We have been forced into a course of imperialism.
So let it be. Germany and Japan are not safe to 
have around; we are bigger and tougher than they
are, I sincerely believe. Let's rule them. We did
not want it that way -- but if someone has to be
boss, I want it to be us.
-- Robert A Heinlein, in a letter to John W.
Campbell, Jr., dated December 9, 1941.


April 30, 1992

     The house that has become the current locus of our awareness (227
Greenwood Avenue, incidentally) isn't particularly large. A rough square
perhaps forty-five feet on a side with off-white walls and a bright blue roof,
it has two floors and a driveway (but no garage) in which rests a single,
mid-size sedan.
     A large living/dining room, the kitchen, and a small office largely take
up the first floor. Right now, both of the active members of the household are
in the kitchen. Mother is humming gently as she fries eggs on the stovetop;
father sits at the small breakfast table and reads the morning newspaper.
     At precisely 7:08:37, a small brown-haired tornado erupts from one of the
three bedrooms upstairs, streaks down the stairs and screeches to a halt by
hopping into a seat at the table opposite Father.
"MorningpoppamommacanIhavepeanutbutteronmytoast?"
     "Good morning, Diane," replies Father, without setting down his paper.
     Mother tsks. "Well, if you really want to mix peanut butter and fried
eggs, I won't stop you. But nobody's getting any disgusting combinations of
foods until Sam gets up."
     "What?!? Hey, no, no fair! That won't be for another half-hour, Sam sleeps
like a rock, no fair!"
     "Sorry," answers Mother, manifestly not sorry.
     Diane glowers at the cosmic injustice of it all, then hops off her chair
to march briskly out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, and then into a
different bedroom than the one that she'd exited earlier.
     Pausing momentarily to deliver another ferocious glare at the sprawled
form occupying the room's bed, Diane heads over to the desk and proceeds to
fiddle momentarily with the clock radio. This accomplished, she beats a hasty
retreat.
     At 7:12, the clock radio erupts into the middle of Mina Rush's cover of
"Jailhouse Rock", specifically the synthesizer solo. Samantha Allison Hazzard,
age sixteen, sits up in bed aghast that her favorite easy listening station has
elected to play such an atrocity. Moments later, as the time indicated on the
clock registers with her, shock turns to anger, and she springs out of bed to
grab her dressing gown and wrap it around her pyjamas. Thus girded, she
descends the stairs like a blonde fury.
     "Good morning dearest and best beloved older sister, what would you like
on your toast?" Diane asks before Sam can get anything out.
     "Blood -- yours!"
     Diane affects an air of sanctimony. "I was just acting in everyone's best
interests."
     "How is it in *my* best interest to get yanked out of bed by that
cacophony, you little discordian?"
     "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Besides," Diane
continues over the start of another tirade, "it's the responsibility of any
good agent to create situations that she can exploit to advance her principle's
cause, without regards to their impact on --"
     "Ah-hah!" shouts Sam.
     "Wha--?"
     "Isn't that a direct quote from Nicholas Sparks' autobiography?" asks
Father, folding his newspaper and raising a black eyebrow behind his glasses.
"The one I specifically told you that you weren't old enough to read yet?"
     "Er--"
     "Of course, I haven't given Sam permission to read it either, which raises
the question of how she recognized it," he muses.
     "Um -- you *did* give me permission," Sam replies quickly. "A couple weeks
ago."
     Father considers. "It's possible. I remember thinking, when you asked
about it a few years ago, that it'd be all right for you to read it when you
were sixteen. However, it's also possible that I eventually reconsidered and
decided that it'd be okay for someone Diane's age ... and that I just don't
remember giving her permission, either."
     Sam and Diane exchange mutually hostile glares. But Sam says quietly,
"That sounds right."
     "All right then."
     "Eggs are done," Mother reports. "What do you want on your toast, Sam?"
     "Cheese," Sam says grudgingly as she takes a seat at the table, being sure
to leave a space open for Mother to be the wall between Diane and herself. She
can tell just by looking that her little half-sister is just aching to stick
out her tongue, and that only the amused supervision of their father, drinking
his first coffee of the day, holds Diane back. "Please," she adds as an
afterthought.
     Mother squirts a thin layer of cheese sauce over two slices of toast, some
peanut butter onto another pair, and prepares two separate pairs with raspberry
jam. Father gets up to carry his own plate and Mother's. After a short, silent
prayer, the Hazzards break their fast.
     Swallowing his first bite, Father addresses Sam. "I'm afraid I won't be
able to drive you to school today. I have to be on my way this morning by
quarter of eight."
     Sam acknowledges the information with a nod. "I was planning on taking the
train with Mary anyway."
     She notices that Father looks mildly concerned by her statement, but
decides that if he doesn't want to bring his concerns up -- whether about her
taking public transportation to school, or about Mary Tanner, her best friend
-- she won't press for details that could get another argument going. She
suspects that neither the mode of transportation nor the company is what
actually worries Father, but if so, she really doesn't want to talk about it.
It's not her fault; it's never been her fault. She wishes people wouldn't make
such a big deal out of it.
     As it happens, Mother isn't inclined to discuss that sort of thing either
-- not at the breakfast table at least -- and if she caught the slight look of
worry on her husband's face, she doesn't mention it. Not now.
     Diane, of course, is obliviously self-involved, and notices none of this
subtext.
     By 8:25, breakfast is done, and Sam takes her plate to the kitchen sink
before dashing upstairs to take a small, petty revenge by monopolizing the
bathroom and the shower for the next ten minutes. After showering, she brushes
her teeth, runs a comb through her hair, and applies a small amount of
lip-gloss. She opens the door to leave and is nearly bowled over by her little
sister's entrance. Before she's out, the shower is already running over the
sound of (false) complaints that Sam has used up all the hot water.
     She dresses quickly, putting on a white blouse and the usual, ankle-length
black skirt, along with a green vest, gray jacket and matching tie. Her
school's pin -- the only piece of jewelry she's permitted -- goes on last.
     Sam descends the stairs just in time to see Father pulling his jacket on
over his shoulder holster, and giving Mother a quick kiss before putting on his
hat. "Have a good day, Sam," he says, and then raises his voice. "I'm off,
Diane!"
     "Buhbye, Daddy!" comes the cry from upstairs.
     And he exits through the doorway. Mother watches him go with anxiety that
she can't quite disguise. Sam, not wanting to intrude further, heads into the
kitchen to start making her lunch, listening as she does to the sound of the
car pulling out of the driveway. As she mulls over whether to pack a juice
bottle or buy one at school, Mother returns to the kitchen.
     "Is it bad?" Sam asks impulsively.
     "What? Oh. I don't know, he wouldn't tell me if it was. It's just that I
always worry a bit when he gets called in earlier than usual. I'm always afraid
that it's going to be a long day."
     "Well, it already hasn't been as long as that one time," Sam comments,
remembering when she was only eight and Father had gone into work shortly after
midnight. By the end of the day, there had been a new President in the Oval
Office.
     Mother smiles -- thinly, but she smiles all the same. "There is that."
     Sam quickly finishes with her sandwich, and packages it and the cherries
in a brown bag, having decided that she can afford to buy juice at school. Now
to gather her homework.
     One quick check of her algebra problems later, Sam has packed her books
(both text- and note-) into her satchel, along with a collection of Robert E.
Howard's poetry to read in study hall. (This book, for the curious, is also not
on her approved reading list.)
     With only a few minutes remaining before her planned time of departure,
Sam decides to jump the clock and head out at once. So, with a quick call of
farewell to her mother and her sister, she heads out the door at 8:59.

     Mary Tanner stands a few blocks down Greenwood, in front of a bus stop.
Her attire is identical to Sam's, save that her button is on the opposite side
of the jacket, and those who don't know them well might be startled by their
resemblance to each other. The differences -- Mary's long, curly red hair vs.
Sam's short straight blonde; Sam's perfect vision vs. Mary's nearsightedness,
corrected by glasses; slight differences in body shape -- outnumber the
similarities, and no one would ever mistake them for twins. But there are
rumors ...
     Sam was only a few months old when Mother's first marriage, to Sam's
biological father, ended in divorce. The allegations of adultery were flung by
both sides, but only stuck to the husband. One of those named by the wife's
attorney was Mary's recently widowed mother. But she denied the accusations,
refuted the evidence, and maintained her dignity. It didn't matter; there were
many other other women.
     The two women never spoke again, yet their daughters became the closest
friends. There are things that they both know, and yet have never discussed
with each other. There is tension, and it is growing. But right now, Mary
smiles as she sees Sam walking briskly towards her, and stubs her cigarette out
on the sidewalk beneath her shoe.
     Before Mary says anything, Sam quickly and silently presents her with a
box of breath mints. Rolling her eyes, Mary nonetheless takes the box and
shakes a mint out of it, then pops it in her mouth.
     "What's your mother going to say when she figures out that you're nicking
her smokes?" Sam asks.
     "She knows," Mary replies. "Probably hopes it's just another phase that
I'm going to grow out of." She reflects, briefly, on all the phases that her
mother has hoped she'd outgrow. Associating with "that girl" was first on the
list, eight years ago.
     Sam shakes her head in disbelief. "Let's go. We're going to be on time,
this time."
     "Yeah. Right."
     Sam endures her best friend's sarcasm. Mary, at least, doesn't blame her,
even though the whole thing has gotten her into just as much trouble as it's
gotten Sam.
     They avoid talking about that as they walk briskly down Greenwood to the
Thunderbay train station. Mary suppresses her tendency towards gossip, and Sam
holds back her inclination to start in about the books that she's reading. That
leaves them with news and entertainment -- still fertile ground -- and Mary
reminds Sam that she should check to see if the new graphic books have arrived
at the bookstore after school.
     The incident begins after they reach the platform for the train, having
already shown their student passes to the ticket taker. The platform is crowded
at this time of the morning, but not as crowded as it becomes in early evening,
when suburbanites seeking amusement head into the central city even as workers
there are heading home. So when Sam's eye lights on a weedy-looking man in his
mid twenties who has quietly approached a number of ladies on the platform from
behind their blind spots, then brushed past them with a quick apology, her
curiosity is aroused.
     "I think that guy's a pickpocket," she says to Mary, sotto voce.
     "What guy?" Mary replies without looking.
     "That --"
     "I don't see any guy. I do see that the big sign just lit up to  say the
train is coming in. What say you and I get on it?"
     "But --"
     "I'm getting on. I don't care what you do, I'm getting on the train. I
mean it. Don't --"
     The train arrives. As though this is a signal he has been waiting for, the
pickpocket starts heading for the exit. With a moue of frustration, Sam starts
running.
     "Hey you! Hold it right there!" she calls, loudly enough that she can be
heard despite the screams of the incoming train. Of course, the perpetrator --
while startled that anyone noticed his redistribution of wealth -- doesn't hold
it anywhere, and also starts to run.
     He is, unfortunately for him, running against a girl who has won every
foot race she ever entered from the time she was five. Something in Sam's heart
exults in the chase, in the sensation of the wind in her hair and the swiftened
pumping of blood in her heart. She's hindered by her skirt and by her shoes,
but these are trifles.
     The pickpocket has barely gotten through the door leading out of the
platform when Sam catches up with him. Opting for the direct approach, she
grabs him around his lower abdomen, and shifts their combined weight just
enough to pull him off-balance completely. They both hit the floor, but Sam is
on top with a knee in the small of the pickpocket's back.
     "I said --" she begins.
     "Hold it right there!" concludes one of the two metro security guards who
have just now arrived on the scene.
     "Crazy bitch tried to kill me!" shouts the pickpocket, who then beings to
swear in the patois of English, Vietnamese and Cantonese so beloved of gang
filmmakers.
     "He's a pickpocket!" protests Sam as one of the guards pulls her up and
off the perp, producing handcuffs as she does.
     "We'll get this all sorted out --"
     "She's telling the truth," interrupts Mary. She is standing in the doorway
to the platform, looking at the scene without any real expression on her face.
"I saw him. You'll probably find out he has priors if you run his description."
     It's a mistake. She knows it, Sam knows it, everybody knows it -- don't
ever tell anyone how to do their job.
     "Okay," says the older of the two guards at some length. "We'll do that.
Why don't you come along with us, little lady?"
     Mary shrugs. "Why not? I missed my train."
     As they sit together in station security's holding area, Sam mutters,
"Sorry."
     "Yeah," says Mary. "Right."

     What say we skip ahead about an hour, avoiding all the embarrassing
questions? Rather, let us watch as the girls walk through the front gates of
Robert A. Heinlein Academy of Learning, beneath the thirteen stripes and sixty
stars of the United States of America. Passing through the school's deserted
courtyard and into the foyer, they promptly encounter a man-eating tiger.
     Well, perhaps that's unfair to Miss Watanabe. She is fierce, but that's a
requisite of the position of school disciplinarian. As for the man-eating part,
the rumor that she relaxes by seducing and emotionally devastating promising
but politically unreliable students is probably just a wishful thinking on the
part of less-than-promising students of a certain political disposition. But
she certainly doesn't aid her reputation with her preference for all-black
outfits and ridiculously short skirts, not to mention the occasional passing
reference to the admirable policies of the Reich -- their policies in
educational matters, of course. And right now, the shape of her broad grin
certainly does echo that of a predator.
     "Miss Hazzard. Miss Tanner. So nice of you to join us. I presume that you
have an explanation for your tardiness?"
     Sam suppresses her by-now instinctive response -- "It's not my fault!" --
and silently hands her the note she requested from the guards, which explains
the situation fully, if not in terms that she finds pleasant. Mary waits until
Miss Watanabe finishes scanning Sam's note, and then hands the disciplinarian
her own.
     "I see," Miss Watanabe says a few moments later. "Very well, you may both
proceed to your first classes. I will be contacting both your parents to inform
them of this situation."
     Sam starts to head off, but Mary stops her with a simple gesture. "May we
have hall passes, Miss Watanabe?"
     Miss Watanabe frowns on the request, but hands over the passes all the
same. (As it turns out, they don't need them -- the hall monitor is in the gym
supply room, enjoying the company of a girl whom we will meet later.) This
time, both of them turn to go, only to pause as Miss Watanabe speaks up again. 
   
     "It would be in your best interests, young ladies, to refrain from your
careers of vigilantism during school hours."
     Sam's hackles arise with the phrase, "in your best interest", but to her
surprise it is Mary who speaks up, in a harsh tone. "I was a *witness*."
     "Yes. Certainly. In your case, then, it would be in your best interest to
carefully consider the character of your companions." (A passion for
alliteration is one of Miss Watanabe's less endearing traits.) "You may go
now."
     They go. As soon as they are quite beyond her somewhat paranoid estimation
of Miss Watanabe's hearing range, Mary hisses, "Don't say it."
     "I'm s--"
     "*Don't*. You've said it five ruddy times so far, and I'm getting sick of
hearing it." An extended pause ensues. "You didn't mean to get me in trouble.
Fine. You didn't. I didn't *have* to stick around, you know."
     "I know," Sam says, more than a little unsettled at the way this
conversation -- or monologue, maybe -- is going.
     "Fine," says Mary as they arrive at her locker. "Then just quit trying to
take the blame for what I do or did! And another thing!" She turns and stares
directly into Sam's face.
     "Yes?" asks Sam when, after a moment, Mary hasn't said anything further."
     She draws a deep breath. "Your locker's on the other side of the ruddy
hallway!"
     "Oh. Right!" Sam quickly scampers over to her own locker, to deposit her
homework and pick up her books. As her back is turned, Mary directs a look of
mingled, mangled despair and admiration towards her best friend.

     Again, let us swiftly pass over various events of little or no interest
(to the author, at least): classes, meetings between Sam and Mary and some of
their other little friends (none of whom are important enough to the narrative
to have names), lunch, more classes, Sam reading her book, Mary hanging around
with fellow tobacco enthusiasts, and one or two more classes.

     Our observation resumes at the end of the school day, as Sam and Mary
reunite at the gates of the Academy, and start walking together towards the
small shopping district that abuts the campus.
     Mary grumbles over the amount of history reading they've been assigned. "I
mean, does anyone care how Vancouver entered the Union? It was more than a
hundred years ago! Who cares about the ruddy economic history of ... of ... of
whatever it was called, back then --"
     "British California," Sam supplies. "I've already gotten started."
     "Yeah, but you're not normal," Mary quips. This is safe ground, where
neither of them will be hurt by their remarks. Sam is okay with being teased
about her enjoyment of knowledge for its own sake, and Mary has long since
become inured to Sam's subtle attempts to improve her study habits.
     "It's really kind of interesting," Sam insists. "You can even argue that
it set the precedent for --"
     Case in point. "Lemme get there at my own pace, okay?"
     "All right."
     In any event, they've reached their destination, and Mary makes her first
purchase -- from one of the vending machines set up in front of a laundromatic.
She savors the taste of Dr. Pepper as they walk the rest of the distance
towards the bookstore.
     "To answer your question," announces the somewhat rotund manager-clerk as
the bell chimes to announce their entrance," yes, the new releases have
arrived. No food or drink in the store." The last is directed at Mary. She
shrugs and heads out again to finish her drink (and perhaps have another
smoke.)
     Sam slowly walks down the pair of aisles that make up the store, both
sides lined with the month's new graphic books. She examines the covers of the
anthologies: _Amazing_ and _Fantastic_; _Thrilling_ and _Chilling_; _Weird_ and
_Wonder_; even _Harlequin_ and _Silhouette_. They remain the backbone of the
industry, even though character-focused titles form most of its skeleton:
_Doctor Savage_, _The Shadow_, _Gladiator_, _The Black Bat_, _The Golden
Amazon_, _Spider_, _Tony Stark_, _Ka-Zar_, _Doctor Doom_, _The Mutants_,
_Prince Arn_, _Archie_, _Star Trek_, and Sam's personal favorite, _The
Avengers_. Even if it weren't the book that taught her to love reading, she'd
pick up this particular month's edition. It's set in Japan, and as the current
writer has shown a talent for presenting "exotic" locations realistically, Sam
is curious to see how she does with Sam's home state. She also considers
picking up the new _Conan_, but decides that her budget can't stretch that far.
     After paying for her purchase, she heads out to find that Mary has already
started window-shopping at a nearby jeweler. Sam joins her, and they murmur
about the various stones. Mary almost whimpers as she gazes at a ring set with
her ruby birthstone, elegantly sculpted so that the stone appears to be held
between the heads of an amphisbaena, clutched tightly in their teeth. The price
tag would be more than a decade's worth of her allowances. Eventually, she
tears her eyes away from it, and suggests to Sam that they ought to move on.
     Possibly seeking to further distract herself from the memory of the ring,
Mary's footsteps guide her to the video bazaar. Here she and Sam part company;
while Sam would normally be happy to play a game of chess with one of the
tanks, she figures that it's time to head home. Bidding Mary farewell (and
arranging to meet at the usual time tomorrow), Sam sets off for the train
station.
     She walks alone down the sidewalk for several minutes, reading her book
and enjoying the beautiful artwork and prose, when suddenly she realizes that
she's not alone. Sam pauses, and slowly turns around to see the person who's
following her.
     At first there's a sense of relief; it's a woman, only a few years older
than Sam herself, rather than a man. Then a certain amount of concern returns.
Her purply black hair and very intense, almost unblinking stare both suggest a
type of person with whom Sam isn't in any particular hurry to associate.
Something about her tugs at the memory, though.
     Sam decides to take the obvious step. "Can I help you?"
     The woman nods once, and then speaks. "Yesss." It comes out as more of a
sigh, or an exhalation of pleasure, than as a hiss. "In fact," she says in the
same, slightly airy tone, "you already have."
     "I have?" Sam asks dubiously.
     "You helped me get my wallet back."
     All at once, Sam remembers her. She was one of the people on the platform
that morning, who had been hit by the pickpocket.
     "I see that you *do* remember," the woman says as recognition hits Sam.
"Thank you so much, Miss Tsukamura."
     "You're welcome," Sam starts to say, but he words smash into the wall
formed by the freezing of her smile, as how she's just been addressed
registers. It has been nearly eight years since she last heard her biological
father's last name ... and it has never been applied to her.
     "That is your name, isn't it? Samantha Allison Tsukamura?"
     "No," Sam replies, more evenly than she feels.
     "But it's the name on your birth certificate." The words aren't a protest
as much as a reminder.
     Sam has performed some simple arithmetic. Adding knowledge of private
documents to the sum of a focus on her biological father and a decidedly
sinister manner produces a horrible suspicion that this person is someone with
a grudge against him. And there are some unpleasant people associated with
Walter Tsukamura. Every one of Sam's instincts urges her to run.
     She stands her ground. "What do you want with me?"
     "A number of things," the punkish woman replies, taking a step towards
her. "But nothing which should be discussed so ... publicly. Shall we --"
     "I'm not going anywhere with you, whoever you are." Her words are flat,
hard and final. She is already running tactics of escape and flight through her
head.
     The woman blinks for the first time that Sam has noticed. "Verrry well,"
she says after a moment. "I shan't force anything on you. But I will be seeing
you again. For the recorrrd ... my name is Rune." With that, she turns and
walks away, her hips swaying almost exaggeratedly.
     Sam waits a moment, letting her heartbeat slow to normal levels, feeling
the adrenaline drain away -- and then, with that done, she turns and runs for
the train station.

     She is still running when she bursts through the front door of her home
fifteen minutes later. (Of course, still isn't quite the right term; she didn't
run while on the train itself.) Mother comes down the stairs with a startled
expression; she has heard both the door slamming shut and her eldest daughter
breathing heavily.
     "Goodness, Sam, what's wrong?"
     Sam quickly summarizes her encounter with the woman who called herself
Rune -- though as he does so, she realizes that the name given actually used
the odd, native Japanese sound that can be either "r" or "l". She doesn't
speculate on what that might mean.
     Mother grows tense when she hears the mention of her first husband's
family name, and interrupts Sam to give a more detailed description of the
woman. Whatever she fears -- and she has a very specific, very great cause for
fear -- the description doesn't provide it. This eases her fears a bit, but
only a bit.
     "All right," Mother says in the end. "I don't think we ought to call this
one in right away."
     "But --"
     "They wouldn't be able to do anything, Sam. All they'd do is run the
description you gave through the library. That could take hours. If something
came up ... well, the agency might try to bring her in, depending on what else
this person has done. But if she's new, or if she was wearing a disguise, then
..." Mother shrugs expressively.
     Sam hates this. She hates feeling so scared and small and helpless. But
she know that Mother wouldn't make a decision like this unless she was sure of
it, and so she just lets out a sigh. "Okay."
     "But if you see her again, that's a different story," Mother continues.
"It only takes two incidents to make a pattern, and if we can show a pattern
--"
     Sam nods understanding. "I hope I don't, though."
     "Me too." Mother steeples her hands in front of her and lets out a deep
breath. "Okay. We don't know when your father will be back, so dinner may not
be until six. Can you keep yourself occupied until then? Diane headed off to
the community pool --"
     "I've got homework," she replies. "I'll get started on it."
     "All right."
     Sam heads for the stairway, hoping against hope that --
     "But about the phone call I got this morning ..."
     She turns to look at Mother, silently bracing herself.
     Mother, her arms folded under her breasts, just looks at her for a long
moment. "If you don't want to talk about it right this minute, we don't have
to. But we *do* need to address it soon, Samantha. This is going far beyond --"
     "I was just trying to do the right thing!" Sam protests. No, let's be
honest. Sam yells.
     "Don't shout at me," Mother says, very calmly. "That, in particular, is
never the right thing. No dessert tonight."
     Sam has no answer to that, and so she turns and marches to her room,
closing -- not slamming, that would just make matters worse -- her door behind
her. She dumps her satchel on the desk and slides into a slouch in her chair.
Opening it up, she pulls out first her History text, then her new _Avengers_
graphic. Neither of them seems very interesting, though, not at the moment.
     Sam gets up long enough to walk over to the bed and lie down, staring up
at the ceilling. From time to time, her eyes shift across the ceilling to the
window; at this angle, she can only see the deep blue of the sky.
     What, she thinks as she has often thought, would it be like to fly? It
would make so many things so much easier. It would be like swimming without
feeling the water pressing against you, without needing to hold your breath,
without the wetness to take away from the warmth of the sun.
     She closes her eyes for a moment, embracing the fantasy.
     When she opens them, the window is open.
     *That* makes her sit up in bed, wondering how it can possibly have occured
... which in turn allows her the correct perspective to see the cat sitting on
the window sill, returning her wide-eyed stare.
     The cat -- Sam knows nothing of breeds and their technical terminology --
hs vivid purple-black hair, and eyes that seem almost as hypnotic as a snake
out of a fable.
     "I told you," the cat says in Rune's voice, "that I would be seeing you
again soon, Samantha."

     Nearly half an hour after the cat starts to talk to Sam, Mary returns to
her apartment complex home after a profitable afternoon playing games and
flirting with the cute bazaar attendant. She lets herself in, unlocking the
several locks and bolts with the special master key and touch pad. At first,
she takes the darkness and stillness inside the two bedroom apartment to mean
that her mother hasn't gotten home yet from her job on the cleanup crew of a
large shoplex downtown; not all that surprising.
     But then she hears a thumping noise from her mother's bedroom.
     "Mom?" she asks, not certain what she'll do if someone answers in the
negative.
     Her mother steps unsteadily out of the darkened doorway to her room, one
arm tightly holding onto her stomach, and a pale, drawn expression on her face.
She swallows visibly, before saying in a hoarse voice, "I don't feel too good."
     "What's wrong?" Mary asks, feeling a surge of anxiety. "What happened?"
     Her mother shakes her head. "I dunno. But I think ... I think I may need
to go to a doctor. Can you give me a hand?"
     "Sure, Mom!" Mary says quickly, not thinking that it's strange that her
fiercely self-reliant mother would wait for Mary's help before heading to the
doctor. She is afraid now -- afraid of her mother's sickness, afraid of
suddenly losing the only parent she's ever known, and the fear gets in the way
of her judgment. She quickly heads towards her mother.
     Her mother takes another step, stumbles and almost falls forward, but Mary
quickly reaches out to catch her. Her mother's hands rest on Mary's shoulders,
and the daughter is somewhat startled at how heavy the mother seems.
     She smiles wanly. "Thank you, sweetie."
     Mary stares. Her mother never calls her Sw--
     The hands slither up from her shoulders to wrap around her neck in a grip
of iron.

     Sam's reaction to a talking cat is typical of a girl who enjoys fantasy of
all kinds, yet has always regarded it as an escape rather than anything which
could ever intrude into her life. She stares at the obviously impossible
phenomenon and waits for the dream to get interesting.
     The cat returns the stare evenly. "If you're trying to banish me by sheer
will, you can save yourself the energy. It won't work."
     Sam refuses to state the obvious, that this can't be happening. It
obviously is, but whatever this *is*, it is so far beyond her experience or
imagination that she is unable to formulate or implement any strategy for
dealing with it.
     "Perhaps it will be easier if I appear like this," says the cat, and
something shifts in her form that causes Sam to blink -- after which she sees
the woman Rune sitting on the windowsill, her crossed feet resting on the floor
of Sam's room.
     She opens her mouth in preparation for a scream.
     "If you yell for your mother," interrupts Rune, "I'll shift again and be
out the window before she gets up here, and she'll think you're making up
stories. Is that what you want?"
     Sam clasps her mouth in a frown. "Why have you followed me here?" she asks
tersely after a moment.
     "Believe it or don't, I've come to help you. I watched your ...
difficulties with the guards, and I overheard your conversation with your
mother. You have an urge to right wrongs, and a fervent desire to help good
triumph over evil. Correct?"
     Sam just glares.
     "I'll take that as a yes." Rune leans forward. "The problem is, you don't
have the capacity to defeat the great wrongs, but your efforts to deal with
those you can handle have not been well-received. What I'm offering you is a
greater ability to do what you already want to do, and knowledge of a threat
which you can only prevent with the power --"
     "Threat?" Sam interrupts. "What threat?"
     Rune gazes at her levelly. "There are those, in this world and on it, who
do not wish your kind well, Samantha. One particular band of such creatures has
begun to operate in this city. If they are not stopped --"
     "Why haven't *you* done something, or warned someone, if you know about
this?"
     The woman makes a very feline hissing noise. "Who would I warn? The
municipal guard? `Oh dear, officers, terrible monsters are about to rampage
through the city! How do I know this, you ask? Why, I'm a magical shapechanging
cat, so naturally you ought to believe everything I say!' And if I showed them,
I'd end up cut to pieces in a laboratory somewhere. No thank you."
     "But why haven't you tried to do some--"
     "I'm a cat! I know a few tricks, but I'm not any sort of war wizard." Rune
sighs. "I have a device in my possession which will allow you to do what must
be done, but it's no use to me. Only a certain type of person can use this
pendant -- and that's where you come in." She pulls the pendant from behind her
back:  a golden-looking amulet on a chain with a heart emblem and a moonstone
set in its center.
     Sam stares at it for a long, confused moment. Something in her wants to
reach out with her hand and take the pendant -- and the oddest thing is, that
something feels like the part of her that exults in the chase. Perhaps it is
just that she wants to believe Rune's words, and she knows that if they are
true --
     She lets out a breath. Thinking of Rune as a possible deceiver helps her
to form her next question. "What's in it for you, if I decide to do this?"
     "Suspicious, aren't you?"
     Sam says nothing; she looks at Rune, awaiting an answer.
     The cat-woman sighs. "Look at me for a moment, will you? Really look."
     Sam does so, noticing the dust and grime that covers her pumps, the
fraying threads and missing buttons on her skirt and blouse, the absence of any
cosmetics on her face ... and then the chips and breaks in Rune's long
fingernails.
     "You're a vagabond," she says at last.
     Again, the hiss. "No, I'm a *cat*. When I'm in my normal form, I can do
things that make it fairly easy to find food, but there's not a lot I can do
about shelter. I don't have anything but the clothes on my back when I'm
shifted into human form, and so given the choice between working for a living
and being fed by a caring person --"
     "You think I'm going to adopt you as a pet?"
     "*I* think *you* don't have a choice. I know about what you'll be facing
... do you really want to go in blind?" Abruptly, Rune shifts back into her cat
form, lifts a paw to her mouth and begins to lap at it. "I'll need tuna daily,
of course, and milk. Catnip is certainly pleasant, but I'll --"
     "You'll get cat food and water," Sam comments as she picks up the pendant.
It's much lighter than she expected, though she soberly realizes that she has
no idea what it's made of, and so no reason to "expect" anything. "How does
this thing work?"
     Rune stares at her, clearly nonplussed, and then devotes a great deal of
attention to licking her paw.
     "I said, how do I --"
     "Tuna." At the sight of the fierce look on Sam's face, the cat hastily
elaborates. "Not every day, but maybe from time to time you could --"
     "All right," Sam interrupts. "Now tell me."
     "Put the chain around your neck." Sam does so, but uneasily, as though she
expects the pendant to bite her. "Now, say the words -- moon prism power ...
make-up."
     "... `make-up'?"
     "I didn't craft the thing, all right?"
     "All right," Sam sighs, and draws a deep breath before saying "Moon --"
     And all at once, something is different. No, not a definable something,
but everything. Everything is more there, more solid, more real, as though
she'd been watching televideo and was suddenly there at the place it displayed.
It isn't just sight, but the scent of herself and the feel of the air around
her and the sound of her voice saying, "-- Prism --"
     And it's different again, but now the difference is in her, as she feels
herself filling with energy, just as she does in the moment before the
starter's pistol fires. But the tension between her current state and the state
that she'll experience when the moment ends has never been greater, and yet not
a hint of this can be heard in the word "-- Power--"
     And then her mind is all confusion and tumult, and for a terrible moment
she loses herself in the welter of possibilities that she can be, that she can
become, that she might have been. But then herself returns, or she finds it
again, even as the final words pass her lips. "-- Make-Up!"
     And she explodes.
     Or so it seems. For the first instant she wonders at the repetition of the
earlier loss, but then she realizes that what is gone is not herself, but any
sense of body -- and that this is what she imagined when she dreamed of flight.
Though she never imagined that she would be flying through skies of every color
and none, in a light warmer than the sun's but without any sensation of
burning.
     She comes to know, gradually, that she is not alone in this place, but
what is with her cannot be perceived save as a shadow or a reflection of her,
even though in observing it she feels that she is its shadow, its reflection.
She knows that it is waiting for her to ask a question, and she knows what it
must be.
     "Who are you?"
     "I am thy Truth. Unite with me."
     The space is filled with music of the spheres as they become one.

     Sam returns to a normal level of consciousness after a time she cannot
measure. (When she eventually examines her clock, she will estimate that it as
less than a minute.) She feels different, but not as different as she felt when
it was happening.
     Reflexively, Sam lifts her hands to her line of sight and realizes, to her
bemusement, that she is wearing elbow-length gloves. Fashioned out of some
white material with red striping at the elbows, they are so light that she had
no idea they existed until she saw them. The rest of her arms, up to her
shoulders, are bare. Looking down at her body reveals that she is wearing --
     Sam flings open the door to her room and dashes as silently as she can to
the bathroom. There, she stares into the mirror, her face aghast. It is with
great effort that she holds in a scream.
     She runs back across the hallway, praying all the way that Mother won't
look out of her bedroom. She begins to stare and sputter incoherently at the
cat.
     "What? What?" Rune asks, clearly startled.
     "Look. At. My. Skirt!"
     Rune looks at the hip-length skirt, and then looks at Sam. "What's wrong
with it?"
     "It's *short*!" she wails quietly. "It ... it ... anyone can see my
undergarments!"
     Rune takes another look, and Sam frantically tries to pull the skirt down
further to prevent her from doing so. "Not really," the cat comments after a
moment. "It's more of a swimsuit than --"
     "I do not wear a swimsuit outside of a swimming pool, where no one can see
me but other girls! What *is* this thing?!"
     Relieved to be on firmer ground, Rune begins to lecture. "Apparently, the
pendant actualizes your self-image, drawing on certain universal images of --"
     "My self-image is a slut? Is that what you're telling me?"
     "I don't recall having said that," Rune says evenly.
     "*Nobody* wears skirts this short! The harlots they arrest on _Guardians_
wear more than this! And what's wrong with my voice?" she snaps, suddenly
realizing that it has become at least an octave higher.
     "Do you think that women who have a higher voice than you do are more
feminine?" the cat wonders aloud.
     Sam stares at the cat with her mouth hanging open, as though she has run
out of words without realizing it.
     "Well, that got your attention at least. Now look," she continues sharply.
"Assuming all goes well, the only people who'll see you aren't going to care
about your clothes or your voice, or anything else but how your insides taste!
Now can we please work on the problem of how to fight them?"
     Sam takes another deep breath, and nods once. "All right. What do I do
first -- start looking for signs of evil? It's a big city, and I'm not even
sure what I ought to be looking for..."
     "I think we can start a little more easily than that. Since you were
chosen to seek them out ... I suspect that one of your talents will involve a
talent for finding them with magic."
     "So how would *that* work?"
     "I'm improvising here!" Rune replies to the edge in Sam's question. "But
... try closing your eyes and imagining the city as a map. It might help to
have a real map, actually..."
     Sam reluctantly closes her eyes and makes a picture of her hometown's
layout in her mind's eye. It's fairly easy, as she always did well in civics.
     "Now, just let yourself go. Don't deliberately look at any part of the
map, but if something about it draws your attention, follow that instinct. It
should lead you to --"
     Sam finds it difficult to listen to the cat's sage advice as she -- or at
least her perspective -- has begun to tumble towards the map's surface. As it
comes up to meet her, she is startled to see that the streets have grown
buildings -- three-dimensional representations of buildings that resemble
images out of a three-dimensional video game that Mary enjoys. The instant her
perspective reaches street level, it continues to fall, but across the map's
surface instead of towards it. It is like driving the streets, but faster than
any car goes and able to make sharp, ninety-and-more degree turns.
     Almost as quickly as it begins, it ends as Sam arrives in front of a
shoplex somewhere in the bay area. This is when Sam knows beyond any doubt that
whatever this experience is, it's not an imagination inspired by any video
game. No game designer born could create the terribly organic hole that rests
on the side of the image of the building's wall, pulsing slightly.
     "What is that thing?" Sam hears herself gasp.
     "Just as a guess, it's probably where the creature emerged. You can --"
     She is flying across the map again, and guesses that she is following the
creature's trail. Again, she stops suddenly when she "arrives" in front of a
housing complex.
     "And this is where it is now?"
     The cat pauses, and then continues somewhat more hesitantly. "Yes ...
almost certainly. It will probably take over the body of someone who was nearby
when it emerged, and then started spreading chaos that way."
     Sam only half-hears that. "This is where Mary lives," she mutters, feeling
herself work though the logic. "And she told me ... that her mother ... works
at a ... oh no." Her eyes snap open, and she whirls to look at Rune. "Can I
fly?"
     "Do you have wings?"
     "Then I guess that we're running!" Sam says as she grabs the cat, and
jumps out the open window.
     She's done it before, of course. There's a little edge of roof a foot or
so out of the house's first storey, running underneath her window, that drops
the distance to the ground down to about eight feet. That's not much of a drop,
especially if one is prepared. Sam's plan is to hit the ground running.
     What she doesn't expect is how lightly she lands, nor how easily she
rebounds into another leap that carries her up to the neighbor's roof.
     "How did I do that?" she gasps.
     "Off hand, I'd say magic," replies Rune in strangled tones. "I said you
couldn't fly. You never asked about leaping around like a luna--"
     "Right," Sam says, excited and pleased, as travelling high up will keep
people from getting a good look at her (and, more importantly, how she's
dressed.) She starts to run again, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. If anyone
on the street below notices her, she doesn't realize it -- no shouts or
catcalls echo up at her.
     The early evening air is crisp and cool, and the sensation of moving
through it is almost enough to make her forget the situation for herself and
(she fears) for Mary. But the sight of the apartment complex brings it all
back, and she hesitates before dropping down to street level and dashing into
the deserted foyer.
     Sam stabs the call button for Mary's unit repeatedly with her finger, and
waits anxiously for a response from the speaker. When, after a few minutes,
nothing has come, she nearly panics. Even if she can do it, breaking down the
security doors will attract a lot of attention, and she'll have to break down
the door to Mary's unit itself, which will draw even more, and --
     Suddenly, an alternative appears in her mind. Dashing back out onto the
sidewalk, she looks up the side of the building, remembering the sight of Mary
waving goodbye from the window on the sixth floor, and finds it. She draws a
deep breath, and settles into a crouch.
     "Oh no," says Rune as she divines Sam's intent. "You're not serious."
     "Gladiator does this sort of thing all the time. So does Steve Austin."
     "I don't know who those people arrrrrrrrr!" Rune howls as Sam jumps.
     She only has to reach up to about eighty feet above ground level. Sam
focuses all her will into whatever sort of magic she's been using so far,
striving for more lift. When the rail of the unit's small balcony is level with
her nose, her left hand snakes out to grab hold of it. She's actually a bit
startled at how inertia keeps pulling her upward, almost wrenching her shoulder
and elbow as she arcs over the railing to land -- not terribly gracefully, but
without injury -- on the balcony.
     Of course, the screen door is closed, and can't be opened from the
outside.
     "Open it," Sam snaps at Rune.
     "What --"
     "Like you opened my window! Hurry!"
     Rune looks intently at the door. A moment later, it slides open. Sam drops
the cat to the balcony's floor and dashes into the main living area to behold
the horrific scene of Mary's mother, her eyes glowing red and foam dripping
from her mouth, strangling Mary. Her best friend is struggling, but weakly.
     "LET GO OF HER. NOW."
     For the first moment, Sam wonders who said that. For the second moment,
Sam wonders when she developed such a voice. Then the creature's grip slackens
as it turns towards her, and Mary desperately kicks out, pushing herself out of
its grip, and there is no more time for wondering.
     The words are bubbling out of her mouth so quickly that she can barely
register them. "How dare you take this woman's seeming and abuse it so, to harm
the daughter that she loves. Were it within me, I would punish you with firey
torment, I would immure you in frigid ice, I would rain down thunder upon you,
I would make your name a half-forgotten memory. Yet these are not mine. All
that I may do is all that I shall do:  I cast you out of this place, by light
of the Sun, and the warmth of the Earth, and by the Moon who is their daughter
-- but more, by the one behind them whose name we do not know. I cast you out.
BEGONE!"
     For a horrible second after the words have flown from her mouth, the
creature in Mary's mother's skin just stares at her. Were the words just words
then, she thinks confusedly, but if they were, where did they come --
     It tilts backward, curving its spine into an arc as it howls at the
ceilling. As Sam and Mary watch from separate sides of the room, it seems that
a sickly green gas is being expelled from the woman's mouth and nostrils, and
that it continues to hang in the air for a moment after the scream ends. Yet it
dissipates as she collapses to the floor.
     For a moment, Sam bids fit to imitate her, as exhaustion falls on her --
much to her surprise, as nothing she has done has seemed very difficult. She
keeps her footing, but the struggle to do so keeps her standing still as Mary
half-crawls, half-stumlbles to where her mother lies motionless.
     "Mom?" she asks. Then again, more desperately: "Mom?"
     "Check for a p-"
     "Shut up!" Mary roars as she fumbles with her mother's wrist. "She's ...
she's alives, she's ... probably just tired, or, or, or hurt --"
     "Mary, call an ambulance," Sam says, taking a step towards them.
     "Stay back!" her best friend snaps.
     Sam retreats, confused by Mary's reactions. Doesn't she recognize her? The
costume isn't anything Sam would ever wear, true, but it doesn't make her look
that different ... or does it? She shoots a look at Rune, who returns it with
an unreadable cat expression.
     "You just ... stay the hell back," Mary says as she gets up from the floor
and slowly walks to the telephone on the wall, never taking her eyes off Sam
for a second. She quickly dials 411, and says in a voice that's gaining
steadiness quickly, "My name is Mary Tanner, there's been a break-in at my
apartment building ... my mother's been hurt. I think she needs an ambulance
... and I need to talk to the police."
     "Perhaps we should leave," Rune says softly.
     "And animal control," Mary adds, turning to stare at the cat.
     Sam holds out her arms and Rune quickly jumps into them. "Mary, I don't
know just what's going on here, but believe me, I'm going to --"
     "Tall girl with bright blonde hair, in some sort of ... weird get-up,
blonde hair, with two long pigtails --" Mary says to the Emergency Services
Operator.
     Sam turns then, and dashes to the window. Without hesitation, she leaps
over the edge of the balcony. Dropping six stories to the ground, she lands
like a feather and ducks into an alleyway.
     "Why didn't she recognize me?" she demands of Rune as she sets the cat
down on the ground.
     "I don't know."
     "What do you mean, you don't know!"
     "I don't know why she didn't recognize you, all you humans look the same
to me!"
     "She said I have pigtails! I don't have pigtails! What --"
     "I said that I don't know, how many times do you want me to repeat
myself?"
     "Fine! What happened to her mother? I got rid of the creature, so why did
she just ... fall over, like that?"
     Rune doesn't seem quite able to meet Sam's eyes. "Well, the creature --
this particular kind of creature, anyway -- is an energy eater. Just because
you dispersed it, that doesn't mean that the energy it consumed will just go
flying back to its source. I mean, if I ate a mouse --"
     "All right," Sam says, calming down a bit. "How do I change back to
normal?"
     "I don't know." Rune seems depressed to once more be on unfirm ground.
     "I don't believe this! I can't wander around looking like this --
especialy not now that there's an all-points bulletin with my description!"
     "Well, try thinking of a switch, and visualize turning it off!" snaps
Rune.
     Amazingly, that works.
     "Of course," the cat muses as she watches Sam looking at herself in her
original clothes once more, "that does raise the question of how you're going
to get home before anyone notices you're missing."
     Sam lets out a long sigh. "I think that's a lost hope. Just ... you said
that I dispersed that thing, right? That means that it's gone for good -- it's
not going to pop up again tomorrow, or next week, or something?"
     "No, you killed it." Rune notes taht Sam doesn't flinch at her bluntness,
and files that fact away for later. "But ..."
     "But what?"
     Rune considers, then answers calmly. "But there are thousands more
creatures just like that one working for the Dark Kingdom, and they aren't one
of the more powerful kinds there."
     "Oh." Sam tries to wrap her mind around that thought, and then a question
occurs to her. "How do you --"
     "-- know that?" Rune shifts to her human form, and looks at her with an
expression only slightly more legible than it might be on a cat. "I used to
work for them myself."
     "What?"
     "Some other time," the woman answers -- or doesn't answer, really -- as
she starts walking out of the alley.
     "What -- wait a minute, you said you'd be living with me."
     "Changed my mind."
     "What about your tuna?"
     Rune makes a hacking noise that prompts Sam to draw back. "I'll drop in,
from time to time. But I am a cat who walks by herself ... and I'll not be
beholden to anyone. You'll see me again, Samantha. Soon."
     And then she's gone. Sam stands still for a few moments, and then starts
to walk home herself.

     There aren't any real reprecussions when she gets home. While Mother is a
bit upset that she wan't informed before Sam went out (and a bit perplexed that
she didn't hear it) she's distracted from following up on it when Father
arrives home just a few minutes after they sit down to dinner. Moreover, Father
is too tired from his day -- a very bad day, and one that he can never discuss
with his wife or children -- to deal with Sam's continued troubles. Tomorrow,
he thinks, having been promised a day off.
     So Sam goes to bed at 9:30 PM, and sleeps unquietly as she dreams of what
her transformation felt like.

     Somewhere -- but we don't know where, not yet -- a gray-haired woman in a
brown leotard and cape watches an animated, three dimensional image projected
from a crystal in her hand. It displays everything that happened in a certain
apartment room from the time a fiend-ridden woman began to strangle her child
to the time that a disguised champion of justice leaped out the window.
     She is smiling as she watches.

     The next day is much like the last day, though Sam is awake and downstairs
before Diane. She turns down Father's offer to drive her to school before she
considers that Mary might not be able to meet her this morning. Then she
remembers that she wouldn't know that ... and begins to wonder if secrecy is
the best policy. Still undecided, she heads off for school.
     Mary is waiting at the bus stop, looking as though she hasn't slept a wink
and, for once, not smoking.
     "Mary, what's wrong?" Sam asks, trying to sound startled and feeling like
a complete hypocrite.
     "My mom ... something weird happened last night, and she's in the
hospital. I just came from there."
     "Is she all right?"
     From Mary's expression, Sam guesses that she's holding back a number of
sarcastic comments. "Well, she's awake now, but she's not really ... *there*,
yet."
     "Oh." She hasn't the slightest idea what she ought to say to that. "Are
you all right? Where are you staying?"
     "I told the hospital that my gran would come and stay with me at our
place."
     "But your grandmother's dead."
     "They don't know that."
     There's not much Sam *can* say to that. They reach the train station and
board the train without further incident. As they sit down together, Sam pulls
out a notebook and a pencil, and begins to silently sketch.
     "What're you drawing?" Mary asks after a few minutes.
     "I ... thought it might be interesting to design some fashions."
     "Lemme see." Willing to accept any distraction from her own problems, she
peers around to look at Sam's work. There's something vaguely familiar about
the amulet that features prominently in the designs, but Mary can't quite place
it.
     "Nice skirts," she says at last. "A little shapeless on the blouse, but
nice. Why a headband?"
     "It's more of a tiara, actually --"
     A sudden shout causes them both to look up as a grungy-looking girl jumps
off the train as it comes to a stop, carrying a purse that's much too good for
her close to her chest. Further back, an older woman is shouting at the people
in her way of her own exit in pursuit of the purse snatcher.
     Sam and Mary watch this silently, but Mary is surprised to see Sam turn
away first and return to her drawing.
     "Aren't you going to try and do something?"
     Sam doesn't meet her eyes. "Not really a lot I can do, is there?"
     "Well, no, but ... I mean ... are *you* okay?"
     She does, now. "Yes. But I think I have more important things to worry
about, now."
     And on they go.



=====
Chris Davies, Advocate for Darkness, Part-time Champion of Light
"One begins to long to come across a female protagonist called,
say, Naomi the Castrator. One could tell her to look up John
Norman for a start." -- Michael Moorcock, "Wizardry and Wild Romance"
Fanfics: http://www.geocities.com/cricharddavies/
Fanfic Revolution: http://come.to/hauthor

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