Dariyan

"Oh look! The Aino’s won another award. Isn’t he just precious?" The mocking voice echoed down the hall causing Aino Dariyan’s cheeks to burn. Other than that one outward sign, he ignored the group of boys, continuing his walk to his next class. His companion, a short, thin, sandy-haired boy, glanced uneasily back at the catcalling clique. "Dariyan, there heading towards us." he mentioned in a low voice.

"So?" Dariyan’s voice was hard and flat, his latest award getting crushed in his tight-fisted grip. "Maybe they’ll grow the balls to try and fight again." The corner of his mouth twisted into a small, feral grin. "With enough luck, they won’t remember what happened last time." He spared a look for the other boy, his best friend and cousin, Sadoi Masakatsu, who, in turn, was looking up at Dariyan with skepticism.

"Won’t remember? Kami-sama, Dariyan, you broke Omishi’s nose! That’s why they left you alone all fall. But still, if you get caught fighting in school again, you’ll get expelled! Think about what that’ll do to your chances of getting into CTU!" Masakatsu paused to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "And if you think that you owe them for this," he gestured to the tape holding his glasses together, "you’re wrong. They fell while the sibs and I were playing American-style football. Serves me right for just not getting the stupid operation." Masakatsu grimaced. The idea of getting an operation to fix a perfectly natural problem bothered him. Deciding at the tender age of four that he wasn’t going to have his eyesight fixed, Masakatsu had remained firm to his ideals. "I mean, yeah, it’s a really vain and dumb operation, but...Dariyan! Are you even listening? You could get expelled!"

"Big deal. At least then it’d show everyone that being an Aino doesn’t give me any special privileges."

Another glance showed that the boys following them were getting closer yet. "Please Dariyan, not now, okay? If you get into a fight now, family honor demands that I help out and we both know that’ll get me killed. Can you put off your thirst for bloodletting till after school? Please?"

Sighing, Dariyan lengthened his strides, causing his much shorter cousin scurrying after him. "You win, Masa-kun. No fighting until we get out of school. I promise. Besides, you’re so scrawny, having you fight on my side would just make it twice as difficult for me." They shared a grin. Masakatsu’s slight weight and height had engendered a great deal of ridicule, but on Dariyan’s part the teasing was strictly good-natured. "It just makes me so MAD! You don’t know how lucky you are that you’re not known publicly as an Aino. Everybody in CT holds it against you."

"Dariyan, you know that’s not true. It’s only since Omishi’s family moved into CT that you’ve had problems with being an Aino." Masakatsu was right. The majority of the city admired the Aino’s, a natural extension of their adoration for the Senshi Venus and her husband, Lord Calcite, both parts of CT’s ruling elite. However, since the moment Omishi Yukio had moved into CT, ten years ago, he had formed a grudge against Dariyan, the only Aino to bear the family name in Omishi’s acquaintance. He and his little coterie had spent the past decade making Dariyan rue his lineage. They seemed convinced that being an Aino endowed Dariyan with all sorts of special rights and privileges, assuring each other that he had an immunity to the rules and laws of CT and his every reward was due to his surname. Nor had their resentment cooled with the onset of maturity, although, to be truthful, neither cousin could find any sign of said maturity.

Thus had Dariyan, a peaceful and even-tempered young man in every other respect, gotten a reputation for being a hothead, a result of ten years of fighting with Omishi and his friends. Even Dariyan himself was starting to believe that a lot of his successes had stemmed from his parentage. All he longed for now was a chance to prove himself capable and competent without his name being an issue. Not that that was going to happen while he stayed in Crystal Tokyo.

"Daryian, relax. We’re graduating in less than half a year. After that, you’ll never have to deal with Omishi and his little Greek Chorus again. There’s no way any of them are smart enough to get into CTU and it’s not like your social lives are going to cross paths ever." Masakatsu said placatingly, rejoining his cousin after class. "And who knows? Maybe Omishi’ll do something dumb and open an illicit Senshi porn shop and get toasted by Lady Mars."

Dariyan snorted. "Too much to wish for, I’m not that lucky." The two made their way to their customary lunch spot, a picnic table under a spreading oak tree, feet crunching in the light snowcover.

"Maybe he’ll schedule an evening with Margrave and get clawed to death...during. Like she was accused of with that millionaire, remember?"

"I’m not the one with the Margrave fascination, Masa-kun, you are. Besides, he’s not that lucky." Dariyan paused to chew his Graxat sandwich. Swallowing, he leaned back against the trunk of the tree, closed his eyes and said, "Just once, I’d like a chance to prove to them that they’re wrong. To show everyone that I’m not just treading on the Aino name, that I can do stuff for myself."

A mocking voice from behind the tree said, "Good luck, Aino. Using your name to get your own way is second-nature to you. You probably whack off at night just thinking about it." The slight snow on the ground had his the sounds of their antagonist’s arrival.

Dariyan’s eyes popped open quickly and his lip curled in distaste. "Oh, it’s you, Omishi. There’s no one else sick enough to envision me- ahem- ‘whacking off.’ Which you’d be the expert on. Say, is that the reason you’re obsessed with my last name? Cause you want my grandmother? Tsubai-sensai hasn’t caught you downloading anymore of those images lately, has he? No? Too bad, I enjoyed your suspension."

Omishi’s face burned a bright red. "Shut up!" he snapped, then whirled to face his snickering gang. "And you stop that laughing, too, or you’ll be eating your meals through a straw for the next week."

"My, that was original," Masakatsu murmured under his breath, unfortunately, a trifle too loudly.

"What did you say, pip-squeak?" Omishi demanded, glaring down at the smaller boy. To his credit, Masakatsu paled, but stood his ground. "I said ‘my, that was original.’ You’ve got the creative capacity of slimemold."

Omishi clenched his fists and advanced towards Masakatsu. "You’re gonna be pounded into the ground like a tent peg, guppy." he snarled. In a flash, Dariyan was out of his seat and in front of Omishi. Though the other boy had at least two inches and fifty pounds on him, Dariyan’s gaze was calm and mildly contemptuous. "Real cool, Omishi. Prove you’re a man by beating up a ‘pip-squeak?’ Lord knows, you can’t even hold your own with me. Did you at least wait till you were out of sight of your buddies before you started crying?" He said, mockingly, a spiteful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "C’mon, hit me. Give me an excuse to break your nose again. Maybe I’ll just break your jaw and shut you up while I’m at it."

Dariyan had just finished when Omishi’s ham-like fist plowed into his stomach. He whoofed in surprise, doubled over, then straightened with a blow to his opponent’s throat. Omishi fell with a thud, gasping for air. That was enough to send his gang swarming over to Dariyan, none honorable enough to face him one on one. That sent Masakatsu jumping into the fray which quickly degenerated into a brawl.

Ten minutes later, the eight boys were sitting in the infirmary, nursing various injuries while being lectured by a teacher. Dariyan was sporting a black eye and various scrapes and bruises and Masakatsu had a pair of black eyes and broken glasses in the bargain, but at least they could sit upright. Omishi and his followers were lying down groaning in pain. Masakatsu counted his blessings; at least Dariyan hadn’t broken any other bones. The teacher, Professor Tsubai, the same one who had caught Omishi with dirty pictures, was laying into them with all of his might.

"- utterly disgraceful! We are an established and accredited place of learning, not a bar! As students you are expected to behave with restraint and decorum! The behavior you demonstrated is absolutely reprehensible!" He paused. "You two will come with me now and face the principal." Then, glaring at Omishi, "The rest of you will come as soon as the nurse decides you’re fit to stand!" He swept out, followed by a worried Masakatsu and a sullen Dariyan. When they were out of hearing-range of the infirmary, Tsubai resumed his umbrage. "That you two, scion of the paramount family in Crystal Tokyo should be reduced to common pugilists-! I’m quite certain Lady Venus and Lord Calcite will be properly horrified when they receive a report of today’s activities." Dariyan simmered. No other student had to worry about a disciplinary message being sent to anyone but their immediate family. Only Aino’s were lucky enough to get ones sent to the Royal Palace.

"Please, sir," Masakatsu asked timidly. "Is Dariyan going to get expelled? He only started fighting to keep Omishi from hitting me."

Professor Tsubai stopped in his tracks and gave them a look filled with surprise. "Dariyan? Expelled? Good heavens, no! We couldn’t have that, now could we? I doubt he’ll even face suspension. I’m sure Omishi will be, seeing how he started the fight, but we’d never suspend Dariyan." Groaning inwardly, Dariyan dragged his feet all the way to the principal’s office. The administration simply adored heaping fuel on Omishi’s burgeoning resentment. He wondered idly if this would be enough to set the whole thing on fire.

Wearily walking home, Dariyan and Masakatsu debated how angry Omishi and his miniature horde were going when they found out about their comparative punishments. Sent home early, extended detention every day for two weeks and school chores everyday for two weeks after that seemed light compared to the four-day suspension and three weeks of extended detention. "But they’re right, Masa-kun. We did get off easier cause we’re Aino’s."

"No, it was cause Omishi started it. He did hit you first, Dariyan."

"That wouldn’t matter. I could have knocked him down before he had a chance to raise a hand to me, danced a jig on his face and they still would’ve given me the same thing."

"Well, that’s cause Omishi’s a born trouble-maker. They know you only react when you have sufficient provocation."

"Will you stop being so dense!" Dariyan shouted. "This had nothing to do with who started what or who’s the better student. We got off easy cause we’re Aino’s! That’s the only reason. Omishi is right! I get away with whatever I want cause everyone in this whole damned city with awestruck by the mere name Aino."

"You’re the one being dense! There are far too many Aino’s in this ‘whole damned city’ of yours for anybody to care about two young kids! You’re just so caught up in your own self-pity that you can’t even realize it. You’re nowhere near as important as you seem to think you are!"

They finished the walk in silence.

Later that evening, Dariyan lay on his bed, gazing at his ceiling. I am right, I know it. There’s got to be some way to prove that I can do just as well without my family connections as I can with them. I don’t just want to do it to prove it to Omishi that he’s an idiot. I need to prove it to myself. His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on his bedroom door.

"Come in." he said listlessly. His mother slipped inside the room, her eyes concerned. She was a small woman, with the black hair and gray eyes he’d inherited. It was something of an oddity, while he had her coloring, his face was undeniably that of his father’s. That in itself was not all that odd; but paired together, his coloring and face made him resemble his Uncle Daisuki more than anyone else in the family. They shared the same long, dark hair, the same slim, graceful eyebrows that arched over deep gray eyes and the same deceptively slim build. The resemblance was not perfect, however. Somewhere in the generations that had seperated Daisuki’s birth from that of Dariyan’s father, an acquiline nose, sensual lips and a slight cleft in the middle of the chin had been bred into the line.

When his mother spoke, it was obvious bloodlines and familial resemblances were the furthest thing from her mind. "Dari, I’m concerned. Your father is too. This is the second time in three days that you’ve come home sporting bruises. Thank heavens this was one of the few fights you got yourself into at school, but still. You’ve been fighting these same group of boys since you were seven years old. Isn’t it time you stopped?"

"I try, Mom! But they don’t give up! And I’m not about to let them drag my name through the dirt just to save myself some bruises."

"There’s more to it than that. If you just ignored them-"

"I can’t ignore them Mom, especially when they’re right!" Dariyan stopped abruptly, then began cursing. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Damn internal dialogue! he thought. His mother looked shocked. "Look, Mom, I didn’t mean that-"

Shaking her head, she stood. "Let me go get your father. This is one of those man to man things. He’s putting your little sister to bed, it shouldn’t be long."

"Mom, you don’t need to go get Dad. I didn’t mean it, I’m just over-tired. Give me a good night’s rest and I’ll be fine."

His mother looked at him with worried eyes, while he put on his best puppy dog expression. "Are you sure?" she asked finally. At his nod, she signed. "Fine, I’ll leave it alone. But, Dari, darling, you’ll never be able to prove to those boys that they’re wrong. As long as you’re in Crystal Tokyo, they’ll never believe you. The important thing is that you realize how wrong they are. Okay?"

"Okay Mom. Good night."

His mother bent over and kissed his forehead. "Good night, Dari. Sleep well, and think about what I said. Love you."

"Love you too."

After his mother left, Dariyan did indeed lay awake thinking about what she had said, and how closely they matched his own realizations.

"I’m worried about Dari," Mrs. Aino said without preamble, meeting up with her husband as he closed their daughter’s bedroom door. "It’s as if he’s obsessed with ‘proving himself’ to these other boys. These fights of his are getting more and more frequent. This time he even dragged Masakatsu into it. I can’t wait to explain this little escapade to your sister." She walked into her husband’s open arms and laid her head on his chest. "How much longer until this goes beyond schoolyard reputation to an actual police record? There’s no way he’ll get into CTU then, and that will break his heart. I hate to think of him throwing his dreams away because he can’t control his temper." She paused, then said with some asperity, "I thought we sent him to his uncle to cure this tendency for fighting. Instead, he just got better at it."

Dariyan’s father shook his head as he drew his wife into the living room and down onto the loveseat. "Daisuke’s tutelage did more than you know. Yes, it made him a better fighter, but it also made him learn to take stock in the situation and think. On my way home after work, I stopped by their house and had a little chat with my nephew and brother-in-law. They said that the only reason Dariyan started fighting is because this Yukio kid was about to punch Masakatsu. Dariyan stepped in the way to prevent Masa-kun from getting flattened. Furthermore, this Yukio had started harassing the boys the period earlier, but Dariyan had refused to take the bait. Before he went to the Temple, he would’ve just sailed in, fists ready. And, I honestly believe that when he broke the boy’s nose the last time it was an accident, that he did just have the bad luck to trip into his fist. Dariyan’s had plenty of opportunity’s to do much more damage and he hasn’t taken a single one. Before, he would’ve taken them and enjoyed it."

Mrs. Aino nodded. "I know...but still, I worry. He’s invested a great deal of thought into what these boys are saying and he’s coming to believe it himself. And they’re all partially right. We Aino’s do get preferential treatment, sometimes. Not a lot, but it’s there."

"Believe me, I know." her husband sighed. "And I know how some of the outsiders see it. I’ve dealt with the older Omishi’s back when they had first moved, and trust me, their son gets their prejudices honestly. They came into Crystal Tokyo looking for a new start on life, but they brought their old grudges and beliefs with them. To be honest, I was tempted to wipe the sneer off of Omishi-san’s face a time or two myself. And ten years of living here hasn’t helped them any. They’re as suspicious and as unpleasant as they were when they originally immigrated."

"I remember you talking about them. You said they acted like they were doing us a favor by moving here. I don’t understand why Serenity-sama allows people like that inside CT, anyway."

"Because she sees no reason to deny people the chance of a better life simply because they’re unpleasant. She is too good a monarch for that." Mr. Aino leaned back and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Unfortunately for those of us who have to deal with those unpleasant people, but there it is. But on Dariyan’s behalf, I don’t know what to say. Between school and work and his volunteer activities, he doesn’t have time to go back and train with Daisuki. And outside this trouble with Yukio, he’s a model son, as you’re so fond of saying." He opened one eye to quirk a grin at his wife. "All we can do is pray that it ends. This is his senior year and it’s almost half over anyway. After that, his contact with these other boys will lessen and none of us will have anything to worry about. Unless the Omishi’s have the poor taste to bring in some family member Khora’s age to harass her. Then we’ll all just up and move across the city." He smiled again, trying to lessen his wife’s unease.

Which refused to be lessened. "I think we maybe should have done that for Dariyan, instead of dismissing it. I think he’s taken their venom far too close to heart and is going to do something heedless and impulsive to prove them all wrong. He’s the kind of boy to do that and with his temper, it will be something very rash indeed."

"You’re thinking of doing what? Are you insane? Or just on drugs?!" Masakatsu’s voice was shrill. "Freezone! Why there of all the God-forsaken places?

"Keep it down, Masa-kun! Do you want to wake everyone up?" Dariyan asked, rubbing his wounded ear.

"Just you, cause your brains must have gone to sleep! There’s no way in any of the nine hells of antiquity that a rational mind could’ve come up with an idea like that!"

"Glad to know you’re on my side," Dariyan muttered sourly, kicking a stray clump of snow. "And, I’ll have you know, I stayed up all night planning this."

"Ahh, so this is just the sleep deprivation talking?"

"I hate it when you try to be clever."

"Who’s trying? And I’d rather be clever than a freaking-"

"Enough already. I’ve already heard what you think of my idea. Damn, if you’re so deadset against it, why don’t you stop harping on how weird it is and help me come up with ways to make it workable?"

"Weird? That’s not the word I’d use to describe it..." Masakatsu subsided with a sharp glare from Dariyan. "All right, all right. Sorry, I always get a little grumpy when I’m awakened at six in the morning on a Saturday to hear some crackpot scheme my cousin cooks up because he has this absurd idea that a group of imbecilic cretins are right when they tell him he’s useless without his name as a shield." He sighed and looked at Dariyan. "Look. just because they’ve been feeding you this same line for a decade doesn’t mean you have to swallow it, or even go pull something like this to prove them wrong. Look at me! If I bought everything they’d said about me, I’d’ve thrown myself off the Crystal Palace years ago."

Rubbing his temples, Dariyan shook his head. "I know, Masa-kun." he said placatingly. "I’m not just doing this to shut them up. But, in little ways, I know they’re right. What if they’re right in the big ways too? How will I ever know if I’m really getting ahead because of what I can do, or only because who I can trace my bloodlines back to? Check out my life! I’ve had everything handed to me on a silver platter. I haven’t had to work hard for anything! Is that because I’m me, or because I’m an Aino?"

"It certainly has nothing to do with you being smart, charismatic and financially well-off." Masakatsu mumbled sarcastically. Then louder, "Come on, you know CT isn’t run like that. Serenity goes out of her way to be fair and even-handed."

"Need I remind you, the illustrious Serenity-sama happens to be close to our ancestors. Naturally she’d be a little biased towards them and, by extension, our family."

Rolling his eyes, Masakatsu gave in. "Obviously you’ve made up your mind and there’s no talking you out of this."

"That’s what I’ve been attempting to point out for the last fifteen minutes, Masa-kun. For a genius you sure can be dense sometimes."

"Haha. Look who’s talking, cousin-mine. All I know is, I’m sure glad I don’t carry the Aino name, if this repetitive angst is what comes with it." Heaving another great sigh, "So, what’s the plan so far? And why are we at the Temple?"

Both boys stood in front of the well-swept Hikawa Shrine, the residence of their great-great-many-times-great uncle, Daisuki. As Daisuki was one of the many children born to Calcite and Minako, he was far older than he appeared and was many more times removed than was convenient to count. So, like every other member of the Aino Clan, the boys simplified the relationship by nixing all those tedious greats and calling him Uncle. It made things so much easier (and conversations so much shorter) for everyone involved.

Before either Dariyan answer Masakatsu’s question, the Shrine door slowly opened to reveal a thin, handsome, curly-haired man with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. It was one of their numerous cousins, one Aino Hajemi by name, staying at the Shrine to learn to be a priest from Daisuki. "Welcome, gentlemen." he said giving them both an engaging grin. "It’s good to see you again, Dariyan. And this is our cousin Sadoi Masakatsu, no? I remember Uncle Daisuki mentioning him." The younger boys nodded. "That’s good, at least I’m not a total dunce. Sorry about not being completely sure about your name, cousin," Hajemi grinned. "But you know what it's like trying to remember the names of everyone in the Clan."

"Yeah, I know that I can't remember the name of every Aino in the city." Masakatsu said, smiling brightly.

"I hear thank Grandfather Cal has a way to monitor everyone of Aino blood in the world. I have no idea how he does it though."

Dariyan interrupted at that point. "Hey, Hajemi, would you or Uncle Daisuki mind if we use one of the meditation rooms? We’ll be quiet, I promise."

"Not at all. That’s what they’re there for, right?" Hajemi said genially. "I’m guessing you want to use the room that you dropped all that stuff off in last night, right, Dar?"

Dariyan had the grace to flush. "I’d thought I’d managed to get in without Uncle Daisuki noticing." he mumbled.

Laughing, Hajemi let the younger boys in. "Hardly, Dar-kun. I doubt there’s anything that happens in this Temple that our uncle doesn’t know about." Hajemi lead them to the small room, more of an antechamber to the room the Great Fire was housed, then stopped outside the door. " Since you two are obviously looking for peace and quiet, I’ll just be on my way. When you’re done, come on up and have some tea and cookies." Then, lowering his voice for only Dariyan to hear as he opened the door and stood aside for Masakatsu to enter, "Uncle’s missed you since you stopped coming. He knows how busy you are and isn’t complaining, but he does miss your company. Stop by, okay?"

Dariyan nodded and smiled. "Okay, Hajemi."

Inside the room were several different books of various sizes about the Republic of Freezone. These books were markedly different from the ones as Grandmother Aino and the other Immortals spoke of them in the twentieth century. Instead these books were the end result of another marriage of magic and science, supposedly brought about by a wistful comment by Lady Mercury about missing the "real" books of her childhood and the impossiblilty of feeling the same intimate companionship with a computer. Later that year, as the story, the first magi-book was presented to Lady Mercury on her birthday, an entire collection of Shakespearean works, including all of his sonnets. Now, several centuries later, there were millions of magi-books on as many subjucts.

While they appeared to be ordinary hardcover books as the twentieth century knew them, once the covers were opened one saw just how much appearances had decieved. It was literally impossible to judge a book by it’s cover in the case of these magi-books. Instead of simple paper, the pages of these books were made of slim, opaque crystal on which the words materialized, except for the title page which was a computer screen, instead. In the front cover of each book was a computer chip, programmed to hold complete contents of any authors’ work, old or new. One magi-book might hold the works of Jane Austen, another could be a series of treatises on the nature of mana, yet another a collection of children’s faerie tales. To pick a selection, one simply tapped the computer screen, then, once the table of contents appeared, tapped the the preferred choice. It took a moment or so for the information to be booted up and magically "written" on the following pages, but once that was done, the book could be read easily. The thicker the magi-book, ther more information could be programmed into the chip and several bookstores sold "blank books" that enabled the customer to download his own choices into a book. Dariyan had gotten one for his sixteenth birthday and had spent almost a week creating a collection that held the works of his three most favorite authors and two of his own stories.

The Freezone reference books he’d bought with him to the Temple had little to tell and he’d bought them from the same place teachers bought many of their magi-textbooks, hoping, vainly it seemed, for more information than he had been able to glean from surfing the nets. Even in the thickest book, most of the information was scanty. None of the them described what system of government Freezone practiced, but it seemed as if its basic foreign policy was "Go away." or perhaps, "You don’t bother us, we don’t bother you." It was rather daunting, even the pages of the books themselves seemed hostile. A few Crystal Tokians had gone to Freezone, mostly ambassadors, but none ever stayed long. While Freezone was extremely suspicious of the world at large, it reserved special disdain for CT. Yet, even with the bleak picture the books painted of the far northern country, nothing diminished Dariyan’s resolve. In fact, with each book they perused, it grew.

"This is absolutely perfect!" he said once they had closed the last book. "Absolutely perfect. There’s no one in Freezone who’d even think to give me preferential treatment. Heck, Being both a Crystal Tokyian and an Aino might just work against me!"

"And you’re excited about this? Dariyan, you definitely need to rethink this. There’s no ‘might’ about it, both your name and your nationality will work against you. They don’t like us, any of us. You think Omishi’s bad? Just wait till you get to Freezone. It’ll be a thousand times worse...and that’s just per person that you meet!" Masakatsu tried to reason.

"Good! That’s what I want! I don’t want easy, I don’t want fun. I want to pit myself against the hardest elements and win! That’s the only way I’ll prove that I can do anything I want."

"Kami-sama, Dariyan! Why don’t you just change your name or something. Stay in Crystal Tokyo under an alias and see what happens. There’s absolutely no reason that you should go to Freezone!" Masakatsu’s voice became heated.

"No reason? No reason! My self-respect, that’s my reason!" Dariyan yelled back. "I’m going to Freezone and that’s final! You can either help me or not, but whatever you choose, don’t get in my way! My mind is made up, so no matter how much you squeak about it, you’re not going to change anything!"

Masakatsu drew himself up, his voice deathly quiet. " I squeak, huh? Well, fine. You and this damnfool project can both go to hell, for all I care. You don’t seem to want or need my help, so I’ll bid you good-bye."

"Wait! You can’t leave!"

"Says who? You? Why should I take orders from an idiot whose self-esteem is so wrapped up in what Omishi Yukio thinks of him that he’ll go and pull a stupid stunt like this!"

"That’s not it!" Dariyan protested.

"Isn’t it?" Masakatsu said quietly.

Sighing, Dariyan raked his fingers through his hair. "Look, Masa-kun, I’m sorry about the squeak remark. I know how sensitive you are about stuff like that-"

"You know what ticks me off the most about this whole thing?" Masakatsu asked, eyes flashing with anger. "You have everything anybody in this whole gods-be-damned city could ever hope for. Including me. You don’t have to worry about anything-- girls liking you, respect from your peers, people tripping over themselves to be your best friend--anything. You think I don’t know that if we hadn’t been friends for all these years I would have any of the friends I do now? I owe you a lot, but not enough for me to go along with this pile of bull. Your desperation to prove you’re something worthwhile makes me sick; you obviously don’t know what being worthwhile is. And that you’ll take the word of Omishi Yukio over your friends and family just shows you’re not who I thought you were." He yanked open the door, wrenching the knob out of Daisuki’s hand. "Excuse me, Uncle." he said, formally. "But I’m leaving." He took a few steps down the hall, the turned and called back. "Maybe it’s a good thing you’re going. You’re getting more and more like Omishi everyday. It’s places like Freezone that spawns that type. Who knows, you’ll probably fit right in!"

With that, he was gone.

Daisuki stared gravely down at his nephew’s crestfallen face. "I came to see what all the shouting was about. You boys could be heard all through the Shrine. You should feel lucky it's empty. I have the feeling you don't want too many people knowing of your plans just yet." His eyes flicked to the spine of the nearest book.

"I-I’m sorry, Uncle Daisuki. We- I got upset and..."

"And you said some things that you shouldn’t have and now your cousin has left in anger."

"Yeah..."

"Silly boy. Did I teach you nothing during the time you were here?"

Ruefully, Dariyan shook his head. "It wasn’t your fault, Uncle. I guess things take longer to seep through solid stone."

At that, Daisuki laughed. "Come on, Dariyan. Pick up your books and join Hajemi and me for tea. Perhaps together we can work out your problems. And, lucky for you, it is much more difficult to offend us."

As Dariyan slowly picked up his books, placing them in a faded green backpack, Daisuki watched the boy out of the corner of his eye. Not boy, no, young man. Dariyan had been a boy when he had first been sent to the Temple by his father as a punishment for fighting, supposedly only to do odd jobs for Daisuki and Hajemi. Daryian still had no idea the real reason he had been sent to the Temple was less for punishment and more for an education with his uncle and cousin. Together, Hajemi and Daisuki had tried to mellow the head-strong, rough and tumble thirteen year old boy. By all accounts they had succeeded, Dariyan had calmed down, turned more thoughtful and introspective and kept a better reign on his temper.

Unless, of course, he was dealing with Omishi Yukio’s hardheaded prejudice. Then Dariyan regressed back four years in the blink of an eye.

Physically the years had been good to Dariyan. He had changed from a slightly gawky teenager to a well-built adult, skinniness turned to well-proportioned sliminess, with enough muscle tone to keep most of the bullies (admittedly few in Crystal Tokyo) off his case. Long black hair spilled down his back to his shoulder blades, usually kept pulled in a low tail, except for his rakish bangs that forever fell into his dark gray eyes. He was tall, about 6’2 with an easy grin and ready laugh. Daisuki had heard that Dariyan was one of the ranking "cuties" in the school, not quite handsome, but certainly better than average.

Inside the private quarters Hajemi had already poured the tea into three steaming mugs and laid out cookies, peanut butter because he remembered Dariyan’s intense dislike for chocolate chip. The room itself was beautiful, in a bare and simplistic way. The wooden walls were polished until the wood itself gleamed and beautiful hangings shrouded the doorways leading to the two bedrooms. Daisuki’s was one of tan silk, with a cherry tree in full blossom painted in the center, it’s left half partially obscured by delicate Japanese calligraphy. Hajemi’s was also silk, but of a pale green with a stylized tsunami wave, again half covered with calligraphy.

Kneeling on the mats around the table, Dariyan glanced at the books piled at his feet. "So what do you know about Freezone?" he asked his relatives.

Hajemi shrugged, although, to be honest, Dariyan had expected that answer. Hajemi was only about fifteen years older than Dariyan himself. It was Daisuki he had really asked. In his long lifetime the older man had traveled frequently. His uncle was taking his time about answering, sipping his tea. Dariyan was not impatient, however. His uncle would answer when he was ready and not before.

Setting the steaming mug back onto the table, Daisuki looked at Dariyan and shook his head. "I’m afraid I cannot supply the answers you are looking for. I know very little about Freezone, I have yet to find a reason to visit a place so obviously inhospitable to Crystal Tokyians. What little I do know has been deduced from books like yours.

"Freezone was founded sometime after the Great Darkness. There was a legend that has probably been forgotten by now about a young child, who’s fear of magic unlocked powers of his own and created a safe haven from certain types of magic. I know for a fact that it takes a great deal of will for the Senshi to access their powers in Freezone, not that they have tried in centuries. From what I’ve gathered from Mother is that the reaction they’d gotten all those years ago discouraged another visit. Even though they were the heroes of the world, saving the planet from the Acolytes, the members of what amounted to a tiny valley was less than hospitable."

"Hostile?" Hajemi asked, curious. A place where Senshi were not universally welcomed and adored was totally outside of his experience and so, treated it more as a story than an actual experience.

"Not quite...." Daisuki sounded uncertain. "Mother doesn’t really like talking about the Great Silence. I get the impression it was a little more touch-and-go than the PR office would like us to believe. Anyway, it wasn’t so much hostility as it was...fear. People would hide, or not answer the door, or if they did answer, they’d act like a rabbit cornered by a mastiff."

"Well, they had just gotten out of a war. It was probably residual fear of the Acolytes. The possibility of getting popsicle-ized is enough to make anyone a little nervy."

Daisuki shook his head. "No, Dariyan, trust me, this wasn’t residual fright. These people were downright terrified of the Senshi. Not the Renegades, not the Acolytes, just the Senshi. This didn’t go over well with Mother and the rest of them. Being feared was something completely out of their scope of existence. They were used to being ignored, disbelieved, dismissed and, more recently, admired, loved, respected and adored, but never feared. Father said that it really broke Serenity up. Being spoken to as if she were a wild dog about to attack seriously upset her.

"That was the beginning of the strained relationship between CT and Freezone. Then, Freezone began attracting the type of people to its borders that make up Lady Mars’s worst nightmares . Not saying that they’re all crooks, thieves and murderers, but they’re mostly anti-establishment, anti-government types. They look at Crystal Tokyo as the absolute polar-opposite of Freezone and Serenity and Endymion are the heads of state; a position that doesn’t exist there. Our two countries are different, there’s little hope of reconciling our world-views. Freezone has found it best to just ignore us and our mutual differences."

"How can they be anti-government with a working government? That’s like a contradiction in terms. An entire country of anarchists?"

"Who said anything about a working government? It’s an old joke, what does the Freezone government and a twentieth century car have in common?" Hajemi asked with a grin.

"I don’t know, what?"

"They both look better than they work!"

Dariyan was confused. "I’m not sure I understand. A country needs a government to succeed. For protection...and guidance...and all the stuff governments do! You know, build schools and roads and hospitals and stuff."

"Evidently Freezone’s the exception. A buncha big, private corporations take care of all that stuff. The official Freezone ‘government’ is probably a group of retirees sitting in an office somewhere, just coming out on holidays and stuff. You know, figureheads."

"Well, then how am I supposed to get into the country? I mean, if there’s no Emigration Office, what am I gonna do? It’s not like they’ll let me walk right into the country and settle down like I’ve lived there all my life!" Dariyan was starting to get a little wild.

"For all we know, you might be able to do exactly that." Daisuki said mildly, sipping his tea. "I told you, we know very little about Freezone itself. I sincerely doubt even Serenity is more informed. Freezone is quite happy to stay within its borders and have us stay within our own. Only in commerce does Freezone take an interest in things international, and I doubt highly you have anything to tempt them your way, dear boy."

"Then what am I going to do?"

Hajemi shrugged and refilled his mug with tea. "Who knows? Maybe our cousin was right, perhaps it would be best if you give up." Dariyan bristled, but Hajemi continued on, ignoring him. "I’m not saying that’s your only option, but it could be your best one right now, considering your absolute lack of relevant information."

"No way, I’m committed to this now." Dariyan said, shaking his head stubbornly. "I’ll just get more information, that’s all. I’ll figure something out, I know it! I have until graduation to put something together."

Daisuki and Hajemi exchanged grins. "Can’t fault his determination, can we?"

"Of course not, it’s the famous Aino pigheadedness acting up again."

"Infamous, don’t you mean?"

Dariyan sat back, drinking his tea and thinking furiously. There was no way he could find anything else out here. Even hours spent scanning the Nets had turned up nothing. Oh, there were billions of webpages about Freezone, but either they were pages about commerce and history, things he already knew about, or they weren’t and he had no idea what they meant. Perhaps he should let it rest for a while and come back when he had some more information. And, in the interim, he should definitely make it up to Masa-kun. If he did take a break from his plans he could at least make it appear that he was taking his cousin’s diatribe to heart.

To be honest, Dariyan knew that everything that Masa-kun had said was the unvarnished truth, just as he knew it had cost Masakatsu a lot to say it. Intellectually, he realized that the whole situation was foolish, a few more months and Omishi’s continuing antagonation would know longer be an issue. He knew that his whole plan to move to Freezone was absurd.

He also knew, come hell or high water, after graduation he’d be preparing for a year in the most hostile country in the world, instead of his freshman year of college.

A small clock began to chime the hour, bringing Dariyan back from his musings. Hajemi was still kneeling by the table and snacking on a few cookies, but Daisuki was no longer with them. Normally, something like that would have bothered Dariyan, it wasn’t good to be so far in one’s thought that people could come and go at will, but Daisuki had been a world-famed martial artist once. Although he now embraced a life of peace and pacifism, Daisuki still remembered the old ways and often unconsciously followed them.

"Where’s Uncle Daisuki go?"

"He’s got a few more paper charms to make. Midterms are coming up and you’d be amazed how quickly our stock vanishes around this time."

"No I wouldn’t. Remember, I helped make a few paper charms around here."

"Only until Uncle found out just how inept you are at making them." Hajemi grinned at his cousin.

"That’s right throw my lack of any artistic talent in my face just because some of us can do silk-painting wall hangings that look professionally done." Hajemi blushed. His silk paintings were his one hobby outside of temple life. While he was not interested in making a living from selling them, he frequently gave away wall-hangings to close friends and family. Daryian had one hanging on the wall in his room, a jewel-toned dragon on a field of deep purple silk. Daisuki had once confided in Daruyan, hoping that one day he would be able to persuade Hajemi to paint hand-sized pieces of silk to be sold at the Temple as blessings, charms and prayers. Dariyan had no doubt that Hajemi’s talent would bring the Temple money, and the buyers restful.

Glancing up, Dariyan was amazed to see it was already several minutes past ten. He and Masakatsu had come to the Temple at seven. "I’m sorry, I can’t stay longer, Hajemi," he said, scrambling up and almost upsetting his tea mug, "but I’ve got to get home! I didn’t even leave a note for my parents! Say good-bye to Uncle Daisuki, okay?" Throwing the knapsack holding the books about Freezone over his shoulder, he ran out the door, vaulted down the few steps that separated the personal rooms from the public and sprinted out of the Temple for home.

At a dead run, he managed to get home by twenty after ten, staggered in his back door, and leaned against the wall, panting. His parents looked up at him. eyebrows raised, while his little sister laughed. "Dari-chan’s funny!" she squealed. "His face is all red!"

"Hi...Khora..." he wheezed, slinging the bag down before dramatically collapsing for the young girl’s benefit.. Lying prostrate, he tried to cool his flushed face on the tiles of the kitchen floor while his sister laughed hysterically.

"Oh, honestly, Dari, get up," his mother said impatiently. "There was no reason for you to kill yourself running home from the Temple. Daisuki called to let us know where you were almost a half hour ago. Khora stop laughing like that. You’ll make yourself choke."

His breathing already returned to normal and his flush receding, Dariyan bounced up and kissed his mother on the cheek. "I wasn’t running home because I thought you’d be worried." He explained, "I was just in too great a hurry to have one of your delicious breakfasts."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," his mother warned, trying to keep back a smile. "Especially when I know you’re lying. Besides, if you wanted breakfast, you should have been home for it."

"Mother....you dare call yourself by the title of the most caring, nurturing occupations out there? You fiend! No true mother would deny her growing, starving son a breakfast." Dariyan teased, making outlandish faces and kneeling before her.

"Get up boy, you’re wearing out those pants." Mrs. Aino said practically, completely unmoved by his display. As an afterthought, she whapped him on the backside with her spatula. "And that’s for calling your poor mother a fiend."

Dariyan sized up the other two members of the family for help. His father, reading the newspaper and only stopping to give his son amused yet skeptical glances, would obviously be firmly in The Enemy camp. After all, it was either that or exile to the couch. That left Khora, diminutive, yet with an excellent cuteness factor. Ah, perfect. Immediately launching into action, he dashed over to the six year old’s chair, scooped her up and swung her onto his shoulder. Fortunately, she was still small and light, or else he'd have ended up with a hernia.

"Now, Kho-chan, do you think it’s nice for Mommy to make me go without breakfast?" Dariyan asked in a surgery voice.

The little girl thought for a second. "Yup!" she announced.

"But why?" Utterly flabbergasted.

"Cause you never want to play dollies with me anymore. Or dress-up"

"......"

Without lowering his newspaper, Mr. Aino said, "You know Khora, I think that’s a wonderful idea. If Dari promises to spend this afternoon playing dolls and dress-up with you, I think we can convince Mommy to make him breakfast."

"Uhhhh....."

"I think that’s a perfectly splendid idea," Mrs. Aino’s smile was bright and vicious.

"Come to mention it, the tea and cookies at the Temple were awfully filling--"

"I thought you said you was starving." A six year old girl was hell of a mimic.

"He most certainly did, Khora, darling."

"Well, I’m sure I could rustle up something--"

"What kind of a mother would I be if I didn’t cook breakfast for my growing boy?"

"You heard your mother, son, run along and play with your little sister and your mother’ll bring your breakfast out when it’s ready." His father’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

Khora slithered down from Dariyan’s shoulders and ran, shrieking, upstairs to get her dolls and clothes. "I wonder what you’ll play first, dolls or dress-up," Mr. Aino’s voice was mild.

"I’m running away." Dariyan said helplessly, turning to follow Khora.

"That’s nice dear. Maybe your sister will lend you some extra clothes." His mother’s voice echoed up the stairwell after him as he slowly walked into his sister’s room, like a Death Row convict entering a bright pink and yellow Execution Chamber. Khora turned around, holding what appeared to be a mile of lace and a battalion of dolls. "Once you get dressed up, we’ll have a tea party!" She crowed in delight. Dropping the dolls, she held out a gaudy gown of bright orange. "Here, this one’s yours!

How am I going to survive a year in Freezone if I can’t even stand up to my six-year-old sister? Or at least get around my parents?

Tentative beginning of chapter 2

Dear Sir:

Wilhelm Milosevic read and reread the letter the early mail had placed on his desk. Even after his third reading, he couldn’t believe it. It was completely insane-- either that, or he was. Actually, he could almost believe more in his incipient madness than in the reality of this letter. "Jurgis!" Wilhelm called. "Jurgis, come read this and tell me if I’m crazy and bound for Bedlam or not."

Jurgis Rudski stuck his head in the room where Wilhelm sat. "It really doesn’t matter, sir," Jurgis said with a smile, "considering most of the people on the street belong in Bedlam anyway." Jurgis was a young man, at least forty years Wilhelm’s junior. His thick, blond hair had yet to turn gray with age and his face was yet unlined. The two men were all that made up Freezone’s "official" government-- unless one counted the janitorial staff. To be brutally blunt, they were filters, winnowing through the unimportant minutiae and serving for a cover for the REAL power in Freezone, the Big 7.

Well, technically, they were now the Big 6, but the name lived on, both as a reminder...and a warning.

"Read this," Wilhelm ordered again, holding out the envelope containing the letter that could not, could not, be real. Shrugging, Jurgis came all the way into the office, took the envelope and looked at it. Then, his eyes widened in shock and he staggered backwards, falling into a chair.

"Crystal Tokyo? We’ve got a letter--a personal letter--from a private resident of Crystal Tokyo?"

"Just wait until you’ve read the damn thing," Wilhelm said tiredly, passing an age-spotted hand over his eyes. "With any luck, you will not read what I read, I will be declared senile and incompetent and removed from my post before all hell breaks loose."

From both Jurgis’s strangled exclamations and flabbergasted expression, Wilhelm doubted he was going senile. Damn. That meant he would have to deal with this. Unless...no, he could not retire and leave poor Jurgis to deal with the coming debacle. He wouldn’t even entertain the notion...much.

"This cannot be true. It must be the letter of a madman. We should throw this in the garbage, burn the garbage and then scatter the ashes."

"I wish. Unfortunately our luck does not run so. I must bring this before the Seven and await their response."

"Perhaps they will dismiss it out of hand. If the signature can be trusted, it comes from a descendant of one of the Senshi! Surely they will not allow him in Freezone!" Jurgis sounded a little panicky.

"Who can say what the Seven will do? Perhaps they will, perhaps they won’t. Our job is not to debate what the Seven might do, it is to pass this on so that they can decide what they will do."

A copy of the letter was circulated to the members of the Seven that very day. Less than a week later, a special meeting was called to discuss it.

"This is absolutely preposterous!" shouted James Goad, CEO of the Net-Runners Guild. "I can’t believe we even called a meeting for this! My time could be better spent elsewhere."

"Surfing the Nets to find someone else to backmail?" Kharal Dupminka of the **** Guild asked mildly.

"Why, are the payments getting too much for you too handle?" James sneered.

"Wait, I thought we agreed not to blackmail other members of the Seven." Kristinya Ivanova **** pointed out, eyebrow raised.

"We did. We never said anything about our associates though. I just happen to know that one of my employees is blackmailing his daughter, who, of course, is turning to Daddy-kins to help pay it off. She’d just hate for her doting but oh-so-tempermental hubby to get ahold of some pictures like of, oh, I don’t know, she and his brother in flagrante delicto." James sat back in his chair, a complacent smile afixed to his face.

"I despise Americans," said Festil Hadren ****in disgust.

"But we so love you."