'll send
for you when we've reached a decision."
        Utena straightened, squared herself, and bowed stiffly, then
collected her things.
        "Thank you, Mr. President," she said, then turned smartly and
marched out.
        The instant the doors closed behind her, she sagged back
against them and slid down, her knees giving way, to sit on the floor
and get a good start on hyperventilating.
        "Wow, Utena," said Miki from one of the straight-backed
chairs along the wall next to the doors.
        "We could hear you clear out here," Azalynn added.  "What a
speech!  I don't think anybody's ever quoted the Code at an
Administrative Review Panel before."
        "Especially not one with Cast-Iron Garwood on it," said Moose.
        "D-do you n-need a b-bag or s-something?" asked Kate,
concerned.
        "No... no, I'm fine," said Utena.  She picked herself up and
went to the empty chair next to Kate.  "I'm fine.  Harris just made me
so -mad-... when I get mad, sometimes I do crazy things."
        Saionji laughed.  Utena glanced sharply at him, then smiled.
It was a little surreal, Saionji being here, Saionji being able to
laugh at his own expense.  Three days had gone by, it was Monday
afternoon, and she still hadn't quite gotten over what had passed
between them Friday night.
/--
        It was 8:30, and Kaitlyn was at her piano, fooling around with
a ragtime piece she'd thrown together for a lark on the flight back
from Zeta Cygni.  Utena lounged in her armchair, still working on the
Great Book of Amber and missing the little warm weight of Nall, Corwin
Ravenhair's flying-cat companion who claimed to be a dragon, in her
lap, where he'd spent the bulk of her reading time during her sojourn
in New Avalon.  Because of the piano, they almost didn't hear the
knock at the door, but the second time it came it was loud enough for
them to notice and stop what they were doing to attend to it.  Kate
got up, covered the keys, switched off the acoustic dampers, and
opened the door while Utena craned around in her chair to see who was
visiting.
        "Oh," said Kate.  "I-i-it's y-y-y-you."
        "You needn't sound so thrilled," said Kyouichi Saionji dryly.
"May I come in?  I'll only be a moment."
        Kate looked a bit ambivalent, but she let him in anyway, and
went to stand by the piano, her left hand unobtrusively taking up her
zatoichi from where it had been leaning against the wall next to the
instrument.  Utena got up from her chair, darting a glance at the
Thorn of the Rose, which hung by the swordbelt from the corner post of
Kate's top bunk.
        "I have a thing to say to you as well, Miss Hutchins," said
Saionji formally, "but my business with Miss Tenjou is more overdue,
if you don't mind."
        Kaitlyn nodded, wary but not hostile, and he nodded in return
by way of thanks before turning to Utena.  He regarded her calmly for
a moment; then one corner of his mouth quirked, just barely, into the
faintest hint of a smile, and he drew the tachi from his side.  Utena
jumped a couple of feet back, braced herself, and made ready to lunge
for her own weapon, wondering if Kate would be willing to attack him
from behind to stop him from reaching her.  Inwardly, she cursed
Azalynn.  Feeling much better, my ass!
        Then Saionji did something that startled Utena almost as much
as she had ever been surprised in her life.
        He dropped to one knee, bowed his head, and laid his sword at
her feet.
        "Utena Tenjou," he said, his voice quiet and even, "I salute
you."
        Utena stared down at him in utter astonishment.  Behind him,
Kate slowly returned the twelve or so inches of her zatoichi she'd
drawn back to the scabbard.
        "You -what-?!"
        He looked up at her, brushed a bit of his long, disordered
green hair out of his eyes, and repeated, "I salute you, Utena Tenjou.
You have remained true to the ideals that you hold dear.  You
triumphed over the cynicism, the bitter megalomania, of Akio Ohtori,
and were not perverted by him."  He lowered his eyes again and
continued in a dark murmur, "Unlike me.  I was weak.  I failed to be
true to myself.  I let myself become cruel and stupid, and abused the
people that I loved."  He shook his head, and tears spattered his
clenched fists.  "I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry... "
        Utena blinked at him.  "Saionji... " she whispered, shocked.
        "My memory is still a bit disjointed," Saionji went on, "but I
remember some important things.  One is that I owe you an apology.
Another is that I owe the Rose Bride a great deal more."  He looked
back up at her, that faint hint of a smile toying with his mouth
again, and said, "I thought I'd start with the easier one first."
        Utena couldn't help it.  At the wryness in his voice and the
tiny trace of humor on his face, she had to crack a smile.  Dropping
down to a catcher's crouch to be at eye level with him, she said
soberly,
        "I won't lie.  There was a time when I'd have thrown your
apology in your face and told you to choke on it... but... here, now,
today... "  She gestured around to the room, and, in a more
metaphorical sense, her life as it now was, and nodded.  "I can accept
it."  At the look of hope that stole onto his long face, she raised a
cautionary finger and went on, "But only for me, mind you!  Himemiya,
you'll have to come to your own terms with.  I won't speak for her."
        Saionji nodded.  "I understand.  And in that regard, I... "
He paused as if gathering courage, then plunged on, "I have a favor to
ask of you."
        Utena gave him a look that managed to combine puzzlement,
slight apprehension, and a cue to go on.
        "When you find Anthy - for I have no doubt you will - will you
tell her that I'm sorry?  That I curse myself for the weakness and
stupidity that led me to mistreat her?  Will you tell her... "  He
paused, shedding a couple more tears, and looked Utena full in the
face with a look of raw regret.  "... Will you tell her that, however
mad I was, however warped it was by that madness, the love I had for
her was real?  Whatever else you think of me, you must believe that."
        Utena didn't know what to say; she looked back at him for
several seconds, completely at a loss, before bowing her head and
putting a hand on his shoulder.
        "When I find her... " she said finally, slowly, picking her
words with care, "... when I find her... you can tell her all that
yourself, because if she'll come, I'm bringing her back here."  She
raised that admonishing finger again, only half-serious, and added
briskly, "But don't you let that give you any ideas!"
        He half-smiled, even half-laughed, caught between remorse,
surprise, disbelief and pleasure.  "I have none," he told her, still
half-smiling, but entirely serious.  "You are the winner of the
Tournament.  You are the Prince of the Tenth World.  The Rose Bride is
yours."  He chuckled wryly.  "I understand now that she would be
anyway, Tournament or no Tournament."
        Utena sat back on her heels and regarded him, shaking her head
in wonder.  "Man.  What did Azalynn -do- to you?"
        "It's not what she did," said Saionji, "it's what she UNdid.
She made me remember that my purpose - the purpose of the whole
Tournament - was perverted, and only you saw the truth."  He raised
his left hand to show her the duelist's signet he wore - his original
one, which he'd put back on before setting off on his misguided but
well-intentioned trek to find the missing Rose Bride.  "As an Ohtori
Academy Duelist, it is my sworn duty to support you, Prince Tenjou."
        "Stop that," she said.  "I'm -not- the Prince, Saionji.  When
it came right down to the end, I couldn't do it.  That's why I'm
here.  In the end, I failed."
        Saionji shook his head.  "No.  You may not have succeeded in
the way you expected, but you succeeded all the same.  Ohtori wouldn't
be so scared if you'd failed completely."
        "Scared?"
        He told her about the last meeting; when he'd finished she sat
back a little farther still, then settled cross-legged to think it
over.
        "That miserable son of a bitch," she said.  "And now he's got
Touga and Nanami hunting her."
        "Touga isn't hunting her, he's hunting you," said Saionji.
"If he finds Anthy alone, and she convinces him she doesn't know where
you are, my guess is he'll ignore her and keep looking for you.  He
might even help her in her search, in hopes that she'll lead him to
you.  As for Nanami... do you really think she's clever enough to
track an -elephant-, let alone Anthy?"
        "She's smarter than you give her credit for," Utena told him.
"But I think you're probably right - Himemiya can handle her.
Nanami's afraid of her.  I'm not sure why, but she is."
        "That will be useful," Saionji agreed.  "At any rate, there's
more to Anthy than Nanami -or- Touga realize, and now that she's
outside the strictures of the Tournament, she'll be free to use
whatever means she has to stay that way."  Saionji smiled a little.
"I'd almost like to see Touga's face if he does find her.  Even when
he was engaged to her, he never had the slightest idea what she was
really capable of."
        Utena shrugged, looking a little sheepish.  "Neither did I,
for most of the time."
        "No, nor I," said Saionji, "but hindsight is a powerful tool,
and Touga lacks it.  He sees only his next goal, his next conquest."
        "Yeah, I hear -that-."  Pause.  "Y'know," said Utena, "it's
kind of -creepy- being on the same wavelength with you."
        Saionji smiled a little more.  Utena picked up his sword, got
to her feet, and extended a hand to pull him up, then handed back the
blade.
        "Welcome back to the human race, Saionji."
        "It's good to be back, Prince Tenjou," he replied as he put it
away.
        "Will you -please- not call me that?"
        He smirked a little.  "All right, Tenjou, I won't," he said,
in a parody of his old chilly sneer.
        Utena smiled.  "That's better."
        Sobering, he bowed to her again.  "The hour grows late.  I
must conclude my business here and leave you to your reading.  Thank
you for listening to me."  Then he smiled a little smile once again.
"Will you be stopping by for breakfast?"
        "It seems likely," she said with a grin.
        "Then I'll see you in the Grille," said Saionji, and he turned
and crossed to Kate, who had stood by her piano in a polite silence
throughout their little tete-a-tete in the middle of the room.
        "Miss Hutchins," he said, bowing, "I salute you as well.  You
are a woman of great courage, tenacity, loyalty, and skill.  You are
in all ways admirable.  You humbled me when I sorely needed humbling.
I am in your debt, and I apologize for being such an unmitigated ass
at our first meeting."
        "I-I u-unders... un-nders-stand y-y-you w-weren't w-w-w-well,"
said Kate.
        "That is true, but no excuse," Saionji insisted.  "Please,
accept my apology."
        Kate cracked a little smile.  "I-if Ut-t-tena c-c-can
f-forg-g-give you... "  She made an eloquent shrug.
        "Then you accept?"
        She nodded.  "I d-d-do."
        "Then please," he said, and knelt before her, "accept me as
your student."
        Kate took a half-step back and looked at him as though he were
totally mad.  "W-what?!"
        "Your technique has inspired me," said Saionji fervently, "and
my own has become hopelessly disordered by all that I've been through,
all the bad choices I've made.  I must start again, with a master who
can rebuild my shattered art into something worthwhile.  Having tasted
defeat at your hands, I think that master is you."
        "Um... th-that's v-v-v-very f-f-flat... f-flat...
f-f-flat-t-tering," said Kate, a bit uneasily, "b-b-but I, I-I'm
o-only a j-j-jour... j-journ... "  She sighed and gestured to Utena,
who nodded and took over.
        "Kate's got a speech impediment that gets really bad when
she's talking to strangers and weirdos like you," she told Saionji.
"Anyway, she's flattered, but she's not a master, she's only a
journeywoman.  She's not qualified to take a student.  And while I'm
giving you a hassle, could you have been any less subtle about it?"
        Saionji replied a little huffily, "I'm not declaring suit, I'm
asking for guidance.  At any rate, I understand."  He rose to his feet
and addressed Kate.  "When you are, please remember this day.  I will
be waiting, and in the meantime I will try to demonstrate my worth."
        Kate gave him a long, rather dubious look, then said, "W-well,
O-k-k-k-K... b-b-but d-d-don't g-get all f-f-f-freaky o-on m-m-me."
        He looked puzzled.  "'Freaky'?"
        "Really, Saionji," said Utena, coming over from her bed to
usher him toward the door.  "The last thing she needs is you stalking
her like some kind of creepy fanboy.  Next thing you'll be cornering
her in the gym and foisting an exchange diary on her."
        "I - how did you know about that?" he demanded, then shook
his head.  "Never mind.  Another time.  Miss Hutchins, I won't harass
you," he promised.  "I just ask that you remember my wish, and give it
consideration when the time is right."
        Kate nodded.  "I-I'll d-do th-th-that," she assured him.
"Th-thanks f-for c-c-coming b-b-b-by."
        "OK, g'wan," said Utena.  "You don't have to go home, but you
can't stay here."
        Saionji smiled as he allowed himself to be shoved outside.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said.
--/
        The boardroom door opened and President Tiefeld's secretary
poked her head out.  "Miss Tenjou?  The Panel is ready for you."
        Utena stood up, straightened her jacket, nodded to the others,
and followed her in.
        "Sit down, Miss Tenjou," said the President.  As she sat,
Utena tried to gauge the administrators' faces.  Harris looked sour,
but that wasn't much of an indication of anything.  Dean Garwood looked
a bit concerned, but that wasn't much of an indication either.  The
President looked mild and pleasant.  Ditto.  She sighed inwardly and
forced herself to wait quietly.
        "We've reviewed your petition, and taken your eloquent remarks
into account," said President Tiefeld, "and we find that there is
merit in what you propose."
        Utena's heart jumped.  They -went- for it?
        "However," said Tiefeld, and her heart sank again.  Damn!
There's always a however.
        "However," the President repeated, "and though we take you at
your word that you were the champion of the similar organization which
you report existed at your last school, the fact remains that we have
no way of knowing what the overall ability level at that school was,
with relation to this dueling activity."
        "There are three of us from Ohtori Academy here now," said
Utena.  "Myself, Kyouichi Saionji, and Miki Kaoru.  Both of them were
members of the Student Council."
        "Indeed, indeed.  That is, eh, very interesting, yes - but I'm
afraid it's a bit beside the point.  Before we approve the charter for
your organization and entrust you and your fellows with the
responsibility of carrying out the dueling activity you've described,
we feel it necessary to gauge your ability against a known quantity.
To that end, Professor Harris has suggested that you fight a duel, in
the format you propose, against Miss Elizabeth Broadbank, the captain
of the Fencing Club, a young woman whose ability is well-known to us."
        "And if I win, the Duelists' Society gets its charter?" Utena
inquired.
        "Eh, well, win or lose, that's not really the point," said the
President.  "We merely wish to observe you in action - to see if, eh,
that is - "
        "To see if you're as good as you boast of being," said Harris
with a faint sneer.
        It was as good as a direct challenge.  Utena rose to her feet,
her heart pounding, blood heating up with the old call to action.
        "If you can convince her to face me on Duelist's terms," she
told them flatly, "I'll take her on, anywhere, anytime."
        "I spoke with her about it during the recess," Harris
replied.  "She's quite eager to sample your freestyle experiment.
She's a bit worried that she'll hurt you, of course, but if you've no
objection, she'll take the risk."
        Utena smiled coolly.  "That's very kind of her," she said.

        The duel was set for Saturday morning, to be conducted
according to the format set forth in the Duelists' Society's proposed
charter.  It would be held on the football field behind Morgan Hall,
so that there would be ample room for the fighters to maneuver without
endangering those who gathered to watch.  Live weapons of the
combatants' choice would be used.  Word spread quickly around campus.
Betting began almost immediately, the odds being posted and frequently
updated on the wpi.students newsgroup.  Utena was the dark horse,
hovering at around twenty to one; even Liza Broadbank's detractors had
to admit that the girl knew what to do with a sword, and Utena was an
unknown in that regard.
        The first week of C term passed, then, in an atmosphere of
nervous tension.  Utena herself didn't seem all that nervous, nor did
Kate, but Azalynn became more and more fidgety as the week went on,
Devlin's laugh got higher and higher-pitched, and Amanda got grimmer.
Saionji was the picture of serenity.  Miki was a little worried, but
kept it well-hidden.  Moose took it all with the same equanimity that
marked his every interaction with the world.  And Dorothy... well,
Dorothy was Dorothy.
        In that first week, Liza and her cronies were too busy
preparing, and acting unconcerned, and such-like to bother with much
of anything else.  It was a welcome reprieve for her enemies to have a
week of Liza too preoccupied to harass them.  Utena's overall
popularity increased by a few points just on account of that, though
the effect was balanced somewhat by the exaggerated cold-shouldering
she was receiving from the Fencing Club and others of Liza's hifalutin
circle.
        On Saturday morning, then, they gathered on the edges of the
track-ringed football field (which was kept clear of snow and ice in
wintertime by the concerted efforts of the Plant Services grounds crew
and some fairly high technology).  On one side, the IBGF, which was
for the most part the prospective membership of the Duelists' Society,
stood in a close little knot, bundled up against the morning's chill.
On the other, the Fencing Club tried to look aloof, awesome and
remote, and for the most part succeeded only in looking cold.  Claudia
Montaigne, the Duelists' Society's prospective admin advisor, stood
with the rest of the Society's would-be membership.  The three members
of the Advisory Panel sat alone, up in the bleachers on the fifty-yard
line.
        Up on the embankment which separated the track and field
complex from the higher-elevated campus around Morgan Hall, students
crowded against the fence.  No spectators other than the involved
parties were allowed within the complex for this experimental duel.
The rules for student spectation of later duels, should the Society
get its charter, would have to be worked out in due time.
        A tall, slender figure with a lot of blonde curls detached
herself from the Fencing Club and walked with an easy stride out to the
center of the field.  She was dressed in a fencer's costume, minus the
mask and shielding pads - essentially a gray jumpsuit, tailored for
ease of movement - and carried a rapier lightly in her right hand.
Liza Broadbank stopped at the edge of the field's center circle and
waited, looking bored.
        "Well?" she asked the administrators in the stands, her voice
raised just enough to carry to all present.  "Where are they?"  She
turned to face the Society.  "Backing out?"

             /*  J.A. Seazer  "Zettai Unmei Mokushiroku"
       _Shoujo Kakumei Utena: Zettai Shinka Kakumei Zenya_  */

        Suddenly, the crowd at the fence parted, its excited murmur of
conversation shifting into something more immediate and urgent.  Two
figures came through the gap, up to the gate, marching side by side
and ignoring the catcalls (from Liza's supporters) and cheers (from
their own) equally.  One was Utena Tenjou, dressed despite the cold in
the uniform she had always worn for dueling, the black and scarlet of
Ohtori Academy, with the Thorn of the Rose slung at her right hip.
The other was Kaitlyn Hutchins, wearing her winterweight WPI uniform
of black leggings, charcoal gray skirt and sweater vest, white shirt,
red neckerchief and long black overcoat.  Students weren't required to
wear their uniforms on the weekends, but Kate was taking this occasion
just as seriously as the rest of them - for the whole Federation had
turned up in uniform.
        Utena went to the gate and thrust it boldly open, barely
breaking stride as she passed through it; Kaitlyn followed without
looking back.  The spring mechanism in the hinges slammed it shut
again before anyone could follow them.
        The two girls from Morgan 412 descended the concrete stairs to
the track level at a steady walk, still eerily in step, and crossed
to the center, stopping opposite Liza on the far side of the center
circle.  There, they turned and acknowledged the administrators, then
faced the Fencing Club's captain again.
        Utena stood impassive, just looking at her opponent.  Kaitlyn,
Liza noticed, carried a pair of roses in her overcoat's top pocket,
one yellow, the other white.  She crossed the circle, removed the
yellow rose from her pocket, and fixed it to the spot on Liza's
fencing tunic where a breast pocket would have been with a small pin.
        "Quaint," said Liza disdainfully.
        Kaitlyn gave her a dry little smile and turned, crossing to
Utena.  She fixed the white rose into her roommate's top pocket, then
stepped back so that she was equidistant between them.
        "Th-the r-rules are s-s-simple," she said.  "L-lose your
r-rose - l-lose the d-duel."
        Liza yawned daintily.  "Kaitlyn, darling, I don't think the
stakes of this little contest are high enough to really pique my
interest."
        "It's a l-l-little l-late for th-that, L-Liza," said Kate.
        "Don't be that way," said Liza, a little poutily.  "Would you
object to a little side wager?  Just to make things a little more
interesting?  I mean, it's all so dreadfully -plain- as it stands.
You get your little club, or you don't - who really cares?"  Smirking,
the blonde tossed her curls, indicating the audience massed at the
fence.  "I'd rather give the public a -real- show."
        "What did you have in mind?" asked Utena coldly.
        "Oh, I don't know," said Liza.  "Let's see.  Oh, -I- know!
How about this, Katie darling?  When I beat your pet ogre - " (Kaitlyn
noticed that the little muscle just outboard of Utena's right eye had
started to twitch; other than that, the pink-haired duelist remained
impassive) " - why don't you resign your seat on the Student Council?"
Liza blinked as if a realization had just struck her.  "Oh, wait... if
you did that, you would have to give up your band office, wouldn't
you?  And if you weren't involved with that any longer, then there
really wouldn't be any point in staying at the Institute, would there?
But then, a fragile, sensitive girl like you really should stay close
to her daddy anyway, I've always thought.  I'm sure Koopman Memorial
has a band... "
        Kate stared coolly at Liza for a few seconds.
        "Y-you d-d-don't g-get to c-call me K-Katie, -Beth-," she said
flatly, making a shadow cross Broadbank's too-regular features.
"Y-you w-want me to l-l-leave so b-badly?"  She smiled icily.  "I
g-g-guess I m-must be d-doing something r-right."
        Then she turned on her heel, exchanged single sharp nods with
Utena, and left the field to join the rest of the Federation on the
sidelines.
        "She's so much fun to tease.  No sense of humor," said Liza,
but it was obvious to both the combatants who had won -that- round.
        Utena said nothing; she merely took a half-step back, dropped
her left hand to her side, and drew.  The Thorn of the Rose glided
from its scabbard without a sound, its blue-steel blade glinting in
the hard January sunshine.
        "Now where did a creature like you get a blade like that?"
Liza wondered, striking her own en-garde.  Her sword was a swept-hilt
rapier, edgeless and agile - narrower and longer than the Thorn, which
was a cut-and-thrust blade.  Liza's stance was that of the classic
Western fencer, left hand upraised with elbow bent, sword presented in
a low, almost lazy grip.  Utena didn't mind that.  She'd faced the
type before.
        She didn't reply to Liza's question.  Let the bitch wonder.
        "Oh, well.  Maybe a beating will loosen your tongue," said
Liza, and she surged forward in a smooth opening strike.

    /*  Bad Religion  "You've Got a Chance"  _The New America_  */

        It struck Utena at that exact moment that this was the first
real fight she'd been in since leaving Cephiro, the first time she'd
crossed real steel with anybody since Akio... the first time she'd
-ever- fought without Anthy Himemiya looking on.  The thought gave her
an instant's pause, very poorly timed, and nearly ended the duel
before it began.  She slipped Liza's strike with millimeters to spare,
stumbling backward in an ungainly, duckfooted kind of way as she
wrestled her consciousness back into consideration of the matter at
hand, and Liza's high, clear laugh rang across the field.
        "This is going to be -very- short if you don't even pay
attention, darling," Liza declared merrily, spinning to face Utena's
new position and leveling her blade again.
        Utena snarled, dug in her heels, steadied up, and launched
herself.  She still didn't quite have her rhythm back, even after two
weeks of training with Kate.  Everything she did, as she and Liza
clashed back and forth across the field for the next minute or so,
felt slightly but completely wrong.  Liza could sense it, too; Utena
could tell, she could -feel- the taller girl's amusement building.
        She's good, Utena admitted to herself as she parried another
arrow-shot lunge, knocking the rapier's point up to pass over her
shoulder.  The edgeless blade of the thrusting sword scraped along the
rose-vine basket of the Thorn; it wouldn't have cut her fingers, but
having it scrape across her knuckles sure wouldn't have been any fun.
        Utena twisted her wrist, forced the rapier away and down, then
used a trick she'd learned from Kaitlyn's father: she rocked back and
kicked Liza squarely in the stomach, sending the blonde tumbling away.
A gasp rose from the Fencing Club and the assembled audience.  Liza
rolled to her knees, coughing, then staggered to her feet and backed
away; when she had her breath back, she drew it and shouted,
        "Foul!"
        Utena's lips peeled back from her teeth in a rather nasty
grin.  "Don't be an idiot, Liza!" she cried.  "Didn't you pay
attention to Kate?  There's -one rule- here.  Lose your rose, lose the
duel.  That's -it-!  There -are- no fouls.  Only a winner and a
loser."
        Liza's light-blue eyes crystallized, changing instantly from
put-on anguish for the administrators to cold hatred for her opponent.
        "In that case," she said in a hissing undertone that couldn't
carry to the stands, "the loser is definitely you."  Still hissing,
the enraged fencer sprang.
        -This- was more what Utena was used to.  Liza was apparently
quite willing to discard the Marquess of Queensbury rules, now that
she actually understood the Code.  Her style became a little less
formal, a little less regimented, and she started throwing in little
contact variations of her own.  Liza Broadbank had very pointy elbows
and showed a willingness to use them, but that was all right.
Gryphon-sensei had shown Utena what to do about elbows.  The next time
Liza angled one for her head, Utena interposed the Thorn's basket.
That discouraged the blonde from being so eager to use that particular
weapon, and made a rather pleasing CLANG noise, to boot.
        They scrabbled across the Omniturf for another minute this
way, making no sounds except for the ring and scrape of their weapons,
the shuffle of their feet on the plastic grass, and the hiss of their
breathing.  The onlookers were silent, awestruck by the fury and power
both young women were putting into their battle now that both were
getting their blood up and hitting their strides.
        She's good, Utena repeated to herself as she parried a thrust
and missed with her riposte.  She's very good.
        But I've beaten better.
        Not here, though.  Not like this.  I was so unwilling to fight
in the old days; I wanted to give up the tournament a dozen times, and
kept coming back because Himemiya needed me.  And here I am fighting a
duel that doesn't have anything at all to do with her.  What -am- I
fighting for?  Bragging rights?  The kind of stupid glory I thought
the others were in it for, before I knew the truth?  Kate's
friendship?  She'd still be my friend if I didn't want to do this.
Battle doesn't define the relationship between us.
        Does that mean it -does- define the relationship between 
Himemiya and me?
        What -is- the relationship between Himemiya and me?  Juri made
a suggestion once, but there was never time - 
        POW!
        Utena skidded a dozen feet or so across the frigid Omniturf,
the side of her jaw smarting, her ill-timed train of thought
completely shattered.  Instinctively, she did as she had done
in Gryphon's dojo, throwing her feet up and over, flipping back
upright and raising her blade just in time for Liza's to crash against
it and skid, with a burst of orange sparks, across the edge.  The
point of the rapier barely nicked the edge of Utena's left ear; she
felt the sharp, stinging pain and, a few seconds later, the warm
stickiness of blood on the side of her neck.
        Turnabout's fair play, she thought, and elbowed Liza in the
smirk before the blonde could get off another gibe about paying
attention.  Liza tumbled, came up spitting mad, and launched herself,
screaming.  Utena set herself, lowering the Thorn of the Rose to meet
her.  Scarlet fire danced along the runic inscription on the sides of
the blade, gleamed from the rose-cut gemstone in the pommel.  Time
stretched, suspending the furious fencer in mid-air.  Utena could feel
energy rippling up her arms from the enchanted blade, feel something
inside her respond with a familiar growing heat.
        Here it comes, thought Utena, and right on schedule there came
that sweet, breaking surge of... something... that always heralded the
end.  She exploded into motion, meeting Liza's charge with her own,
and the air was filled momentarily with fluttering scraps of yellow,
vivid against the gray overcast and dead green turf.
        Utena landed, turned, cocked the Thorn's scabbard, and slid
the blade home in one smooth movement, her face perfectly composed.
        Liza Broadbank stumbled forward three steps from where she
lit, dropped her rapier, and fell to her hands and knees, absolutely
dumbstruck.
        The more perceptive members of the assembled spectators
wondered where the epaulets, petticoat and chain on Tenjou's uniform
had come from.
        She turned to face the assembled administrators and said, "You
see now what I mean about it taking a duelist to recognize a duelist."
        "I do indeed," said President Tiefeld, a twinkle in his eyes.
He turned to Dean Garwood.  "Well, Clarice?"
        Garwood surveyed the scene thoughtfully.
        "Our regular insurance would never cover it," she said, and
Professor Harris was opening his mouth to make some comment when she
added, "but as the Society's charter calls for it to underwrite itself
for indemnity purposes, I don't see any grounds for objection on that
account."
        "Where are they supposed to get the money for -that-?" Harris
demanded.  "Not out of the Student Activities budget - the whole
budget wouldn't begin to - "
        "A benefactor has already stepped forward for that, Aaron,"
said Tiefeld mildly.  "We need not worry ourselves.  Well, then.  If
Clarice has no further points to make?"
        "No, Mr. President.  I'm satisfied."
        "Then I - "
        "Well, -I- have," Harris blurted, nearly frantic with anger.
"I can't believe you're considering sanctioning this... this barbaric
display.  Kicking!  -Punching-!  It's nothing more than bloodsport!"
        "The Karate Club spend all their time kicking and punching one
another, Aaron," Tiefeld pointed out with patient calm.  "I don't see
you objecting to -their- existence."
        Harris sputtered for a moment longer, then drew together his
shattered dignity and rose to his feet.
        "I refuse to participate in this farce any longer.  If you
choose to approve the charter this bunch of miscreants put in front of
you, on -your- head be it!  I'll have nothing to do with it."
        So saying, the tall, lean professor whirled and stalked away,
his hair-beads rattling with his annoyed, jerky gait.
        "... Well.  It appears Professor Harris has resigned from the
panel," said Tiefeld with an air of mild, feigned surprise.  "I
suppose he'll need to be replaced before the next Quarterly.  Perhaps
Dean Montaigne would be interested in his seat.  At any rate, Miss
Tenjou, your petition has been approved by the remaining two-thirds,
which, if you remember your math classes, is a majority.
Congratulations."  He stood up, brushed down the skirts of his
overcoat, and polished his pebble glasses before turning a benificent
smile on her.
        Utena bowed as deeply as she could.  "Thank you,
Mr. President," she said.
        Tiefeld nodded pleasantly, offered Dean Garwood his arm, and
smiled his way up the stairs, through the gate, and out of sight amid
the disbanding crowd of spectators.
        The Duelists' Society rushed across the field to engulf their
victorious champion in the sort of mob that usually descends on the
pitcher's mound at the end of a hard-won game of baseball.  The
Fencing Club, meanwhile, surrounded their fallen leader with something
like mournful solicitude - all but one of them, who held himself aloof
from the rest of the Club, waited for the Duelists to leave the field,
and then followed them.

        They were crammed into Wedge Bench Number One, the extra-large
one next to the entrance to Mini-DAKA.  Everyone seemed to be talking
at once, reliving one exciting moment or another of the duel, until
finally Kaitlyn got them settled down.
        "OK," she said.  "W-we're a ch-chartered c-campus club with an
a-adm-min advisor and everyth-thing.  We've g-got a p-place to meet -
Alden H-Hall - and a l-little p-p-piece of the s-student act-tivities
b-budget."
        "And an enemy in Professor Harris," Azalynn mused, "but he's a
big jerk anyway."
        "T-true," said Kate.
        "And, thanks to Saionji, we've got an emblem," said Utena.
She gestured to Saionji, who obligingly displayed his ring.
        "The Rose Signet was the seal of the duelists at our old
school," he explained.  "Those who wore it were chosen for greatness."
        "W-we'll w-w-wear it here," said Kaitlyn with a smiling glance
at Utena, "b-bec-cause we ch-choose -ourselves- for g-greatness."
        "So, everybody," said Utena, "give Miki your ring size so he
can order yours."
        "Why me?" Miki asked.
        "All in favor of Miki being Society Secretary?"
        "Aye!"
        "... Oh."
        As they all shared in a laugh, the Fencing Club member who had
followed them to the Wedge from the battlefield saw an opportunity to
enter the conversation and stepped up to the booth, drawing immediate
attention by his appearance.
        "A word with you, if I might, Miss Tenjou," he said.  Utena
blinked, taken slightly aback.  She still wasn't quite used to the
more obvious sorts of non-humans one tended to see in this world, and
this fellow definitely qualified.
        He was about her own height, lean and wiry, and more or less
humanoid - but with an emphasis on "less", for he had leathery skin
the color of a spirit-lamp flame, claws, a thick, mobile tail, and a
head like a pteranodon's, complete with a rudder-like crest that was
colored like a sunburst.  His black eyes (which, disconcertingly, had
reds instead of whites) glittered with what, on a human face, would
probably have been delight, and the corners of his long, narrow mouth
were turned up in what would have been a human smile, but that didn't
necessarily mean anything.
        "Um... I'm sorry, I don't think I know you," said Utena,
rising.
        "Of course.  Forgive me."  The creature bowed, a sweeping,
Western-style bow with his arm crossed over his chest, and
straightened.  "T'skaia Vorokoshiga'ar Ixtixtaaqitl't'chl'Vraihelt
Ishkarat, at your service.  If you like, you may call me 'Sky'."
        "Oh... well, I'm pleased to meet you, Sky," said Utena.
"What's on your mind?"
        "You," Sky replied bluntly.  At her consternated look, he went
on in an expansive tone, "You, Miss Tenjou, are the most remarkable,
the most delightful, the most -magnificent- mammal it has ever been my
pleasure to observe!  You have such strength - such passion - such
furious, reckless, abandoned courage!  You -embody- jik'harra.  I
found your performance just now to be the most inspirational thing
I've witnessed since I left my beloved Barsaive.  If you were a
t'skrang I would ask you to make me your mate.  Since you're not," he
added with a grin that showed a multitude of needle-sharp teeth, while
giving the floor behind him a solid thump with his powerful tail,
"I'll have to settle for asking if I may join your club, that I may
have the honor of crossing steel with you myself one day."
        Utena blinked again.
        "Er...  Well...  We haven't finished electing officers or
anything yet, so I don't know what we're going to do about new
members."  She cracked a wry smile.  "Got any references?"
        "I live in Galaxy House," said the grinning t'skrang.  "You
will find several of your fellows know me fairly well by now."  So
saying, he threw his arm around Miki Kaoru's shoulders and gave him a
ruffling.  "A week sharing house with T'skaia Vorokoshiga'ar
Ixtixtaaqitl't'chl'Vraihelt Ishkarat is like a lifetime of friendship
with anyone else, eh, Miki?"
        "Liza won't be very happy about this," said Moose in a tone of
voice that indicated he didn't find that prospect unappealing.  Sky
thumped the floor with his tail again - apparently it was the t'skrang
equivalent of a loud laugh.
        "I suppose she won't," Sky replied, "but that's her problem.
Her title in the Fencing Club may be 'captain', but that doesn't mean
she sails -my- riverboat."
        The metaphor rather eluded most of the Duelists, but they took
him to mean he wasn't worried about it, and, pleased with themselves,
the fledgling club adjourned to Ping's Garden for a celebratory lunch,
taking along their very first non-charter member.

        On Monday afternoon, G'Kron stormed into 22S/2, steaming mad.
The door slammed behind him, rocking a drinking cup balanced
precariously on one corner of the common desk; it fell, and his new
roommate, Harcourt McKenzie, grabbed it in midair and replaced it
before a drop was spilled.  With his other hand he continued
highlighting passages in his physics textbook, not noting in the
slightest that his new roommate was about to go on the seventh tirade
in their nine days of cohabitation.
        "Can you BELIEVE this?"  G'Kron slapped the Monday edition of
the Institute Hill Beacon.  This august publication was billed as
WPI's 'alternative' daily, which essentially meant it was a mouthpiece
for Liza Broadbank's clique - the official school paper, Newspeak,
having managed to retain some level of journalistic integrity despite
its unfortunate name.
        G'Kron blustered onward, "Now, I held my peace when I first
heard of Broadbank's insults to Miss Hutchins - " (he hadn't) " - and
I remained calm and composed when I read the insults laid upon Miss
Hutchins's roommate - " (he definitely hadn't) " - but when those
slanderous worms expand their mudslinging to include occupants of this
very household, I CANNOT REMAIN SILENT!"  (He never could.)
        G'Kron paused for the expected inquiry from his audience of
one; when it failed to materialize, he gathered himself and continued,
"On today's so-called Opinions and Viewpoints page of the Beacon, some
'anonymous contributor' has called into question Mister Kaoru's
relationship to Miss Tenjou, accusing both of undermining the spirit
of the school and, indeed, seeking to destroy the institutions which
made Worcester Preparatory Institute great!  I ask you," G'Kron paused
in his pacing and gesturing to face Mac, who hadn't lifted his face
from the physics text, "is this not a textbook case of what you humans
say is 'the pot calling the kettle black'?  It is a fine, FINE day
that dawns upon this school when a newspaper with not a single
nonhuman on its staff accuses ANYONE of promoting cliquism and
opposing diversity!!"
        The script in G'Kron's mind called for the audience to make
some sort of agreeing noise here, and he waited several seconds for
it.  Mac, never having read the script, missed his cue cleanly.
G'Kron finally took a deep breath and continued, "Well, I for one will
not stand for this hypocritical calumny!  Tonight is the meeting of the
school Offworlder Society, and I shall move that we stage a protest
against the Beacon!  Perhaps even a boycott!  We shall show those
slanderous creatures that they cannot get away with spreading lies
against good, upstanding sapients!"
        G'Kron's internal script now called for applause and
agreement, and for several seconds he listened for it over the
squeeking sound of Mac's highlighter on the textbook page.  Finally,
G'Kron walked over to Mac and shouted, "Don't you have ANYTHING to say
about this?"
        "Yeah," Mac muttered, picking up a small scrap of paper and
holding it over his shoulder to G'Kron, "Moose says it's your turn to
buy toilet paper.  Here's the shopping list."  The paper vanished from
his fingers, G'Kron snatching it away and staring angrily at it.
        "Shopping?"  G'Kron (apparently) couldn't believe his ears.
"SHOPPING?! The reputations of Galaxy House, the Federation, the very
Institute itself are being destroyed, and you expect me to go
SHOPPING?!?"  Stomping towards the door, he shouted, "How can I LIVE
with someone who is so ignorant of such important issues?"
        SLAM.
        The door wobbled in its frame for a couple of seconds, and the
drinking cup made a second bid for freedom; Mac caught it again, paused,
reached over to the nightstand, and picked up an object.
        Thirty-four seconds later, the door opened, and two voices
spoke at once:
        G'Kron: "I forgot my wallet."
        Mac: "You forgot your wallet."
        G'Kron walked over, accepted the wallet from Mac, and paused.
"Do you want anything while I'm at the store?"
        Mac gestured to the cup.  "Refill, please."  A moment later, a
one-credit bill found its way into G'Kron's hands.
        "All right.  The usual?"  Taking Mac's silence as assent,
G'Kron added, "I'll be back in about an hour," and departed again,
much more quietly than before.
        Mac paused in his highlighting, debated silently with himself
about telling G'Kron what he'd done to the radio presets on
Broadbank's car, then decided against it.  The deafening boom of
Pak'led opera at full volume would be audible from six blocks away;
the Narn would figure it out for himself.
        With a small grin, Mac returned his attention to the physics
book.

        The rings were ready that day too, duplicated by a jeweler on
Highland Street and carried back up the hill by Miki and Utena, who
made the errand in their newly minted capacities as the Duelists'
Society's secretary and vice-president, respectively.  Utena hadn't
particularly wanted to be an officer, but she had narrowly avoided the
presidency; she'd convinced Kate to take that, but only by agreeing to
take the veep's job by way of compromise.  The rings were handed out
at dinner, much to everyone's delight.
        After eating with his new clubmates, T'skaia bade them have a
pleasant evening, said he was looking forward to the first formal
meeting the following day, and left them, heading out across the Quad
and whistling a little tune on his way to fencing practice at
Harrington Auditorium.
        He got there a bit late, which was customary for him, and
sloped into the gym's large main room still fastening his padded
tunic, foil at his side, elongated helmet tucked under his arm.  Liza
Broadbank finished humiliating one of the freshmen and turned,
whipping off her mask and confronting him with wrath in her eyes.
        "Well, well, look who decided to join us," she said acidly.
"If it isn't the disloyal lizard."
        Sky paused for an instant, then put his carry bag down on the
partly extended bleachers and turned to face her.  "You're talking to
me?" he inquired calmly.
        "That's right.  I heard you went and talked to that Tenjou
girl after her little performance on Saturday."
        "Did you now," said Sky.
        "Indeed.  I heard you had very flattering things to say to
her, too.  A little bird told me you called her 'magnificent'."
        Sky nodded.  "I did that, yes.  Also remarkable, delightful,
strong, passionate and courageous.  Her performance inspired me."
        "A fine thing to say to the animal who had just finished
assaulting your captain."
        Sky waggled his tail a bit and shrugged.  "In every battle
there is a winner and a loser," he said.  "Your skill did not equal
hers.  It happens.  There's no shame in falling to a superior foe, if
you fought with all you had."
        "Spare me your lizard philosophy on courage," said Liza.
        Sky sighed resignedly and sketched an elaborate bow, the rose
signet on the middle of his left hand's three fingers glittering in
the gym's lights.  "As you will have it, Captain.  Let there be peace
in our house."
        Liza's eyes caught the glitter and narrowed.  "What... is... 
-that-?" she demanded.
        "My hand," said Sky, puzzled.  "Oh!  -This-!  They say it is
the seal of the Duelists' Society.  I have a feeling it is more
significant even than that, but I don't know the story behind it, at
least not yet.  Some of them treat it with the respect one would give
the emblem of one's Great House."
        "What are you doing with one?" asked Liza, her voice cold and
a little dangerous.
        "I should think that was obvious.  I'm not a thief, after
all," said Sky, a little huffily.
        "You... you -joined- that... that -rabble-?" Liza sputtered,
her face going crimson.
        "Of course!" said Sky.  "How else can I hope to test myself
against Miss Tenjou someday, else I become a Duelist myself?  I told
you I found her remarkable, delightful, magnificent, strong,
passionate, courageous, and inspirational."
        "That... that... no!  I absolutely forbid it!  No member of my
Fencing Club is going to associate with that, that freestyle -filth-!"
        Sky's eyes glittered; his tail, constantly fidgeting, went
eerily still.  "You may be team captain," he said in a calm voice,
"but the charter of this club gives you no power over what other clubs
and activites its members may pursue outside of club time."
        "Nevertheless, I forbid it!" Liza persisted.  Then she
composed herself a little, adopting a haughty tone, and said, "You're
going to have to make a choice, Ishkarat.  Fencing and that, that
-gang's- activities just aren't compatible.  Surely you see that."
        Sky looked contemplative, the tip of his tail tracing a little
oval on the floor behind him.  "Mmm," he said at length, "perhaps
you're right."
        Liza smiled a rather plastic smile.  "You see?  I knew you'd
understand the realities of the situation."
        "Indeed."  T'skaia squared himself up, swept her a bow, and
said, "A very good day to you, Miss Broadbank.  It has been
interesting, playing at hatchlings' sword games with you and your
friends."  With a little t'skrang grin, he turned and collected his
bag, then made for the exit.
        "What?!" Liza blurted.  "You - you - COME BACK HERE!"
        Sky paused in the doorway and turned back, still smiling.
"Chin up, Liza!" he said cheerfully, slapping the floor with his tail.
"Now -you're- the best fencer in the club at last!"
        Then he was gone, leaving her fuming, her face burning under
the curious, fearful scrutiny of her underlings.
        Oh, they'll pay for this, she thought.
        They'll pay.
        I just need to find their weakest link.

        Days blurred past, and before they knew it, February was upon
them.  After the initial excitement of the student exodus and the
Duelists' Society foundation, the routine and rhythm of school life
was a comfort, restoring equilibrium from a world that had looked a
bit like it was tipping in the first week of the term.  Utena had
heard legends of C term - how since the days when WPI was the site of
a technical college, since the twentieth century, the third term of
the year was a time of bad luck, high emotion and pain for the
Institute's students - but so far, aside from the continued, insipid
muckraking in the Beacon, everything seemed to be going very well.  It
made the more experienced students a little nervous.  Devlin in
particular seemed like he was always looking out for the other shoe to
drop.
        In the third week of the term, the odd, plastic-shrouded
kiosks which had been scattered around campus during winter break were
unveiled and explained in a campus-wide announcement by President
Tiefeld: the Institute had been made the gift of a sophisticated
Autonomous Cybernetic Intelligence computer system by the government
of the Earth Alliance, through an educational grant program.  That
system, installed in the basement of Fuller Laboratories, was billed
as a "socially interactive organization and information system," which
basically meant it was to serve the same function as the old Hyperbox
mainframe - student email, news and such - except with the ability to
make chitchat, dispense information anybody could find in the Student
Handbook or course catalog, and sysadmin itself, freeing up the Campus
Computing staff to tackle more interesting issues than finding out who
hacked the Campus Crusade for Kalidor's student-organization website
this week.  The system would be reachable from any computer attached
to the campus network - any computer on the galactic Internet could
communicate with it, really - but the kiosks were there so that
students roaming the campus between classes and the like, away from
the labs and common areas, could make inquiries of it if need be.
        The computer was named Durandal, and it struck most students,
as they got to know it in the early part of the term, as rather smug
and sarcastic for a system whose job was basically to route student
email and control the automatic doors in the Fuller Labs building.  It
seemed to take a liking to the Duelists and their friends for some
reason, and occasionally did them small favors it wasn't supposed to
do for students, like retrieving accidentally-deleted files from the
master backups and intercepting and destroying the occasional mis-sent
email message.  They got used to it fairly quickly.
        Corwin visited every Saturday (though he'd missed the last
one, January 29, because of some kind of class project back in
Crescent Heights), citing concern for Dorothy as his major motivation.
Dorothy, however, was doing OK, all things considered.  She required
no repairs.  Miki and Moose were more than competent to maintain her
with the autobay.  She was glad to see him, in her understated way,
but with the help of the others of Galaxy House, she was getting along
quite well.  He came, checked in with her, received her assurances
that she was well and had no need of his help just now, then spent
most of his visiting time in Morgan 412.

        R. Dorothy Wayneright's classes that term centered mainly
around history and literature studies, as those, along with music
theory, were what she found most interesting.  Mathematics bored her,
since her floating-point subprocessor made them trivial, but the
intellectual subjects she could sink her mental teeth into.  One of
the great ironies of her existence was that her positronic matrix was
so complex, her AI so sophisticated, that she could actually -forget-
things, and so, if she didn't use cybernetic methods to write them in
permanently - if she simply read and tried to understand like a human
would - she had to make an effort to learn things, just like a human
would.  She found the process rather enjoyable.
        Today, she was applying that effort to Twentieth Century Earth
Literature II, a class she shared with only one real acquaintance,
Devlin Carter.  Dorothy still didn't know Devlin all that well, but he
considered her a friend all the same.  He seemed to enjoy spending
time with her, even if she didn't talk much.  That was all right - he
liked to talk, and she listened.  They would sit in the student lounge
in Salisbury Labs, where most of the lit classes were held, and read.
Devlin sometimes read aloud from their assignments, doing voices and
occasionally sound effects; other times, neither one said anything at
all.  Devlin's friends had started to notice that his comic-opera Lord
Peter Wimsey accent tended to mute itself a bit when he spoke to
Dorothy, his exaggerated mannerisms moderate themselves somewhat, and
they wondered; but Amanda Dessler didn't seem concerned.
        Devlin stifled a yawn as Professor Harris - the selfsame
Professor Harris who was the Fencing Club's advisor - nattered on
about the terrific importance of Raymond Chandler's writings in the
development of the twenty-second-century's Post-Post-Modern Pulp
Transfigurational movement.  Why couldn't the bugger focus a bit more
on the fact that Chandler just wrote cracking good internal
monologues?  There are blondes and blondes and it is almost a joke
word today... 
        As though summoned by the thought, a little blonde freshman
girl Devlin dimly recognized entered the room, looking very
apologetic.  She said a few hushed words to the professor, handed him
a note, and scuttled out again.  Harris stood there, read the note,
read it again, then put it slowly down on the desk before him and
turned to face the class.
        "Dorothy Wayneright," he said, his voice odd and cold.
        "Yes," said Dorothy.
        "I've just been informed that you are more properly addressed
as -Robot- Dorothy Wayneright.  Is this true?"
        "Yes," said Dorothy.
        "I see.  And why," said the professor, more coldly still, "did
you not see fit to inform this class, and especially your instructor,
of this fact?"
        "Is there a requirement that I do?  None of the other students
have been required to give details of their species or origin,"
Dorothy replied.
        "None of the other students are non-lifeforms," said Harris.
"This says you're not even Turing-certified.  Is -that- true?"
        "Yes."
        "Who is your master?" asked Harris harshly, all -trace- of
human warmth vanishing from his voice.
        "Corwin Ravenhair of New Avalon," Dorothy replied promptly.
        "Your local master, then.  You must have one.  You couldn't be
on this planet without someone here to be responsible for you."
        "Corwin's sister, Kaitlyn Hutchins."
        Harris scowled.  "I might have known.  Is there nothing that
young woman won't mock?  First she thumbs her nose at the Institute's
sporting traditions, and now I discover that since the first day of
the term she's been causing me to waste my time and energy trying to
teach an appliance to appreciate literature.  A -fine- joke."
        "You've been succeeding," Dorothy told him calmly.  "My
understanding of Chandler - "
        " - Is a cleverly programmed imitation of the responses of the
-real- students in this class," Harris interrupted her.  "Remove
yourself from my class, machine.  Your mistress's joke is done.  Tell
her I don't appreciate the humor."
        Dorothy rose, her face still utterly impassive.  "It's hardly
a secret what I am," she said.  "My artifaction certificate and
operational parameters are on file with the Admissions Office and the
office of the Dean of Students.  Several of my fellow students are
fully aware.  Perhaps if you researched your students - "
        "Be silent!" Harris snapped.  "You're out of this class.
Other members of this faculty may be willing to waste their time
attempting to educate a damned mindless piece of machinery, but I'm
not, and I -certainly- won't stand here debating my duties as an
instructor with one!  Out!"
        "I say, see here, now!" said Devlin, rising to his feet.
"Dorothy hasn't caused any trouble, sir.  She's one of the best
students in this class, what?  You couldn't -tell- she's a robot in
four weeks of classes - why get yourself all in a bundle over it now?"
        Harris turned his glare on Devlin, arching his eyebrows.  "Are
-you- going to tell me how to do my job now, Mr. Carter?"
        Devlin flushed.  "It seems to me you -could- use a few
pointers," he said, then added, "Sir."
        Dorothy, who hadn't paused when Devlin rose, completed her
exit, closing the door behind her.
        "Enough," Harris snarled.  "Out with you, too, and don't come
back.  You fail for the term.  Make sure you're in Professor
Chandrijan's division when you make up the course."
        "Oh, right-o," said Devlin, his anger rigidly concealed behind
a layer of clearly false bonhomie as he shoveled his books into his
bag and slung it over his shoulder.  "The Dean of Students'll be
hearin' about this, eh, what?  Abuse of authority and all that.  Man's
got a right to stand up for a friend, old man."
        "Robots don't have friends," said Harris with a sneer.  "If
you're fool enough to be taken in by the fact that it wears a pretty
face, I don't want you in my class."
        "Well, then I'd say we're even, what?" Devlin replied as he
passed the professor's desk.  "I don't want your instruction."
        He slammed the door behind him, looked around, saw Dorothy's
back vanishing out the far door into Freeman Plaza, and sprinted after
her, calling for her to wait.  She didn't.
        "Dorothy, where are you going?" he called to her, running
after her.  Fortunately, though she hadn't stopped when he asked, she
was only walking, if briskly; he fell into step beside her, panting a
little, as she reached West Street.
        "Home," Dorothy said.  "That was my last class today."
        "Home?!  But we've got to report this to the Dean," Devlin
protested.  "That bastard can't get away with treating you that way - "
        "Of course he can," Dorothy replied flatly.  "There's no law
that says he has to speak to me, let alone teach me.  He's right, I'm
-not- a person - only a thing."
        "Like -hell- you're not!"  Devlin rounded her and stopped in
front of her, his hands on her shoulders.  She kept walking for a
couple of steps, shoving him effortlessly back along the sidewalk
before halting to regard him with a mildly puzzled expression as he
continued, "I don't give a damn what that robophobic prick Harris
says, -or- what the law says, I haven't spent the last month studying
Chandler with a mindless recorder.  You have -insights-, Dorothy, you
have -ideas- and -feelings-.  You're my friend, and I -won't- let him
run roughshod over you like that."
        Dorothy regarded him steadily for a few seconds, as if only
now considering how he had been able to follow her with slightly less
than half the class period expired.
        "You got thrown out, didn't you," she said.
        "That's right, and I'm not going back.  I wouldn't go back if
Aaron bloody Harris got down on his knees and begged me.  Now come on,
let's go to Boynton and report this."
        "No," said Dorothy, shrugging gently but firmly free.  "You
can report it if you want to, but I'm going home.  See you at dinner."
        Then she walked around him and on down the hill.
        With a strangled, frustrated noise, Devlin kicked a chunk of
congealed snow thrown up onto the sidewalk by the snowplow, then ran
up to Boynton Hall, the administration building.

        "Dammit," Utena Tenjou grumbled.  "I -knew- something like
this was going to happen.  If only Corwin and I could have convinced
her to get certified before coming, she could have told him exactly
where to shove his attitude and how far up."
        Devlin let his head fall back against the Wedge bench with a
painful-sounding thump.  "I know," he said.  "And the hell of it is,
there's no recourse now.  Oh, Dean Montaigne will have some words with
the Professor about his high-handed style and lack of social graces,
but he won't have to take her back."
        "I w-w-wouldn't g-GO back to a t-t-teacher w-who t-treated me
like th-that anyw-way," said Kaitlyn.  "I'd g-g-go see if P-Professor
Ch-Chandrij-jan w-would l-let me f-finish the t-t-term in h-his
div-vision."
        "That's what I'm planning to do," said Devlin.  "Dean
Montaigne said she couldn't do much for either of us, but she could at
least get the failing grades Harris will be giving us wiped out, and
Chandrijan's already said he'll take us."  He sighed.  "I just... ah,
hell.  I don't know.  I'm not a violent man - quite a coward,
actually, terrified of physical conflict - but I would so very much
have liked to take a swing at Harris.  He was so bloody -awful- to
her, right there in front of everybody.  He might at least have had
the decency to dismiss her in private if he felt he had to do it at
all, eh, what?"
        "Not that I really want to play devil's advocate," said Utena,
"but if he really believes she doesn't have feelings, it might just
not have occurred to him... "
        "No," said Devlin, shaking his head.  "No, it wasn't like
that.  You didn't see his face or hear his voice.  He was...
-enjoying- it.  Being deliberately cruel, what?  I'd swear to it.  He
knew, or at least believed - HOPED - he was hurting her.  Humiliating
her.  Like he felt her presence in his class, with him all unaware,
had humiliated him."
        Miki Kaoru came by then, looking a bit worried and
distracted.  He peered around the Wedge booth, not at the people but
at their bags and belongings, then moved on, clicking his watch.
        "What's up, Miki?" asked Utena.  "Lose something?"
        He turned, the worry more evident on his face.  "I can't find
my notebook," he said.
        "Which one?"
        "The green one."
        "Oh."  Now Utena looked a little troubled too, as did Kate.
Miki's green notebook was his music notebook, the only possession,
other than his old Ohtori Academy uniform and the watch that had been
in its top pocket, that he'd managed to bring with him from Cephiro.
The early part of it, from before his translation out of his
homeworld, contained the beginnings of several new collaborations he'd
started with his recently-reconciled twin sister, Kozue.  Even aside
from that, music to Miki was like stray thoughts to most people; he
jotted down bits of musical notation all the time, some to flesh out
for later, some to leave fallow, others just to get them out of his
head.  To someone who could read and appreciate the significance of
music, Miki's notebook was a roadmap to his soul.  If he'd managed to
lose it, he'd have lost more than just a few works in progress.
        "W-when was the l-l-last t-time you s-saw it?" asked Kate.
        "Yesterday evening, I think," said Miki.  "I had it at
rehearsal, and for the Duelist meeting afterward.  I can't remember if
I had it in my room last night, but I must have - I'd have noticed if
I hadn't brought it back with me.  No, I know I had it, because I
remember putting it in my pack before I came up the hill this
morning."
        "Did you take it out anytime today?" asked Utena.
        "Of course I did, I take it out and put it back all the time,"
Miki told her.  "It's automatic.  But I went to take it out in Physics
and it wasn't there."
        "What was the class you had before that?" asked Devlin.
        "Galactic History 203," said Miki, Utena and Kate (with
slightly imperfect unison from the last) together.  "We've all got
GH203 at 1," Utena went on.  "Saionji's in that division too.  I think
I saw it there," she said.
        "Mm," said Kate, nodding.  "I kn-know you h-had it, at l-least
b-before the b-break."
        "Did you look in Kinnicutt?" Utena inquired.  (Galactic History
203 was a large class - over a hundred students in each division - and
so was held in Salisbury Labs' auditorium-style lecture hall.)
        "I practically turned it upside down.  Professor Henderson
says he hasn't seen it, and he always makes sure no one's left
anything behind after his classes let out.  I just came from looking
through the band offices in Alden Hall... I can't imagine where I can
have left it.  It... it must have fallen out of my bag or something.
It could be -anywhere-."
        "Calm down, calm down," said Utena.  "We'll go look over the
paths you walked today, before it gets too dark to see.  Hey,
Saionji!" she called, arresting the progress of the green-haired young
man as he crossed the Wedge.  He vectored toward the booth instead of
continuing on toward the Daniels Hall mailboxes, as had seemed to be
his intent when he entered, with a question on his face.
        "Miki's misplaced his green notebook," Utena told him.  "C'mon
and help us look for it before it gets dark."
        "Certainly," he said, nodding.

        They scoured the main campus from end to end, tracing the
paths that Miki would have walked as he passed from class to class to
lunch and so forth in the course of the day, and came up empty.  Then
they retraced the path again, having maximized their use of the waning
daylight, to check the buildings he'd entered.  By six they were tired
and hungry, and had found no trace of the notebook.  Miki fretted
through dinner, had a very unproductive evening of trying to study,
and finally borrowed one of Kate's blank-staff notebooks so he could
at least keep making notes and not go totally mad.
        "Cheer up, Miki," Utena encouraged him.  "Someone's bound to
have found it.  It's got your name in it, right?  They'll turn it into
the mailroom or the Campus Police.  It'll turn up."
        "I hope you're right," he said, but he sounded unconvinced.

        It took two days for the first page to appear.  On Thursday
night, the third of February, they found it on their way into Alden
Hall for an Art of Noise rehearsal.  It was nailed to the hall's front
door like Martin Luther's tracts, fluttering slightly in a winter
breeze.  For a second, Kaitlyn took it for another one of the Campus
Crusade for Kalidor's vehement tracts, until she realized it had music
on it - and familiar music, at that.
        Miki recognized it an instant after she did, and sprang for
the door with a strangled shout.  "This... this is page 3 of 'Duet for
Piano No. 17'!" he cried.  He couldn't remove the nail with his
fingers, so he carefully tore the nail-hole through to remove the
page.  He turned toward the others, cradling the wounded page in his
hands, his face ashen.  "How... how did it get here?"
        "I d-don't kn-know," Kate admitted, her face covered in mixed
concern for her friend and anger that someone would do something like
this to his most prized possession.  "B-but w-w-we'll f-find -out-."

        Over the next several days, more pages appeared in odd and
foreboding places.  Two were mailed to Miki's campus mailbox,
postmarked from far-flung and exotic locales.  One appeared on Table
11 in the Morgan Hall dining commons, the IBGF's usual table, before
dinner on Friday.  Azalynn found one stuck under Riley 212's door upon
returning from classes Monday afternoon.  Kaitlyn discovered one
wedged between two of the small pipes of Alden Hall's organ.  Another
turned up taped to the window on Galaxy House's front door.  One,
folded neatly into a very airworthy paper glider, sailed into
Olin 218 through the open lintel over the door to lodge in Professor
Jellicoe's beehive, and narrowly escaped being balled up and thrown
into the trash by its desperate owner's frantic leap.
        As the week went on, Miki got more and more upset.  He
carefully collated the pages they found and fitted them into a report
binder, slowly piecing the book back together.  There seemed to be no
rhyme or reason to the order in which the pages had been torn out;
some were from early in the notebook, some late.  One, the one that
had been stuck in the organ, was blank.  Miki became moody, swinging
between jittery nervousness, undirected anger and bleak despair.  The
rest of the Federation tended to hover between that same state of
anger and an agony of concern, for the Boy Genius was going to pieces.
        "I b-bet I kn-know who's r-respons-sible for th-this," Kate
announced from her bed one evening.
        "Hmm?" said Utena, who sat at her desk working on a report
for GH203.  Kate hadn't spoken in almost an hour when she made this
comment, and the context thus escaped Utena completely.
        "M-Miki's noteb-book.  I b-b-bet Liza B-Broadbank t-took it."
        "Why would she do that?" Utena wondered.  "She doesn't even
know Miki.  He never did anything to her."
        Kate sat up and sighed wearily.  "H-he's my f-f-friend.  And
y-yours.  And S-Sky's housem-m-mate.  That's en-nough for L-Liza.  I
sh-should have r-realized it e-earlier."
        "Mm, I dunno," said Utena dubiously.  "I mean, I could see her
maybe taking it, but tearing it up and leaving the pieces where he'll
find them?  That's awful low, even for her.  That's -torture-."
        "I kn-know," said Kate.  "Y-you d-d-don't know Liza l-like I
d-do."
        Utena swiveled her chair and leaned back.  "What's the -deal-
with you two, anyway?  I mean, I've seen people hate each other that
much before, but usually there was more involved than a couple of
school clubs."
        "W-we've been enemies s-since K-Kindergart-ten," Kate told
her.  "I w-wasn't a very w-w-willing s-student, my f-first c-couple of
y-y-years at p-public sch-school.  Well, y-you c-can im-magine... "

        Liza Broadbank was the daughter of Ephrem Broadbank, Vice
President for Operations of the Aztechnology Corporation and the
number-two man in charge of their corporate headquarters in New
Avalon.  His wife, Alicia, was one of the leading lights of the city's
high-society scene.  Both the Broadbanks had an intense and mutual
dislike for the "immortal clique" that ran the city - the Wedge
Defense Force elder types, Gryphon, MegaZone, and their ilk.  A lot of
the Corporate Society types in the city did; after all, in any other
city in the galaxy, -they- would have been calling the shots and
running the show, not these weirdos, most of whom, despite their
fabulous wealth, lived bizarrely middle-class lives for no readily
apparent reason.
        The Broadbanks' three daughters, Elizabeth, Clarissa, and
Marietta, each separated by two years from the next, had been raised
to share this dislike.  As luck would have it, each of them had at
least one of the children of those people as a schoolmate, too - Liza
was the same age as Kate, Clarissa happened to be of concurrent age
with the Ragnarok crop, and Mary was contemporary with the Morgan
twins and Sylvie Daniels.  Worse, their parents sent them to the same
primary schools, though they could have afforded far more prestigious
private schooling, solely out of some perverse desire to match and
mock the Wedge Defenders.
        In two cases out of three, this had worked out about as well
as you might expect.  Liza, upon arriving at Katahdin Avenue
Elementary school at the age of five, knew full well that she could
have been going somewhere much higher-class (though the New Avalon
public schools were very good, they weren't fancy), were it not for
the brown-haired little girl in the second row who never spoke.  Thus,
Kaitlyn had an enemy from eight o'clock on Day One, and didn't know
the reason for the slim blonde's enmity for several years.
        (Clarissa, the middle daughter, was widely acknowledged to be
even worse - meaner, more vindictive, sharper-tongued - than Liza; she
had all the disadvantages of Liza, plus the sizeable chip on her
shoulder that came from being the middle child in a family as cool and
remote as the Broadbanks.  Strangely, the youngest daughter, Mary, had
managed to overcome all this and turn out all right.  She was a good
friend of the Morgan twins and Sylvie - rumor had it her father was
considering disowning her for it, but that was the way the rumor mill
went at Crescent Heights Middle School, and no one could be sure if it
were true.)
        "Wow.  She even followed you here," said Utena, impressed.
"Now that's dedication."
        Kate made an irritated "tch" noise.  "Sh-she p-p-probably
thinks I l-left New Av-valon to g-get away f-f-from -her-."
        "You're so vain," Utena sang, "you prob'ly think this song
is about you... "
        That had the desired effect; Kate's scowl cracked and she
giggled a little.  "Ex-z-zactly."  Then, sobering, she went on,
"L-Liza d-d-doesn't l-like to at-t-tack her f-foes d-directly.  It's
usual-ly s-safer and e-easier to attac-ck their f-friends.  S-so it's
n-not m-much of a st-stretch to s-see her h-hand in th-this."
        "So what do we do?  Report her to the Dean?"
        "W-with w-what evidence?  The f-fact that it's j-just her
style?  Th-that's h-hard to exp-plain w-without v-v-visual aids."
        "I guess the alternative is to go beat the hell out of her.
That would probably get us expelled, though."
        Kate sighed again.  "M-maybe I'm w-wrong.  I h-hope I am.
B-but I d-d-don't know w-who else w-w-would d-do a thing l-like
this."

        The following day, Devlin reported at dinner that Miki's
notebook was nowhere to be found anywhere in Founders 201, but that if
anyone were interested in some rather expensive jewelry, he knew where
he could get some cheap.  None of those who had known him long seemed
surprised by the statement, merely disappointed by his findings.
Miki, after he got over being startled by the realization of how
Devlin must have acquired that knowledge, pushed his food
disconsolately around his plate until most of the group had finished
and gone, then got up to make his morose way back to Galaxy House.
        Kate and Utena exchanged a sad, rather helpless glance, and
were about to get up and follow him anyway when his cry rang back into
the cafeteria.
        Kate took the long way around, running between tables, dodging
seats and fellow students, and ducking around the salad bar.  Utena
took the short way, jumping up onto the table, then taking long,
leaping strides from table to table, reaching the desk at the entrance
where the Machine that Goes Ping was set up in about ten seconds.  She
jumped down without breaking stride and pelted out of the caf,
ignoring the indignant cry of the guy who operated the Machine, and
was at Miki's side in a moment.  Kate arrived seconds later, followed
by the rest, all of them with the same unasked question on their
lips.  It was answered the moment they saw Miki.
        He stood looking at the cork-backed bulletin board on the wall
in the short hallway leading from the Wedge into the dining hall.
This was a popular place for students to put the usual things -
rideshare requests for various destinations, housing availability
notices, and other important communications.  "BAND NEEDS BASSIST:
INFLUENCES INCLUDE THRASHING GNOBERTS AND P-FUNK ALL-STARS, NO
WEENIES!"  "I WILL WRITE YOUR TERM PAPER FOR NON-DAKA FOOD."  "MAC
MEGACUBE, 256 XB, CRYSTAL WRITER, TRADE FOR GAMETRODE XL OBO."  That
kind of thing.
        Affixed to the center of the bulletin board with a small,
nasty-looking knife was a sheet of staff paper.  The bottom half of
the staves had music handwritten on them.  The upper half was covered
by a sketch, though it was hard to tell just what it was a sketch of.
That end of the paper had been slashed several times by a knife,
probably the same knife which had then been driven into page and
corkboard alike, and was still jutting out like a stake through a
vampire's heart.
        Or Miki's.
        The young composer stood transfixed, staring with wide,
quivering eyes at the destruction.  This was the only page they had
found so far that had been harmed, other than small holes in a few
where they had been nailed or tacked to things.  He reached a
trembling hand out toward the hilt of the knife, then let it fall and
turned away, covering his face.
        Liza Broadbank just happened to walk past at that moment, on
her way through the Wedge from the Daniels student government offices
to the Quad and thence Harrington Auditorium.  She saw the six of
them standing around the bulletin board, saw Miki's shoulders slumped
and shaking, and addressed him in a loud, carrying, slightly mocking
tone of solicitude.
        "Not feeling well tonight, Mr. Kaoru?  That's a shame."
        He looked up at her, dropping his hands and revealing the
tears tracking his face, and tried to speak but couldn't.  She tsked
in clearly false concern.
        "If you can't handle the pressure here at the Institute," she
said, "maybe it would be best if you went home to your girlfriend."
        Then she turned and breezed out.
        Utena made an incoherent noise and began to lunge after her,
with Kate not far behind, but T'skaia interposed himself.
        "No, ladies, I beg you," he said.  "It's what she wants.
She's willing to take a beating if it gets one or both of you
expelled.  Do you understand?  Don't play into her hands."
        Utena pushed against his restraining hand for a second, then
realized he was right and sagged back, letting out an explosive sigh
that may or may not have contained a profanity.  She turned to Miki,
who still stood, staring at where Liza had been, his jaw quivering.
Then, with a single sob, he covered his eyes with his arm and ran,
crossing the Wedge and vanishing into the ground-floor corridor that
led through Daniels Hall.
        "-Fuck-," said Kaitlyn distinctly, and she ran after him.
Utena looked