Starlit Ruins

by Simon Woodington

It reminded her of home, in a dark, beggar ridden, alley corner turned home kind of way. Inescapable, the proliferation of people in the cement-walled landscape. Wandering brought her nowhere, as she had no idea as to her location in the first place. What it did offer, was fear, the awareness that she was being watched, and followed. Their often tattered red jackets made them stand out, even in the corners of her vision. She counted roughly six of them now. She wanted to bolt, but she knew that would only draw trouble nearer, sooner.

  Losing her arm was turning out to be the least of it in the light of being stalked so. Reality seemed so much more harsh that even losing Mamoru. Perhaps she would be better off not having anything at all. All that much less to lose, right?

  “Hey, d'ya know yer cruisin' through Scavrick turf chickie?” came a voice, and the grip of a rough hand on her upper right arm. The hand wrenched her around and abruptly she stared into a pair of large dark eyes, tasting the bad breath that came forth from the unwashed and unshaven face before her.

  “Let me go!” she snapped, tearing easily loose from his strong grip. He growled at the insubordination, and swung an open palm at her. She ducked easily, and struck him in the crotch. He doubled over, making a strange gurgling noise.

  'So sorry,' she said with a mocking sneer. A fist collided with her head from behind, knocking her forward into a pile of trash.

  “Gugh,” she spat, wincing.

  “C'mon bitch,” said a voice, accompanied by a hand which grabbed her shoulders, and pulled her up. “If ya wanna hang inna turf o' the Scavs, then ya gotta pay da price.” His free hand tore at her already slightly torn sailor uniform, revealing the naked skin beneath.

  “No!” Usagi cried, striking him with her right arm. He fell backwards as if struck by a sledge hammer, his nose smashed against his face like a burst liquid-filled balloon, blood pouring down eagerly from it.

  “Help!” she screamed. Someone help me!

  A laser blast caught an approaching thug, angered by the death of his friend, incinerating his skull in a yellow flash of light. The body dropped forward, landing on Usagi, eliciting a drawn out scream from her.

  “Leave the lady be, trash-n-wasters! Gots damn!” demanded a small, yet not ineffectual, tenor. The dozen other Scavricks fled, with the death of their leader, and the presence of higher technology. The few had maybe two handguns on them, and were no match against the energy weapon the man wielded.

  “Fallen on people like theys yo family o' somethin'. Practic uncivil! Hey now… ugh,” grunted the stranger, shoving the heavy corpse off of Usagi. Those same hands offered her a heavy overcoat. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she accepted the offering. “That's a girl now. Cover y'self up.”

  “Thuh-thank you.”

  The small man brown haired man shrugged. “Slap me 'n call me a red faced bum. Ain't ya cute. Oh. Uh, I'm Garen. I guess yer a citizen, eh? Where's yer pr'tection?”

  She did not respond. Garen looked down at the dirt caked brick floor behind heavy sunglasses.

  “No? Huh, okay. Let's go while you're not yellin'.”

  Usagi sniffed, getting to her feet slowly, gripping the coat tightly. “Where? Why?” she asked, looking and sounding stunned.

  Garen stopped, surprised by her question. “Cause it's easier to run when they can't hear ya?”

  She stared at him blankly.

  He swore. “Oh c'mon! Wassit now? Talk!”

  Suddenly fearful, she cried, backing away; “Just leave me alone!” She then turned and bolted.

  “Damnit. Stupid girl,” Garen cursed. “Stupid Garen! I mean me! Stupid, stupid, stupid. Didn't even intraduce m'self!” He then followed her. “Realty class idjit is me!”

  Usagi was not thinking. Why run from the man who had saved her? That had not even occurred to her. Fear, however, had. Her leggy, overcoat clad form sped quickly through the downsider section of Coalition society. Her hair spilled out behind her, mussed and tangled, odango atama undone, causing the golden blond lengths to flow as a tangled mess.

  Garen dashed some distance behind her, her fear driven destination caused him to almost stop in place. They were cause enough for him to almost forget her entirely. The new style was strange; Garen couldn't help admiring the sleek look of the white skull motifs and bone-like lines which followed the curves of the midnight toned armor. That, and interest, kept him watching.

  “Whoa, whoa girl,” said a black armoured figure as she ran blindly into him. “Where do you think you're going?”

  She stumbled backwards, eyes opening, glancing at her obstruction. Somehow the skull motif of the old style armor did not scare her. Perhaps it was the long lived fear of further abuse still holding her that kept her calm.

  “Um, I d-don't know…” she half muttered, tears still tracing lines down her face.

  “Okay psychic. Calm down. What's your name?”

  “Tsukino Usagi,” she started. Then; “huh? I'm not…”

  “Wait,” the first reached forward, grabbing her with a black gauntleted hand. The other pushed aside the short mess of bangs which hung over her forehead. The spiked helmeted man scrutinized her for a moment. “She's not marked.”

  She broke free easily and broke away. “What? Marked?”

  The first grunt turned to the second. “She's not registered, then,” she heard the second mutter. “Better take it slow. Probably a D-Bee.”

  “Registered? What…?” Fear forced her to turn, and start into a run.

  “Ah damn! Don't run!”

  “You have too much patience. Gres, grab her!” A humanoid figure appeared, grabbed her shoulders, and held her.

  “No! Leave me alone!!” she yelped.

  “They gots her, gots damn!” Garen whispered as he ducked low behind the mess of garbage and makeshift box homes. Of all my bad luck, he sighed. At best, he was outnumbered. Two to one. Not counting the Dog Boys, which makes it six t' one. Gunna be stitches for me if'n I don't get vaped.

  His first shot caught the Dog Boy holding Usagi in the head, killing it instantly. His second shot nicked the grunt at the shoulder, bringing his attention to Garen. The Psi-Net grunt issued orders for his Dog Boys to attack, just before Garen's third shot hit his helmet, leaving a faint scorch mark.

  “ 'Ey! Run!” Garen shouted with a pair of mutant dogs on her heels. Taking a few wild, pot shots as he ran into a sewer grate, not bothering to close it behind him he hoped he had judged Usagi's running speed properly, along with her direction. If he timed it correctly, he would pop up right in front of them. If not, he would have some more running to do.

  As it turned out, what he failed to take into account was his own speed. He turned up ten feet behind them. Fortunately, his energy pistol had a more considerable range. He fired off a few shots, killing the first, and getting the attention of the second, which turned, ran, and leapt at him. The Dog Boy caught him, knocking him over and sending his pistol flying from his hand.

  “Blasted gots damn!”

  Usagi turned around, hearing the voice of the man who had saved her. At first she thought to ask why he had followed her, but then it occurred to her that she would not get any answers out of him dead.

  “Moon Crystal Power - Make Up!” came her voice. It had not actually occurred to her that she might not be able to turn into Sailor Moon without the ginzuishou, but as colored energy flared about her, the silver crystal appeared. Both Dog Boy and garish rouge stopped wrestling as the flashy transformation took her, replacing the overcoat with her Sailor uniform, and putting a golden tiara in her self-enmeshed hair.

  “Moon Tiara Action!” she called, taking the tiara awkwardly in her left hand instead of the missing right, at which point it turned into a nimbus of yellow energy. Intent more than muscle memory sent the sliver of energy toward the Dog Boy, who yelped as it struck him, knocking him from her waylaid savior. Garen scrambled up to the literally transformed young girl, cast an appreciative gaze over her, smiled, then gestured for them to run.

  “How'd ya do that?”
he asked as they ran for their lives. “You some suprahero or somethin'?”

  “Supahiro? Um, I'm Sailor Moon,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  Consideration washed visibly over his face. “Uh, you're some kind of warrior… I guess, right? Or, I dunno… a Mage?”

  'What? Um, no. Garen-san does not understand? Ah… er… um…'

  “Wassat you keep sayin'? Nani… uh… waka-wuka-sasu… uh… What is that? Some kinda differen' language er somethin'?”

  “Oh,” she half-frowned. “I'm Japanese.”

  “'S okay. I really don' care. I just like to know what my friends 'er sayin'.”

  “Friend?” her depression-shaded face lightened somewhat. “Um, thank you. Hey… I don't even know your name!”

  “It's Garen Hel'.” He threw a long glance behind him. “An' yer Tsukino Usagi, right? Uh, Usagi Tsukino, that'd be here, I mean. Sorry 'bout not sayin' so before, but names er blasted important.”

  “Uhn… um, I guess,” she started, then paused. “Um, hai.”

  “Hai is 'yes', right?”

  “Sure,” she replied seriously.

  “I think we can stop runnin' now. They ain't followin' us no more.” They slowed, and stopped. “There I got thinkin' you were some Citizen, but no ways if they chasin' ya. I knows its ain't me they chasin'. Guess we stickin' togetha.” She looked puzzled. Garen shook his head. “You don't mind, ey? Once a foots in the mud gotta get it out! Hm… Uh, I guess I shoulda asked how long ya bin' here, first, but go figure I don' think of it!”

  “Uh, I don't know… everything is strange,” her voice trailed off, and she shuddered. “I just thought maybe… this was a safe place to be.”

  “Neh, not with the Coalition.”

  “Those guys in the black armour?”

  Garen nodded. “Yeah, dem freaks what figger dey can keep us low lifers down. 'Cept they doin' a fine job, eh?” The solemnness drew her face into a shadow again. “So, why is y' here, anyway? I mean, the 'burbs is a pretty crappy place for a chick so nice lookin' as you.”

  “Thanks,” she blushed, half-smiling. “Why did you save me, anyway?”

  “Dunno. Just did. Never did like bad odds.”

  “Oh. Then, thank you. Again.”

  He peered at her. “Ah huh. Nevah mind all the thanks and thanks, okay? Gettin' kinda weird.”

  “As you say.” Forgiving his continuously lousy grammar, she asked: “So what do I do now? You're the only one I know now… I just… um…” she felt herself nearing tears again.

  They had passed into a small run down open market of sorts. Garen glanced around. His eyes passed over a tall fellow armoured in dull grey steel with black hair, strange looking face, and a sword on his belt. His eyes moved on. They settled on a man in a workers suit. He stepped up gingerly behind the fellow, and seemingly without effort, relieved him of a straining coin purse.

  The man continued chatting with his buddy idly. As Garen approached Usagi, he noted the shocked look on her face. He merely stated; “We make us a livin'.”

  @~%~~~

  Days and weeks interwove into an entanglement for which Usagi discovered she had no stomach and precious little skill. Thievery was no more desirable than the housework Garen casually neglected. The overbearing, kind-hearted man provided sanctuary that entombed Usagi's hopes of repayment in a whirlwind of frustration and bitter sadness. Garen continued his daily habits and labours while she partook of food and sleep in gradually smaller portions.

  One morning she did not get up. Garen, never one to neglect work, had just completed a job of many thousand credits and wanted to celebrate with Usagi. In what passed for her bedroom, a closet with a gaudy patterned sheet for privacy, he knelt at her side and pressed almost bony shoulder. The golden blond opened her eyes weakly.

  Gots damn, he thought. Sickly, scary sickly! “Heya cutie… when'ja last eat?” She glanced at him, face pale and thin, eyes uncaring and cold. “Nop,” he grunted. “Nothin' doin'. Ain't gonna lose ya. Come eat.”

  She said nothing, her gaze turning away from him. He gave a sigh and sat down on the bed beside her. He knew pain and regret when he saw it. “Neva bothered ya 'bout ya friends. Ya recovered well 'nough wit that arm. Thought it was okay. You ain't though.” Usagi groaned. “Din't even wonder, did ya? Garen left ya be t' get yer rage up. To decide t' fight. But ya ain't doin' that. Why?”

  No answer.

  “Ya gotta talk t' someperson. Maybe anyone but me? That sucks if its trust, if its me,” he paused, the expression of his face soft. “I like ya well 'nough t' be my sister if its not gonna hurt?”

  “Humph,” she replied. He offered her a drink, and while she drank, he said, “Bros don't let sistahs lie an' jes hurt. Ya, ya, stop lookin' at me like that, like all I got is stealin' and lyin' in me. I gots a Ma what taught me right.” A gentle smirk crossed over his hard little face. “First off, I'm gonna talk yer ear off 'til ya say somethin'. Don't care what. If ya tell me a bit 'bout ya pretty self I'll lay off for a while an' leave ya be. Like tell me if ya hairs are all been blond since ya were born?”

  She nodded reluctantly, trying to sit up. Garen placed a hand on her shoulder and assisted her. He handed her the drink, which she accepted, and sipped at.

  “Gonna say?”

  She coughed and laughed, then cleared her throat. “Um, of course. I'm missing my friends. Somewhere there are four girls… all lost and…” Her heart sank and her words followed. She looked up again and concluded, “I don't know.”

  “Yeh?” he scratched the back of his head, “Good then. Lemme do ya one better.”

  “Good then? What's that mean?”

  He gawked, shut his mouth and grinned, comprehending. “If yo gonna win a fight ya gotta take a hit, 'r chance it. H'rm, like knowin' the field yer gonna run 'fore ya run it. Makin' a start?”

  His quirk was showing and a hint of a smile touched one corner of her lips. She asked, “One what?”

  “Jes listen to me. A buddy o' mine. We calls 'im Randy. If you got four friends – I don't know anyone got four friends – then,” he made a gesture for her to remain silent, “If yer the chick. He said blond hair, but not done up, like all that. Gots damn its pretty.”

  “Uhm, thanks? Um,” she squinted, eyes cast to the ceiling of the small bedroom. “Dumpling head, I guess, in English… er, well…”

  Garen laughed loudly.

  “Dumpling Head! That's glass!” He slapped his knee and continued laughing. Usagi started to look somewhat disgruntled.

  “Hey…”

  Garen tried to pull himself together. “Sorry Usagi, but it wus too funny.”

  “No, I think I understand… Thanks Garen.”

  “N'prob,” he nodded. “So… check me gettin' all dis'racted. About yer friends. Randy wants ta meet ya. If ya thinks that's fine, ey? He says he knows somethin' 'bout yo other friend, right?” He shrugged. “ ʻCept it's up t' you.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  Garen's face hardened seriously. “He's… A man… or whatever… good'n'truth as ever I met. He ain' got no dirt on him, and cutie, I know a lotta frickin' dirt. The Black Market hates 'im. Dat's my playbook, yeh.”

  Usagi studied the little man, and began to open her mouth to speak, but he interrupted: “So, is ya hungry? Gots damn ya get any skinnier gonna fit you inna jet filter!”

  She pouted and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “What'd I? Ah scrap, Usagi I din' mean…” He frowned then shook it off. “You wanna meet those friends, ey? Well get yer strength up or ya nevah will.”

  “I know, it's just… you sound like my Mama” -san, she thought, but didn't say it. The appellation wrenched an unnameable fibre in her soul.

  “Yeah, Mamas said I'd do it sometime'r other. I likes ya well 'nough ya don't gotta be lonesome.” He grinned, “Besides, it'll be a coupl'a days befo' I can arrange a meetin' wit' Randy… so that gives ya time ta get better. Right? C'mon.”

  “I guess.” She grinned, then - with a wink
- said; 'Baka.'

  “No more'n you… Bakayaro!” he replied, mangling the Japanese accents badly.

  'So desu ka? Tsuyaku ga imasu ka?' she laughed, continuing the joke with: 'Baka no sugoi. Gi, baka-goofball Gi!' she chanted, running down the short hall.

  “Gots damn I need that translator implant,” he groaned, and proceeded slowly after her.

  @~%~~~

  It had taken more than a couple of days to arrange the meeting. It was just as well, he figured. It had taken her more than two days to get better. The operation she had undergone was still having adverse effects on her body. Apparently it was a serious strain for her. Garen knew that all too well. Usagi gave him a steady look. The colour of her face had deepened, and the sickly thin look had faded, but his unease was unaffected.

  “He's your friend, but I have to decide for myself,” Usagi informed him, eyes casting about warily as they walked through the night darkened streets of the 'burbs. “If I trust him.”

  Garen merely shrugged, “Yeh, yeh, scrap me'n'sell me for parts, I read ya. I'm jus' sayin' he ain't never hurt me, an' never lied t' me, not once. So…”

  Usagi's eyebrows knitted. “I know, and I am grateful. I…” something inside warned her that further words were pointless. They continued on for a while in silence, until Usagi felt something. She could feel some kind of infamy nearby, a word out of place in a story about kittens. The Splugorth in the magical fantasy of Atlantis. Abysmal parallels. She shuddered.

  Garen noticed the tension on her face. “Hey… somethin' wrong Bunny?”

  She gazed over at him briefly, then shook her head. Troubled, he shrugged and said, “Well, we's here.” He pushed open a ramshackle steel patched door and gestured for her to enter. With all the bravery of a mouse under the gaze of a ravenous cat, she did.

  Inside, the building was more immaculate in its presentation than any in the entire City. Clean storage cupboards, labelled in clean cut wall units. Paintings of unfamiliar warriors and people with arms affectionately slung over gear and other people. A small kitchenette and oven. It was like a parallel universe. Slowly, she began to feel his gaze upon her. She squinted. In the darkness sat a man with black and gold streaked hair. His eyes glinted metallic tan just shy of gold.

  “Garen, would you be so kind to leave us?” he asked, his voice strangely comforting.

  “Oh no. He won't. I want him to hear everything you tell me.”

  Garen balked at first blush, but soon felt reassured by her attitude.

  “As you wish, then, Tsukino Usagi,” he continued. “I may need to be indelicate before I can be of service.”

  “Inwhatawhat?”

  “I must pry into your past.”

  That sensation of infamy began to make some sort of sense. He was trying to help, but he sounded like a jerk in the process. She swallowed hard and her voice cracked a little as she stammered, “I'm not… I'm… Garen… I'm okay. It's okay. Ask me.”

  Maybe a nod, a tilt of head, a flicker of recognition, but she was not sure. He asked, “Where is Hino Rei?”

  “I don't know. I haven't seen her since Japan,” Usagi replied, coldness creeping into her voice.

  “Hino… er, I'm guessin' that's one o' ya friends?” Garen asked, and Usagi nodded, not making eye contact. Garen sighed, and took a seat. No ways I'm gettin' though t'her when she's like this.

  “Neither have we. Pardon me, Usagi, but I have a request for Garen,” the fellow said, gaze shifting over to Garen, expression soft.

  “Beh, sure, like what?” Garen asked, standing.

  “Find her friends.”

  Usagi growled unpleasantly. “How? Why'd you want them? Nobody cares!”

  “Perhaps you're right.” He stood, manner resolute. “Then, you are uninterested in them?”

  Usagi backed away as he approached her. I'm not going to take another chance, not even for the other senshi, Without a word, she turned, and began to leave.

  “Usagi, wait.”

  She turned, eyes narrowed sharply, face drawn in an angry scowl.

  “If you cannot trust me, then trust Garen. Action is your currency, is it not?” he offered in unaffected tones. Usagi left, leaving the space for her reply empty as the depths her heart had fallen to.

  Garen shook his head. “Huh,” he grunted. “Ya think she's it?”

  The black haired man nodded self-assuredly. “Yes.”

  “So… but she don't trust ya?”

  “No. Fortunately she trusts you.” Garen shrugged, and left. Outside, Usagi had curled into a ball on the ground, and was sobbing into her arms. Garen knelt down next to her, and put a hand on her arm.

  “I'm sorry,” he heard her mutter as she cried. “I couldn't.”

  “Nevah mind him. Jus'… nevah mind,” he touched her shoulder, and let her wrap her arms about him.

  Chapter 20

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