It was obviously late afternoon in the city of Tokyo, for when Saffir looked up, blocking his eyes slightly from the dying sunlight, he could see the sun low down on the horizon. There it sat, a orange, glowing globe, so very bright even at this time of the day. Even on the clearest and most summery of Nemesian days, the sun never reached even a fraction of this brilliance.

Nephrite observed the man's behaviour with a degree of curiosity -- and it was only in this late afternoon light that he noticed how very pale the slender prince was. He looked like he never got out.

Sighing impatiently, Nephrite indicated the door. "I know that the gardens of my home must be fascinating to one such as yourself, but we should go back inside." It wasn't a subtle hint -- the darkness in his tones was unmistakable.

Saffir ignored it, still standing just outside the gates of the Sanjouin estate, looking down the street. Truthfully, Nephrite's dim, gloomy gardens didn't interest him in the slightest. The twisted trees, dim canopy and complete lack of colour reminded him distinctly of the Nemesian gardens back home. Where a flash of colour, a brilliant showing of a flower's petals was so rare...

He hadn't realised he had begun walking down the street until Nephrite shouted at him "Where the HELL do you think you're going?!"

"For a walk," Saffir replied nonchalantly, not bothering to turn around.

Nephrite watched the man walk away down the street, his shadow long and dark in the disappearing light of the sun. It seemed his first observation, the one he had given Kunzite on a whim, was completely correct after all.

He was completely bleedin' NUTS. No doubt about it, the guy was a nutbar.

­ ­ ­

"Oh? So, what kind of shoes are in this season? I mean, I find the three inch heels decidedly vulgar myself. Don't tell me everyone dresses like you? What is the Nemesian style anyway? Who can be the biggest tart without actually revealing anything important?"

Esmeraude gritted her teeth, snapped her fan for the eighth time, and replied by hissing, "Is that meant to be a reflection on my dress sense?"

"Oh, no," Zoisite replied dismissively, waving a hand. "But Esmeraude-san, really. How much can one officer get accomplished in a micro-mini? Now, the accessory situation really intrigues me. Are fans the in thing, or how about..."

While Zoisite continued rabbiting on, Esmeraude played absently with the sharp edge of the broken fan and entertained herself with various images of Zoisite in various states of rigor mortis. She had to wonder if dead and broken was a good look for the little sakura's next fashion season.

­ ­ ­

The strange onslaught of fresh, pure air was a shock to his system. It was so very different to the musty, fetid air of the Black Moon. Usually, it didn't bug him except in an academic sense, but now... the purity of this air was enough to make him feel light-headed, almost genuinely happy.

He contented himself with a brief walk in the streets, occasionally wandering closer to a window for a proper look. On a whim, he moved into a coffee shop, decidedly to try out some of the supposedly delicious primitive food of the twentieth century. To his surprise, he quite liked it. He even found the relaxed, bustling atmosphere of the bistro relatively unthreatening, given his solitary nature. However, he did have one complaint. The stares he drew from the nearby table where a young blond man sat with a arrestingly beautiful woman. The woman was obviously repeatedly telling him not to stare, but he seemed intrigued by Saffir.

On reflection, that was probably why he had left. Even though the interest of the aqua-haired woman hadn't appeared overly ominous, the searching glare of the sandy-haired youth had disturbed him to such a degree that Saffir was shocked at his relief to leave the coffee shop.

As he moved out into the street, he had to wonder why Nephrite had let him wander off, and he temporarily considered returning to the Sanjouin estate. Then something else struck him.

If the peacock is going to have a fashion session with the sakura, I might as well amuse myself with some twentieth-century Japanese literature, he thought to himself, not without some bitterness. He could have done this at home on Nemesis, if his oniisan hadnât locked and barred the greater underwing of Breccia City's University. The archive was enormous, and because of the time he had spent there, Saffir was one of the few people who would not get lost within its labyrinth-like structure.

Sighing, he moved into the bustling bookstore. He missed the expanse of the silent archive halls, passages lending around the immense basement construction in surprisingly logical lines, if you had a mind for patterns, as did Saffir. He missed the quietness of the hallways, the musty smell of the old volumes, the sound of his feet clicking against the stone as he moved amongst the towering shelves. The relentless clicking that stopped only when he did, assuring him that he was indeed alone.

The bookstore was nothing like that. Bright and airy, filled with chattering, laughing people, it was an open and lively place.

Saffir felt more than a little out of place.

With a sigh, he moved towards the back of the store, where the taller shelves were. They were little compared to those of the archive, and the material probably was nothing compared to the wealth of interest he had found in the library, especially the greater underwing. However... he supposed he had to settle for whatever was most readily available.

He moved to the nearest shelf, his restless eyes roaming quickly over the selection. Nothing leapt out at him to read it, and he moved on. The next shelves proved as fruitless as the first, and he sighed heavily. If not for the grotesque thought of returning to Esmeraude, Nephrite, Kunzite, and Zoisite, he possibly would have left then. He yanked any old book off the shelf, opening it with a groan. It was a translated copy of Dicken's "A Tale of Two Cities." He hated the damned book -- then he frowned slightly as he remembered something further down. Hadn't he seen..?

As he moved down the shelves, he kept his head buried in the book. Therefore, he didn't see the approaching figure until he met her in a collision.

The momentum threw him backward, his victim also falling, an armload of books going flying.

"Oh, gomen nasai!" said a soft voice, as a gentle hand moved to touch him on the shoulder. Saffir looked up, noticing that the girl had picked herself up with amazing speed, and was now kneeling beside him. Looking up at her, he noticed her large, wide violet eyes. She seemed concerned, as she repeated the apology. "Gomen, I wasn't looking where I was going. Are you all right?"

Saffir took a second to correlate his thoughts before speaking. "No, it was my fault, I should be apologising. I should have been paying attention." He smiled tentatively at the girl, who brushed a strand of her shoulder-length dark hair behind one ear. "Are you all right?"

The girl nodded softly. "I am fine."

Saffir stood up gently, and once he was up, he offered the girl -- dressed entirely in black, he noted with vague curiosity -- a hand. She took it, and he was surprised to feel the delicateness of the grip. It was like shaking hands with a bird, her hand was so tiny, the bones so fragile and light.

Hotaru took in the young man with a curious gaze, from where she stood before him. His face was pensive, even though he seemed to be trying to smile. She garnered the impression that he smiled rarely, though she could see that he had the most kawaii smile, even if it was only tiny at this point in time. His dusky eyes were troubled, his dark sapphire hair slightly tussled from his fall. He was tall, much taller than she, but built in a slender manner. She noted gratefully that he instantly moved down to collect her armload of books for her. It wasn't that she was lazy -- it was that she didn't feel up to it. She had been lying when she had told the introspective young man that she was fine. She truthfully felt a little faint, and she wanted to just take her books and walk home as quickly as she could.

Saffir noticed the gratitude with which the girl accepted her books back from him. She took the one from the top and said in a gentle, mellifluous voice, "Here, I think this one is yours."

The blue-haired physicist prince took it back. "Ah, yes. It is. Arigatoo."

Hotaru nodded, and smiled internally at the flicker of distaste that crossed his face. "Don't you like that book?"

Saffir shook his head. "No. I read it a long time ago, and it's stuck in my head since, because it was just so awful."

"I love that book myself," the slight girl replied, a smile playing about her lips. "I've read it three times."

Cocking an eyebrow, Saffir looked at her speculatively. "You've read it three times? Forgive me, but you must read a lot -- I mean, you have a small collection in your arms, and you manage to read a book three times?"

The girl laughed, but he noticed a degree of sadness there. "I read a lot."

"Do your friends also read a lot?"

The girl looked pained. "Uh... forgive me, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Tomoe Hotaru."

She stretched out her hand again, shyly. He took it, shaking it gently. He didn't know why, but he was suddenly filled with the irrational fear that if he wasn't careful around this girl -- Tomoe Hotaru -- he would break her. She certainly seemed a fragile china doll.

"I am Hirosada Saburo," the man replied to her, and Hotaru smiled slightly, shaking his hand in return.

"It is nice to meet you, Hirosada-san," she replied softly, and suddenly, to Saffir's surprise, she dropped her books, her hands flying to her head.

Shocked, he instantly moved to her side, putting a hand on her shoulder to steady her. "Are you all right, Tomoe-san?"

She shook her head softly, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. "It's... I'm having one of my spells. I..."

"Do you need a doctor?"

"Iie," she declined quietly, rubbing her temples with shaking hands. Saffir was shocked to see how lack-lustre her skin had suddenly become, paler than the whitest ivory. "I just... need to rest. If I go home, and lie down, I think I should be fine..."

Saffir caught her abruptly when she swayed backward, and she righted herself quickly, bracing her hand against the nearest bookshelf for support. "A-arigatoo, Hirosada-san.. I think I'll just purchase my books, and go home, lie down for a bit..."

"Are you sure you don't want to see a doctor?" persisted Saffir, surprising them both with his genuine worry.

Hotaru shook her head again, but she did it quite delicately. She didn't want to rattle her neurones any more than she already had. "No, I will be all right. I'll just take my books and go home. It will be fine."

Saffir knelt, collecting her books for the second time. However, this time, he didn't give them back to her. Instead, he nodded his head at the counter. "I'll take these up there for you, if you like."

She couldn't refuse -- though she wondered at his consideration. Why did he seem so concerned about her? It wasn't as if he had to be nice to her for any reason at all. Still... she found herself taking an instant liking to the quiet man.

­ ­ ­

Dimando had observed the reluctance with which Amethyst had left the controls of the jakokuzuishou, and the Door Saffir had constructed. He had felt a twinge of regret at being so harsh with her, seeing that she was genuinely very interested in the workings of it.

However.

Trust. A simple word, but not a simple emotion. It was constantly hidden and shielded in this complex world of Nemesis. It was called Nemesis because of the fact no-one who lived here was ever to be trusted. He supposed that was what had fostered Saffir's paranoia, which he personally believed was a little misdirected, not to mention, it reflected rather badly on Saffir's opinion of his older brother's ability to judge someone's character.

Amethyst was not to be trusted.

He didn't know why he was so adamant in his own mind about this, but he instinctively knew that he was right to do it. Amethyst was a peculiar persona here in the Black Moon. She appeared to be almost completely human, especially since she pledged allegiance to no one House. She was an innocent child, or at least, she seemed that way. Still, he had the uncomfortable feeling that she knew things. It was that feeling one got around academics, especially such prodigal ones as Amethyst and Saffir. Both were experts in their respective fields, despite their tender ages.

He had to wonder -- why was it that Saffir's academic prowess only made him love his otootochan all the more, but Amethyst's smarts made her seem a possible and probable enemy?

Looking away from his view of the chambers of the jakokuzuishou, the White Prince turned his violet eyes to another sight. One to calm him, settle his nerves.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, filled with such calm, dignity... Dimando found himself slipping into the oasis of Serenity's eyes, grateful to get away from the gnawing pain inside him, if even only for a moment... the agony of not knowing where his precious younger brother was...

­ ­ ­

Hotaru had been surprised by the tall, slender man's offer to walk her home. Still... she sensed that there was a great inner kindness to the man, which is why she had allowed him to do so. He had offered to carry her heavy plastic bag, and she gratefully relinquished her books. However, she had insisted that she carry his book -- to her amusement, he had purchased the Dickens novel. When she had inquired why, he had told her that it might be worth something in the future. She hadn't understood the twinkle in his eye when he said that -- nor the profound sadness that she had seen in his shadowy eyes for the briefest of seconds.

"Are you an only child, Tomoe-san?" Saburo suddenly asked her, startling her out of her thought. She turned her head as they walked, to answer the question, before looking back up the street.

"Hai," she replied, and then cast him another sideways glance. "You can just call me Hotaru, if you prefer. I don't mind."

Saffir was shocked by that -- he wondered why she had given him a familiar term to call her by, but he shrugged it off. "You must call me Saburo, then. But... doesn't it get lonely, being an only child?"

"A little," she replied, and looked at him again. "Do you have any brothers and sisters, Saburo-san?"

"One," Saburo replied, and Hotaru noticed the way his eyes lit up quite suddenly. The shadowy blue was lightened considerably at the thought of his sibling. "An older brother, his name is Dim- Mankichi-oniisan."

Hotaru frowned slightly at the name change, but decided to ignore it. The first was probably a familiar nickname that Saburo called his older brother. Shrugging off the niggling unease at the back of her mind, and smiled at the look of pleasure of Saburo's face. It was certainly a change from what he had looked like before -- pensive and worried about something that troubled him very deeply. "Are you two very close?"

"Oh, yes -- he's more than just an older brother. Mankichi-sama is... a friend. More than that, he's a trusted confidant, I know I can tell him anything and he'll actually listen. You know what I mean? When you're talking to someone and you can tell they're not actually listening?"

Hotaru averted her eyes. "Yes, I think I know what you mean."

Saffir sensed an undercurrent of pain to the girl's words, and his eyes softened. He had already taken a liking to the girl, and if he admitted it to himself, he had taken a liking to her back in the bookstore. Her fragility was only a part of it -- though some part of him did want to shield her from the world which he knew could be cruel. Paradoxically, he wanted to stay with her so she could protect him -- there was just such a power hidden beneath that vulnerability, and even though Saffir, a lover of sciences, was not a mage of great skill, he could see the great endowment of enchanted energy about her.

For not the first time, he wondered why this girl made him think of Sailor Pluto.

Hotaru smiled up at him suddenly, and he was bowled over by the sweetness of that smile. "I forgot to ask you earlier, Saburo-san -- how old are you?"

"Twenty," he replied easily, looking down at her. "How about you?"

"Thirteen," she answered, and suddenly stopped. "My house is just up the street here," she said, indicating a wide road. Saffir almost whistled -- it was certainly a very elite neighbourhood. "What do your parents do?"

"My mother is dead," she said softly, and held up a hand before he could apologise, as she could see he was going to do. "No, don't apologise, how were you to know? She's been gone a long time, at any rate. She died when I was very young."

"My mother did too," Saffir suddenly confided to the slight girl, as they stood on the street corner. Hotaru was clutching one book to her chest with both arms, Saffir carrying the larger bag of books she had purchased. The late afternoon sun put pale highlights in their hair, and upon reflection, Saffir realised he had never really seen anybody as beautiful as Hotaru. Sure, Esmeraude had a voracious kind of beauty, and Akayashi Petz had a vain prettiness about her, but neither of the two women in his life whom he called "beautiful" could stand against the child-like Hotaru. "I take it you just live with your father?" he asked softly.

Hotaru inclined her head. "Hai, and our housekeeper, Kaori. My father is a researcher, so I don't see him very much." A slight, bitter chuckle escaped her throat. "Some might call him a mad professor."

Saffir raised an eyebrow. "I've been called that myself, more than once."

The girl was surprised, he could see that quite clearly in her large, violet eyes. "You're a little young to be a doctor or professor, aren't you? Or are you at university here in Tokyo?"

"Not exactly," he replied vaguely. "I am a physicist and mathematician by nature, though I have dabbled in engineering and the like."

"You must be very smart, then?"

"I am a virtual genius," he replied honestly, without conceit. "I've always found it simple, therefore I have done a lot of things before anybody would have thought I was old enough to do it."

Hotaru smiled at Saburo quite openly. "You should meet my father. You'd probably find him quite interesting, he usually has a lot to say for himself. Not to mention he'd probably like to talk to someone who understands his work -- I try my best, but it just doesn't interest me."

Saffir smiled absently. All this talk was so damned surreal. He couldn't honestly comprehend how he had ended up here, talking with this peculiar young girl, while he was really supposed to be trying to get back to the thirtieth century in one piece -- though, admittedly, it would be fun to leave a certain companion behind.

Hotaru sensed the dark change in Saburo's thoughts, and mindfully broke in gently. "Saburo-san, I should be going. I will be late for dinner if I don't hurry." Suddenly, an idea struck her. "Would you like to meet my father? I'm sure he'd appreciate the company. I know I would -- it gets lonely in my house, since it's generally only me and Kaori."

Surprised, Saffir was suddenly struck by a wave of melancholy. Hotaru was treating him with such a grand degree of normality it was almost as if he was.

But you're not normal, a voice warned in his mind, and he knew what it meant. He had no right to even spend a few minutes with this girl in her home -- he did not belong here.

"Thank you, but I must decline, for I have to return to my own home," he replied politely, carefully accepting the book from her outstretched hand. "Do you need a hand carrying these up to the house?"

Hotaru gingerly took the heavy bag, and shook her head. "I'll be fine. I... I'll see you around, Saburo-san."

"Perhaps," he replied softly, and she nodded. He could tell he had actually hurt her feelings, though he couldn't understand why. He was just one person, what could one person's friendship mean to Tomoe Hotaru? Surely she had plenty of friends her own age, her own time period, her own planet, for Rudra's sake...

Hotaru walked slowly up the street, before opening the gate and vanishing inside. She was struck with the heavy realisation that she wasn't likely to see Hirosada Saburo again.

And across the street, a lone figure watched as Saffir vanished in a pale light of transport. She shook her long, green hair, and sighed in frustration. She hadn't counted on this.

It was days like this Setsuna really wished she had a normal job. Even being an accountant was beginning to look like a fun prospect. At least they didn't have to deal with karma, destiny, and temperamental time lines...

­ ­ ­

"What?!"

Esmeraude stood up, towering over the little sakura. She had absolutely HAD it with the snide remarks, the condescending half-smile, and the insinuations that her dress sense was shared with a certain class of Miami woman-of-negotiable-affections.

"Listen, bishounen," Esmeraude snarled, "I don't know WHAT your orders from your sensei are, but I'm damned certain that they don't include insulting me to my face."

"No," Zoisite admitted languidly, "that was just something I made up on my own."

Esmeraude wanted to scream. She wasn't quite sure why she didn't; after all, those high-pitched shrieks of frustration surely worked on everyone back on Nemesis, from that pudding-brain Rubius down to the servitors around Dimando's Citadel.

Whatever the reason, she did NOT carefully fill her lungs, glare at Zoisite, and absolutely scream in pure rage and humiliation.

This went a far way towards raising Zoisite's opinion of her. This wasn't hard; the only direction in which the opinion could go was up.

"Esmeraude-san," Zoisite said, even more lazily, "I've come to the conclusion that Saffir-san is the brains behind this embassy. I mean, you're very knowledgeable about fashion, even if you don't care to apply it to yourself, and I've got to admit that what you know about throwing that fan a la Kitana of Mortal Kombat is very impressive, but as for you, yourself, personally - I don't think you know any more about politics than Jadeite knew about Russian ballet."

What the hell was Russian ballet? Esmeraude vaguely wondered. She glared at the sakura, and said in a tone that would have done her father Garnet proud, "Zoisite-san, I would take it most kindly if you'd leave my chambers."

Zoisite giggled. "Actually, they're mine, but since I never use them, Kunzite-sama thought that it might be fitting to give them to you. Help yourself to anything in the closets, dear Esmeraude; I'd guess we're about the same size, and you surely could use a different color scheme..."

Before Esmeraude could throw all "diplomacy" to the winds and go for Zoisite's throat, the little sakura, still chortling, vanished.

Esmeraude finally did give in to that scream.

­ ­ ­

Kunzite was faced with a unique dilemma.

"Yes, my queen," he said.

It wasn't as if the so-called Black Moon ambassadors were going to be tough nuts to crack; Saffir was frankly mental, and Esmeraude was a complete flake. He personally didn't know this Prince Dimando, but he was willing to bet that Dimando-sama was just as idiotic as his hand-picked representatives. White Prince. Ha.

"Of course not, my queen," he said.

His only problem, then, would be to keep the two intrusive imposters out of the way whilst Nephrite continued his doomed energy drains, and Zoisite searched for the ginzuishou. Logically, Kunzite could appreciate why it would have to be him who kept Saffir and Esmeraude occupied with... other things; practically, he regarded it as a damned nuisance. It would be just as logical, in the long run, to knock both of them at the base of the skull and give the bodies to the youma; itâd be a helluva lot more efficient, too.

"Certainly, my queen," he said.

He only hoped that Saffir, at least, would have enough brains to not go poking around the Dark Kingdom. At the million-to-one chance that the two were actually who they claimed to be, Kunzite could not afford the chance that they might see something that would ... strain relations between the Dark Kingdom and the Black Moon. Some of the things in Jadeite's now-defunct territory, for example, would make blood curdle and eyes bleed... Hellfire, he just would not pester the two from the Black Moon. They weren't worth Kunzite's trouble. He'd shunt them off somewhere. It would be much better for everyone, really.

"It shall be done, my queen," he said.

Beryl stopped her raving, and turned to him. Very very coldly. "You haven't been listening to me, have you, Kunzite," she said, very silkily.

Kunzite frantically racked his brains for what he might have said wrong. He mentally groaned as he found it: she'd said that with Zoisite searching for the ginzuishou and Nephrite working to bring Metallia the energy that she so desperately craved, it seemed that Kunzite was the only one who was available to perform a certain task.

That task being, find out all about the Black Moon so that Beryl could destroy it if it should ever become a threat to her.

Kunzite reflected that this wasn't going to be a terrific lot of fun, now was it...

­ ­ ­

Saffir walked across the street, not really thinking about anything. He found that this was probably the only way that he could get back to the Sanjouin estate; if he really concentrated and tried to find his way back to Nephrite's Terran enclave, he'd never in a million years get there. Drifting in mindless wonderings and wanderings was the one method to get back.

Oh, granted, it would only take him back to Esmeraude, Nephrite, Kunzite, and the volatile Zoisite, not to mention the ancient bitch Beryl - but it would also, indirectly, take him back to Dimando-oniisan. He swallowed painfully. It really wasn't asking too much to be allowed to just gaze into his beloved brother's cool violet eyes, was it? All he wanted was one single glance from those pale, thoughtful orbs, just one affectionate, loving look...

A car horn honked. "Hey," hollered the driver of the yellow convertible. "There are times and places for staring at the sky, kid, but in the middle of an intersection isn't one of 'em!"

Saffir blinked, looked where he was. Oh. In the middle of a Juuban intersection, right in front of a car. How fascinating.

The driver sighed, exaggeratedly. "Well," the handsome young man said, "now that you've been recalled to this earthly plane, get the HELL out of the way!"

"Haruka," murmured the lovely woman in the passenger's seat, "just a bit ... softer, please."

Saffir realized where he'd seen this pair before: in the bistro. The blonde young man had stared at him penetratingly, while the aqua-haired young woman had vainly tried to turn the young man - Haruka? - back around again. Funny little place, Tokyo. Amazing, the number of coincidences that happened there.

"I'm sorry," Saffir said. "I think I'm lost."

"I'm sorry," Haruka returned, ever so brightly. "But what did I say that sounded like, 'I care about your problems'?"

The aqua-haired woman sighed impatiently. "Hop in," she directed Saffir. "We know Tokyo very well. Where do you want to go?"

"Huh?" said Saffir, staring at her.

"Huh?" said Haruka, staring at her.

"Hurry up," the woman said. "Before the light changes again. We're the only car here, but that will change pretty soon. Are you coming or not?"

Saffir's thoughts raced wildly. He didn't know these people. He didn't know if he could trust these people. Hadn't he read somewhere that cars were dangerous, too? There weren't any automobiles on Nemesis; the Nemesians had precious little fresh air without spoiling it further with smog, exhaust fumes, and whatnot. Plus, he was getting some strange pricklies in his stomach from the look in the blonde man's green eyes.

But dammit, the car was so... so ... beautiful...

Sure that he was going to regret this later, he made a quick bow, said "Domo arigatoo," and got in the back seat, right behind the blonde man.

­ ­ ­

Nephrite sipped his drink thoughtfully, swirling it around in the snifter, admiring the play of light off the amber liquor. Madeira brandy, 1898. That was one of the good things that had come out of the Spanish-American War; the Spaniards had been so snotty about selling liquor to the Amercians that the Japanese had ended up getting all of Spain's imbibable exports instead that year. Nephrite smiled to himself. Who said that nothing good ever came out of war?

Now, if only Zoisite would come and sincerely apologize, and the blue-haired Black Moon nutbar would come running up and announce that he and his insane tart of a companion were going home, Nephrite would be in s'tori.

He closed his eyes in bliss.

And promptly opened them again, when the whisper of a teleport caught his attention.

He choked on his Madeira brandy, of the fine year 1898.

"Hello, Nephrite," Kunzite said kindly. "I trust you're entertaining yourself well..."

"Absolutely fan-bloody-tastic," Nephrite muttered. He downed the rest of his drink with no real enthusiasm; he sputtered as the brandy burned the back of his throat. Glaring at Kunzite, he cleared his throat and said, louder, "What in the blinking Hell, and I think I should make this clear that I don't want to be disturbed for anything less than a total emergency, do you want?"

The silver-eyed King sat down in a throne-like chair that hadn't been there a few seconds ago, and contemplated Nephrite for a moment. In perfect silence. He'd found that silence, properly applied, was as much a weapon as anything that Zoisite could conjure up. More damaging, in the psychic sense, too.

Nephrite always fell for it; he tried to fill the silence up.

"Is it because the sakura came crying to you?" he said defensively. "I didn't do a damn thing to him. He was the one who came to me."

Nothing, said Kunzite.

"Metallia damn it, I did accede to his request, Kunzite! I bent over backwards to oblige Zoisite's bleedinâ stupid whim!"

More of nothing, Kunzite observed.

"That little sakura's going to get me into serious trouble! He gave me the unstable one, on purpose! I could've dealt with the other one - well, all right, only by tying her up - the point is, I wouldn't have lost her!"

Kunzite lifted one snowy eyebrow. "Lost her," he repeated. The sudden icy impact of his voice made Nephrite realize exactly what he had been babbling, and the auburn-haired King abruptly clamped his mouth shut.

"Lost her," Kunzite said, now frowning. He looked more puzzled than angry, Nephrite was relieved to note. Well, Nephrite was not about to enlighten him that Nephrite had managed to lose Saffir-sama...

"Look, you albino freak," Nephrite hissed, "it was your damned orders that made Zoisite flip out -" not that Zoisite had far to flip, in Nephrite's opinion - "and come to me with help to separate the two ambassadors! He just - wandered off - "

"Oh, Metallia's tits," Kunzite breathed suddenly. "Nephrite, you damned idiot - are you telling me that you actually managed to let Saffir of the Black Moon wander off?"

The two Kings stared at each other for a moment, then Kunzite seemed to relax.

"Of course not," he said, almost genially, "not even you are that much of an idiot."

"Of course not," Nephrite agreed tightly.

"So where is he?" Kunzite asked.

­ ­ ­

"So where are you from, kid?" Haruka said finally, after a few moments of strained silence.

Saffir panicked. Where was he from? Or, more to the point, where was Hirosada Saburo from?

The aqua-haired woman rescued him, although Saffir was glumly certain that it wasn't for any philanthropic reason. No, it was just for courtesy. "Don't worry," she said softly. "Haruka often acts brusque when she doesn't mean to. It's just her way." Before Saffir could choke over the news that the young "man" was actually a woman, the lovely feminine woman continued, "My name is Kaioh Michiru, and my partner is Ten'ou Haruka."

"I'm Hirosada Saburo," he stammered. "From Chosi."

"Chosi, eh?" Haruka said, her handsome face unseen. Nonetheless, Saffir was sure that on those thin lips hovered a frown. "That's quite a ways away, Hirosada-san."

"I'm visiting a cousin of mine," Saffir said, steadily calming his pulse. He didn't know what about these two made his heart hammer - surely they weren't that bad. Why, Prince Reachen of Nemesis and Lord Sard were easier to deal with than this, and they were lords playing the bureaucratic gymnastics of Nemesis for years!

"Who's your cousin?" Michiru prompted gently. "And where does he live, if we're giving you a ride home?"

"My cousin is Sanjouin Masato," Saffir said, giving them Nephrite's Terran identity. "And he lives - " He reeled off the address that Nephrite had shown him.

"Really," Haruka murmured. "Good gracious, weâve got a millionaire's cousin in the car, Michi-ko."

She did not sound impressed. Saffir was no judge of cars, but from the sheer quality and luxuriousness of the damned thing in which he rode, he suddenly guessed that these two were wealthy as well. Well, good, they won't be thinking of holding me for ransom then. He shivered; that had actually happened to him once, back on Nemesis. A lucky thing that Dimando-oniisan had come to buy him back...

They rode in silence for a while, then Saffir saw with relief that they were nearing a neighborhood he recognized. "There," he said, trying not to let his voice tremble.

Haruka pulled over to the curb, maneuvering seamlessly among the Tokyo traffic. Then she stiffened. "That's the house, eh?" she said flatly.

Michiru had also tensed up. "That is the home of your cousin?" she asked Saffir.

"Yes," Saffir said, bewildered. What could've made them so - ? And then he knew.

The house was crawling with evil aurics and pulsating darknesses.

And somehow, Ten'ou Haruka and Kaioh Michiru could sense it just as well as he could.

­ ­ ­

Amethyst Ja'Redran's slender fingers flew over the control panels, calling up data, dismissing charts, manipulating the flow of information across the monitors in a seemingly effortless way that reminded the unseen watcher achingly of Saffir.

"Just a bit more," she murmured. "Something new, dammit - !"

She fiddled with a gauge, delicately nudged a lever. "Still not right! Dammit, why is Saffir so bloody damned paranoid?"

The unseen watcher felt that this was as good an entrance line as he was likely to hear, and swept into the room.

"Because, child, he has good cause to be," Dimando re'Adamant said coldly. "Turn your back and close your eyes," he ordered. She was trying to access a program that would list all possible destinations ever entered into the Door's parameters; Dimando had a pretty fair idea of why she wasn't able to access it.

She obediently closed her eyes and presented her slim back to him; Dimando kept a wary eye on her while he pressed the ball of his thumb to the ID panel and quietly whispered the one word that both brothers knew was their symbol, the symbol of a promise: "Flowers."

He'd once promised Saffir positives worlds of flowers, once Earth was theirs. And if it weren't for that bloody damned Small Lady and that cursed Endymion, Earth would be theirs, even now...

The computer beeped softly. "Access approved," scrolled across the screen. Dimando smiled faintly. As practical and as wonderful as Saffir was, he was occasionally predictably soppy about things. Really. Flowers.

He left the room again immediately, conveniently ignoring the stinging blur of tears in his own eyes.