This is my first attempt at writing fan fiction based on the El
Hazard series.  Note that it is based on the continuity of the
two OAV series and the second television series "The Alternative
World".  It certainly contains spoilers for the first OAV
series, and a few for the second OAV series.  At this point, six
chapters are planned.  Though I call them "chapters" they are
more or less independent stories (which is what I said about my
Sailor Moon stories, so you're free to believe as much of that
as you like).


	El Hazard and characters therein were created by Hiroki Hayashi
and Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC.
All the normal fanfic disclaimers apply.  I'll give this one a
PG rating.


Ken Wolfe


Ken_Wolfe@mbnet.mb.ca




El Hazard - Earth Chapter 3 - Awakening



Prologue



	Nanami was surprised to see Makoto already in his suit and tie
when he emerged from the bedroom wing into the big open living
area.  "Well, you're off to an early start this morning."

	"Wouldn't do to be late for my big presentation."

	"Have a seat," Nanami said, pointing to the table where she'd
set three places.  While Makoto helped himself from the rice
cooker, she took the steaming pot of miso soup from the range
and served both of them.  She set it to simmer and went to sit
down.  "What's that, last minute changes?"

	He glanced at the manila envelope he had brought with him. 
"Just a few thumbnail sketches of some alternate designs, in
case they're interested."

	"Mind if I have a look?"

	"Be my guest."

	She slid the folder closer and opened it up.  "Oh, a six-legged
one.  Inspired by the Bugrom?"

	He chuckled.  "They may be nervous about going straight to a
bipedal model.  This would be a more stable, conservative
approach."

	"So you really figure they can build these?"

	"They can.  It's just a matter of getting them to accept the
idea."

	Nanami wondered what the people at Shinohara Heavy Industries
would think if they knew where Makoto had got these ideas from. 
"Are you taking Junior with you this time?"

	Makoto glanced over at Junior standing unobtrusively in the
corner of the living room and smiled fondly at his creation.  It
was a half-scale working model of the guardian robot that Makoto
had inadvertently activated two years ago back in Floristica,
something he had been working on long ago in an attempt to
understand the ancient Living Machines of El Hazard.  He had
completed it here with local materials, to help mask its
origins.  Lacking the armor which concealed the original's 
innards, Junior would certainly win no beauty contests.  "No,
this meeting is with the execs, not the engineers."

	Nanami whistled.  "They were that impressed, huh?"

	"Junior can't do much, but it's a lot more than any other
bipedal robot on this planet can do."

	And he was selling them the technology for a song.  No wonder
they were tripping over their tongues.  "Just remember your
promise."

	He smiled.  "Of course.  Once they've bought into it..." he
swiped his hands back and forth in a wash-my-hands gesture. 
There were a variety of reasons they had agreed to minimize
their association with this little technology transfer.  Makoto
was excited about it, but thankfully he was exercising some
common sense too.

	"You ought to let Ifurita make the presentation, that way you'd
have the cheesecake factor working for you."

	"Nanami!"

	"Hey, use whatever advantage you've got."

	"Well, these execs are all old-timers, former engineers.  I
think the idea of a woman understanding principles of
engineering would give them a cerebral hemorrhage."  There was a
hint of a smile.  "Besides, I worry about Ifurita's ability to
gracefully take no for an answer."

	"So when can we expect you back?"

	"Sometime this afternoon.  I'll call before I head back.  Can
you tell that to Ifurita when she gets up?"

	*Just as I thought.*  "You didn't have her up to the wee hours
of the morning did you?"  She managed to keep her tone casual.

	"No.  She was helping me yesterday, but she turned in early."

	Which she had been doing a lot of lately.  And sleeping in. 
"Sounds like your wife is getting lazy."  As if.

	There was a false ring to his laugh.  "She's just trying to fit
in with us mere mortals, that's all."

	"Is that why I actually beat her at tennis last week?"

	"Maybe you're just getting better.  Having a cyborg opponent
will probably do that, you know."

	Just like last time, he was making a joke of it.  Nanami
resisted the urge to press him.  She had learned a while ago
that he had a blind spot where Ifurita was concerned.  "Maybe I
should try and introduce the game to Rostalia.  I'd get more
practice, and if it catches on I could make a killing selling
tennis equipment.  Oh don't give me that look, I was kidding
about that last bit."

	Makoto's disapproving look melted into a smile.  "Actually I
like that idea.  We should discuss it the next time we have a
quorum."  The 'quorum' he spoke of was called either 'the
technology and culture transfer review committee' or 'the usual
lunch crowd' depending on how you looked at it.  Its core was
the three Earthlings and the three Great Priestesses... and it
also included whoever else tagged along for lunch.

	"Couldn't be any more severe than introducing robots to Earth."

	"We're not 'introducing' robots to Earth..."

	Nanami smiled and waved her hand dismissively.  "I know I know,
I'm just razzing you that's all.  By the way, do you think you
could take me back tomorrow?"

	"Sure, no problem."  Makoto was of course stuck with providing
the interdimensional taxi service.  The fact that Ifurita never
took over the task herself was another of the little things that
Nanami had been wondering about lately.

	"Sounds like you'll need to stick around here while this deal
with Shinohara is pending."

	"Yeah, I'm figuring a couple of months or so.  We'll still pop
over at least once a week."

	It was still odd hearing him talk that way.  *Yes, we'll come
over to El Hazard for the weekend.*  In fact all of them had
been spending most of their time in Rostalia.  Makoto and
Ifurita spent a bit more time over here, they seemed to enjoy
having the place to themselves once in a while.  Usually when
the Rostalians came to stay all or most of them came together. 
The same normally applied to Nanami - however warmly she was
welcomed, she couldn't help but feel like an intruder when she
was there by herself.

	But she had now come to the conclusion that there was something
going on there that she needed to deal with.

			--***--



	It was nearly two hours after Makoto had left that Ifurita
emerged from their bedroom.  Like him, she was already dressed. 
Unlike him, she looked like she hadn't had enough sleep.  Even
though it had been nearly ten hours.  She smiled.  "Good
Morning, Nanami."

	Nanami laid down the magazine she had been reading.  "Morning
sleepy head.  You missed breakfast by a mile."

	"That's okay, I'll make myself some bacon and eggs."

	Nanami had seen the late breakfasts Ifurita had been making for
herself lately.  Four eggs and half a pig.  "Ooh, my arteries
harden just thinking about it.  Ifurita, if you're trying to
make the rest of us girls jealous of your metabolism you're
doing a fine job."

	She smiled shyly.  "I'm sorry, I don't really mean to."

	Which means you're really that hungry.  Interesting.  Nanami
got up from the couch and headed towards the kitchen that opened
onto the living area.  "Here, I'll give you a hand."  Nanami
wasn't somebody who could watch other people work.  Which made
this look perfectly normal and innocent.  Well and good.

	"Thank you."  Ifurita followed her into the kitchen. "Did
Makoto leave for Shinohara Industries on time?"

	"Bright and early.  Should be making his pitch to them as we
speak."

	"Did he look nervous?"

	"Nope, not a bit."  Which was the truth.  But it didn't seem to
give Ifurita much comfort.  Then Nanami hit on what the problem
was.  I saw him off, you didn't.  You wish he hadn't let you
sleep in.  But of course he would, Makoto being who he is. 
"I've got champagne in the fridge, I thought Makoto might like a
little celebration tonight."

	Ifurita put the frying pan onto the stove and turned to smile
at Nanami.  "That was very thoughtful, Nanami."

	"It'll make a nice surprise.  Here, catch."  She threw two eggs
at Ifurita.

	Weeks ago Nanami had seen Ifurita juggle four eggs at once, had
seen her juggle four *knives* at once, usually when goaded on by
Shayla.  She had seen the Demon God snatch flies out of the air
with chopsticks.  By their wings.

	It had been a good, easy toss, Nanami probably could have
caught them both herself.  But Ifurita's clumsy attempt failed
spectacularly.  Plop, plop.  Ifurita looked down at the two
cracked shells slowly leaking egg white onto the floor tiles. 
"Oh... I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

	"Uh huh."  Nanami stared her down, arms crossed.

	Ifurita's brow knitted in an angry frown.  "You shouldn't have
thrown them so suddenly," she said defensively.

	"What's going to happen the next time Shayla challenges you to
a juggling duel?"  Ifurita's look of indignation was looking
less convincing by the moment.  She was the one to break the
stare-down.  She knew she'd been found out.  There was no sense
of victory, quite the contrary.  Nanami sighed.  Without a word
she pulled a couple of paper towels off the roll and went to
clean up the eggs.  Ifurita watched her in silence.  Nanami
washed her hands then turned back to Ifurita again.  She spoke
more gently this time.  "Makoto must have noticed by now.  I'm
sure you've got him convinced you're just trying very hard not
to be supergirl, for the benefit of us mere mortals.  But the
others are going to start noticing soon, if they haven't
already.  Don't you think it's time you told us what's wrong?"

	Ifurita wrapped her arms around her as if from cold, and turned
her head aside.  Nanami would almost say she looked ashamed. 
"It's not easy for me to talk about."

	"Would you prefer to talk to Makoto about it?"

	"No."  She looked back at Nanami, and continued, the urgency in
her voice now under control.  "No, that's not it.  I meant no
offense."

	"None taken.  Maybe we should go sit down."  To her relief,
Ifurita nodded.  On the way to the living room, Nanami picked up
two of the little cups and set out tea for them.  Ifurita didn't
touch hers, she just sat looking very troubled.  It looked like
she would need some prodding.  "Ifurita, are you sick?"

	"Right now, I'm just weak.  But it will get worse."

	A cold, sharp dread gripped Nanami's heart painfully.  The way
Ifurita said that... oh God please no, that would destroy him. 
"Is it serious?" she asked in a very carefully modulated voice.

	"I didn't think so at first.  But it could become serious."

	"So you know what it is?"

	She nodded.  "Since Makoto freed me from the power staff, I
have not had a direct power boost from it.  I can take some
energy from it indirectly, by its mere presence.  I thought that
and the organic food I've been taking would be enough.  For a
while it was. But recently my primary systems - the battle
systems I no longer use - have started to deteriorate.  They're
starting to release toxins into my blood.  Perhaps it's a design
flaw... or perhaps it's part of my design."  That last bit was
said with a cold bitterness that chilled Nanami to the bone. 
"Whatever the case, it seems I am utterly dependent on the
staff, maybe for my very life."

	Nanami shook her head.  "I don't understand.  Is there some
reason Makoto can't just wind your spring like Jinnai did?" 
Ifurita looked away again.  This time the expression of shame
was unmistakable.  Shame, and fear.

	In a flash, Nanami had it.  Not fear of death, as she had
thought.  Fear of being reminded of what she used to be.  Of
Makoto being reminded.  Nanami's choice of words loomed over her
like an accusation.  *wind your spring like Jinnai...*  Oh damn.
 Well, the damage was done, best to just deal with it. 
"Ifurita, if it's making you sick then you've got to ask Makoto
to help you fix it.  I mean, it's just like asking Makoto to
give you a flu shot or something, right?"

	"It's much more than that."  The Demon God's eyes met Nanami's.
 Reluctantly.  "At first I almost welcomed the increasing burden
my implants were putting on my system.  I thought they were
simply shutting down, and that I could look forward to becoming
something close to human.  But now..." she looked away again. 
"I must ask him to make me into a Demon God again."

	"Well, so what?  So you've got a few superpowers, join the
crowd.  Look, it's not going to be a big deal.  Just ask Makoto
to do it when he gets back.  Then we'll sit down, have some
champagne, celebrate this robot project he's so excited about."

	Ifurita sighed.  "I know I'm being foolish.  I just dread this
so much."  Nanami studied her carefully.  Now that she was
opening up just a bit her real feelings about the matter were
coming through in her body language.  Humiliation, degradation.

	How would I feel, being wound up like a child's doll?

	"Would you feel more comfortable if I did it for you?"

	Ifurita looked just as astonished as Nanami felt.  "You?"

	*Jeez, where did that come from?*  She just hated it when her
mouth decided not to bother consulting with her brain. 
"Well.... you know, 'cause we're both girls.  I thought it would
be less embarrassing."

	"You would do that for me?"

	"Sure.  I mean, if you want to."  She couldn't help letting her
growing trepidation show.  "There's nothing to it right?  If my
shit bro- uh, how difficult can it be?"

	"It's very simple."  The hope in Ifurita's face was almost too
much to bear.

	"Would you like to do it now?"

	"Yes."  When Ifurita stood up Nanami felt compelled to quickly
do likewise, like she was being carried along.  "It will cause
some light and noise, we should do it in the doujou where there
are no windows."

	"Right."  Nanami realized Ifurita would need to undress.  "You
want me to wait for you there?  I mean while you... get the
staff."

	"Thank you.  I'll be there shortly."  Her eyes threatened to
mist over.  "I can't thank you enough, Nanami.  You've lifted
such a burden from me."

	"It's my pleasure.  I'll see you shortly."  She walked to the
doujou while Ifurita went back to her bedroom, where the vault
containing the staff was hidden.  Nanami put her hand to her
forehead and sighed.  This was your idea girl, so no complaints.

	She turned on the ceiling lights of the large workout room and
paced about nervously.  She had seen the tail end of the process
by which her shit brother had awakened Ifurita.  If power boosts
were anything like that, this was likely to be some fireworks
display.  She hoped it didn't cause a fire or a blackout
anything.  She really hoped that a fire or a blackout was the
worst she had to worry about.

	A few minutes later Ifurita came in through the open door.  She
was wearing just a yukata now, and she held the staff at her
side.  Her previous look of elation was now tempered by more
than a little trepidation.  It was infectious.  She locked eyes
with Nanami and held out the staff.  It felt like being handed
the Necronomicon.  Nanami reached out and grasped it firmly,
more or less keeping her hands from shaking.  She was a little
relieved to find out that the bulky staff was much lighter than
it looked.  "So... what do I do?"

	"I will explain."  Ifurita undid the belt of her yukata,
slipped out of it and let it fall to the tatami mats they stood
upon.  She was in nothing but her underwear now.  It was hard
not to stare.  *Whoa, if Makoto ever takes her out to the beach
she is going to have a drooling hentai fan club in no time at
all.*  Ifurita turned around, and one hand came around to the
small of her back.  "This is where the end of the staff fits." 
Nanami swallowed hard, battling the queasy feeling that suddenly
surged up from the pit of her stomach.  She had known more or
less what to expect, but seeing that plug embedded in Ifurita's
skin just looked so Frankenstein.  Now she could understand why
Ifurita was so shy about sharing the bath with the other women.

	Ifurita turned to face her again.  Nanami sincerely hoped that
her expression showed no worse than nervousness.  "You simply
slide the end of the staff into the slot until it locks in
place.  Then give it ten half-turns clockwise.  The discharges
will stop after the tenth turn and it will not allow another
turn, so don't be concerned about losing count.  As I said there
will be some side effects, rather like thunder and lightning. 
But there is no danger and you will not be hurt."

	Nanami nodded curtly.  "Okay.  Got it."

	Ifurita frowned.  "Are you sure you wish to do this now?"

	"Yeah."  She smiled sheepishly.  "Sorry, I was just really
afraid I would mess it up.  But this sounds pretty simple."

	Ifurita nodded.  "Perhaps we should move to the center of the
room."

	Nanami followed her further into the room.  Her eyes couldn't
help but wander down to what she was already thinking of as
Ifurita's power socket.  "I can sort of see why you'd be
embarrassed by this.  I mean for heaven's sake this user
interface must have been designed by a committee of dirty old
men."

	Ifurita turned to fix her with a look of astonishment.  Nanami
was afraid that her rude joke had gone over poorly.  Then the
corners of Ifurita's mouth came up incrementally.  Nanami
laughed nervously.  Ifurita turned away from her again. 
"Whenever you are ready."

	"Okay, here we go."  Nanami carefully brought the end of the
staff up to the Demon God's power socket.  She drove it home
rather more forcefully than she had intended.  Ifurita's body
quivered, and her hands curled up into fists.  "I'm sorry,"
Nanami said remorsefully.  "Did that hurt?"

	"No," came Ifurita's gruff voice.  Her fists were still tightly
clenched, and were trembling slightly.  It didn't look like
pain... it was something else.  *God, she really does hate this.
 Poor thing.*

	Nanami very carefully shifted her grip to the key-like blade at
the other end of the staff.  Her hands were slick with sweat,
and she absolutely did not want to drop it.  She took a deep
breath and twisted the staff.  It turned easily.  There was a
sound from Ifurita's socket that did sound for all the world
like ratchets in a big clock that was being wound.  Blue-white
sparks danced around the spot where the staff impaled the Demon
God.  Again very carefully, Nanami shifted first one hand then
the other and gave the staff another turn.  This time little
sparks played up and down the length of the shaft and danced
through the two translucent globes that were embedded along the
shaft's length. *That's two.*  Carefully, mechanically, Nanami
cranked the staff around again and again, trying to ignore the
tingling in her hands and the rapidly building intensity of the
lightning bolts that played up and down the shaft and across
Ifurita's body.  *Eight.*  The lightning dazzled her eyes now,
the sharp crackling of the discharges was deafening.  Near
panic, Nanami wondered if something was going wrong.  But she
didn't want to just stop.  *Nine.*  Her hands felt numb... just
one more.  *Ten.*

	The lightning stopped.  Their afterimages danced in front of
Nanami's eyes every time she blinked.  There was no sound save
the ringing in her ears.  She was getting some feeling in her
hands again.  She could feel them trembling.  But it wasn't her,
it was the staff.  Then she became aware that she was not the
only one gasping for breath.

	Ifurita's knees were visibly shaking.  Her shoulders came up
and down with each shuddering breath.  If Nanami didn't know
better she'd swear the staff impaled in her back was the only
thing holding her up.  "Ifurita, are you okay?"  There was no
answer, no response of any kind.  Panic gripped at Nanami's
heart again.  What had she done wrong?  She looked down at where
the staff was locked into Ifurita's back.  Oh God was I supposed
to pull this out right away, is that the problem?  She quickly
shifted her grip back to the shaft and pulled.  It came out
easily.  Ifurita didn't even seem to notice.

	Nanami laid the staff down on the floor beside her and walked
around to Ifurita's front.  "Ifu-" the call stuck in her throat
as Ifurita's wild, unfocused eyes came into view.  She was
panting, her quivering lips baring teeth held open by her
tightly clenched jaw.  Never - not when faced with bugrom hordes
or murderous blue aliens - never had Nanami's base instincts
screamed at her so insistently.  Screamed at her to run.



Stage One



	Doctor Peter Fedorov hated sleep.  His new friends and
colleagues here at Tokyo University simply dismissed it as a
sign of just another workaholic.  Especially his students.  He
had been quite shocked at how lackadaisical college students in
this country could be.  He had heard so much about their
rigorous school system that made Russian military academies look
like a Black Sea resort.  But the slow process of learning the
language brought with it insights into the culture of his
adopted homeland.  Yes, after thirteen years that started with
kindergarten entrance exams, he would probably want to drink
beer and ski for a few years too.  Well, actually that wasn't
true, the label of workaholic was one he could not deny.  But
there were deeper reasons for his hatred of sleep.  Life was
such a fleeting gift, one the world gave grudgingly and took all
too readily.  Death would bring oblivion quickly enough, to
waste life in a state of oblivion was a tragedy.

	Peter had never changed his habit of turning in early...
relatively speaking.  Which was why as usual he was already on
his way to the University at four in the morning.  His tiny
apartment was but a five minute ride away, or a fifteen minute
walk if conditions were unfavorable for bicycles.  Which was
fortunate, since even in this city that ticked like a monstrous
clock no subways or buses were running at this hour.

	Peter set his bicycle into the rack and slid his pass card
through the reader to let himself into the laboratory building. 
Only dim safety lights at the entrances lit his way as he walked
down the silent corridor and to his office.  Joining the
robotics projects last year had provided him with one side
benefit.  His new office was about twenty times the size of his
old one... though only one little corner of it looked anything
like what one would call an office.  He keyed open the door and
hit the light switch within.  The rows of florescent lights far
overhead flickered to life, revealing the woman standing right
in front of him.  He dropped his briefcase and bellowed an oath
in Russian that involved bovine anatomy and venereal diseases.

	The pale woman simply raised an eyebrow, her neutral expression
not changing in any other way.  "Doctor Peter Fedorov?"

	Doctor Fedorov stood there, clutching his heart, panting.  He
waited just long enough to convince himself that he was not
having a cardiac arrest.  Which gave him some time to size up
the intruder.  A young woman, very comely.  He would guess she
was albino, were it not for the deep blue eyes.  She was dressed
far too nicely to be cleaning staff, which had been his first
guess after coherent thought had returned again.  His second
guess fueled his anger, provided a direction for it.  He jabbed
a finger at her.  "If you are from one of the intelligence
services back home, you are in *big* trouble, lady.  I am a
tenured professor here, if they find out you're harassing me
there is going to be a major incident, very embarrassing to
whomever you are reporting to."

	Her mildly puzzled look faded, and she shook her head.  "I am
not from any intelligence service.  My name is Ifurita."

	Why did that sound familiar?  "What are you doing standing in
my office in the dark?"

	"I did not need the lights.  And I am here because I wish to
speak with you."

	Her unflappable calm was becoming annoying.  "How did you get
in here?"

	"I manipulated the door locks."

	"You mean you broke in."

	"Yes.  I have not damaged anything, nor do I intend to."

	"Well, that's very good to hear, miss Ifurita.  Wait, now I
remember where I've heard your name.  It was in the news a few
weeks ago.  You're the wife of that young fellow who had gone
missing for two years."

	"Yes.  Mizuhara Makoto is my husband."

	Peter regarded her closely.  Her air of detached politeness
held firm, but he couldn't help feeling that somehow he'd
touched a nerve.  "What is your business with me?"

	The hesitation before she spoke was brief but noticeable.  "I
need your help.  My behavior has recently become irrational, and
I don't know why.  There is something wrong with me, I need to
understand what it is."

	Peter decided to lay aside for the moment the fact that she had
broken into his office in the dead of night to ask his help. 
"Well, my work has touched on psychology at times, but I'm
hardly qualified to do clinical work.  I think you've got the
wrong man."

	"I read your book Android Epistemology some time ago," she
said, not at all put off by what he had said.  "I believe you
are uniquely qualified to help me."

	Android Epistemology?  "That book was mostly speculative
arm-waving about robot and neural network design.  Why did that
make you think I can help with your problem?"

	"Because I am an android."

	It was coming back to Peter now, some of the details he'd heard
about this celebrated missing persons case.  The three people
had claimed they were on another planet for two years.  And the
two men had come back with wives they claimed were aliens.  Oh
great, as if there weren't enough crackpots in the world.  He
was caught between the urge to laugh and the urge to tell her to
get the hell out of his office and stop wasting his time.  He
decided to do neither.  If this woman truly was disturbed, she
deserved better treatment than that.  "Well, I must say that you
look very human to me."

	Her eyes narrowed slightly.  Peter was afraid she had
interpreted his tone as mockery.  But she simply gave a curt
nod.  "I understand."  What it was she understood was not clear
to Peter.  "As a man of science, you trust the evidence of your
senses."

	It had not been a question, but Peter felt compelled to answer.
 "Yes.  Right now my senses are telling me I am speaking to a
young woman just as human as me."

	She raised her hand between them, palm up, like she was
expecting him to give her something.  A moment later a little
orange-red ball of roiling flame flared into existence inches
over her palm with a little pop and whooshing sound.  Peter
involuntarily took a step back.  He felt just a mild heat on his
face, nothing more.  But that alone was remarkable.  It meant
that this was no illusion.  There really was a flame there,
generating heat.  But it was like the air itself was burning. 
"What the hell...?"

	"Could a human do this?"  He glanced up, to see that her eyes
had not left his.  Her expression was somewhat more stern now,
as if to drive home that she had answered his challenge.  "Or
this?"  The flame disappeared with a pop.  A moment later drops
of water started spinning crazily over her palm.  They rapidly
congealed into a little dancing whirlpool of water that gurgled
and splashed in midair, spewing off myriad little sparkling
droplets then scooping them up again.

	Peter inched closer, less intimidated by this than he had been
by the flame.  "How the hell do you do that?" he breathed.

	"I manipulate water molecules utilizing forces of nature that
have not yet been discovered on this planet."  She stuck a
finger of her other hand into the impossible water bubble and
held it straight out to him.  "You can see that it is no
illusion."

	Peter reached out and caught the single drop of water that
dripped down from her extended finger.  As she said, it was no
illusion.  Then her words fully registered.  "My God... that
story of yours, it's all true."

	"Yes."  The water vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and
she lowered her hand.  "I am from El Hazard."

	Peter felt faint.  "I... I need to sit down."

	"Do you need any help?"

	"No, thank you."  He walked more or less steadily to the one
really nice swivel chair in the room, the one by his cluttered
desk.  Halfway there it occurred to him that his briefcase was
still sitting on the floor.  That just didn't seem terribly
important at the moment.  He sat down heavily and drew both his
hands through his plentiful but graying hair.  There would be a
few new gray hairs by the end of the day, that was for sure.  He
looked back up at his visitor, watching him from a respectful
distance.  She looked exactly the same as when he first saw her,
yet now he was seeing something utterly different.  Something he
had never dreamed he would see in his lifetime.  "Ifurita... I
have a thousand questions."

	"I understand."  She took a couple of steps closer, coming to a
more comfortable talking distance.  "I'll answer any questions
you have.  But my need is... rather urgent.  I really do believe
there is something seriously wrong with me."  Her own question
was asked wordlessly but eloquently by her imploring, eager
face.  *Will you help me?*

	Peter nodded.  "Okay."  It was very surreal, speaking to this
woman who had just shown him proof that she was something more
than human.  It was like his left and right eye were seeing two
different things, a woman and a miracle of technology.  Peter
had always been good at following streams of thought in
parallel, so with a little effort he was able to deal with it. 
"Uh, look.  Ifurita.  I have to level with you.  I must assume
that you were created with technology that is decades or
centuries ahead of our own.  The stuff we do..." he waved his
hand in a sweeping gesture that encompassed the busy room.  The
benches along all four walls and the big table in the middle
were a semi-organized mess of computers and half-assembled
wheeled robots of various sorts.  "It's got to be child's play
compared to what must have gone into making you what you are. 
I'm not sure how much help I'm going to be."

	"It is not really a technical problem, a... hardware problem, I
believe you would call it.  At least I don't think so.  The
simple fact is, I have found that I have done things without
being aware of them.  That is I was unaware of them until I
played back records from my internal recorders."

	"I see."  Something occurred to Peter just then.  "Pardon my
asking, but are there no engineers on your own planet who can
help you?  I seem to recall your story being that you could get
back there any time you wanted... teleport or whatever."

	She raised an eyebrow.  "Have you not read the fictionalized
account of our story?  It is reasonably accurate."

	"No, I just read a bit of what was in the news.  And some of my
colleagues were talking about it.  I understand the manga is
quite popular, but I confess that's one part of Japanese culture
I have never delved into."

	"Well, to be brief, the civilization that created me was
destroyed a long time ago.  I am able to keep functioning
because my systems are self-repairing.  Those systems are
functioning within normal parameters, as far as I know."

	"I see."  Peter closed his eyes tightly and shook his head
sharply, something he usually did when he was annoyed with
himself.  "Sorry, where are my manners.  Please, have a seat."

	"Thank you."  She walked over to the nearest swivel chairs,
picked it up with one hand and carried it nearer to him. 
Despite the fact that it was on rollers.  He found himself
suddenly thinking of the Terminator.  She set it down gently
like it was light as a feather and sat down.  She regarded him
expectantly.  It felt like she was expecting a therapy session. 
It was more than a little intimidating.

	"Now, what seems to be the problem," Peter was tempted to ask. 
But he really needed to ask an even more basic question. 
"Ifurita, if I asked you to design and build an android just
like yourself, could you do it?"

	The question seemed to take her by surprise.  "No.  The Demon
Gods were not given the knowledge of how to make their own
kind."  She frowned.  "Is that what you wish me to do?  Make you
an android?"

	"No no," Peter said quickly, reflexively shaking his hand in
front of him, hiding behind it.  "I'm interested in how much of
your own internal workings you understand and are aware of."

	"I understand only what I am conscious of.  And what I have
been able to conclude from that."

	"So what you know about yourself you learned strictly through
introspection?"

	"Yes."  She cocked her head.  "Is that going to be a problem?"

	Peter suddenly felt very uncomfortable.  "Ifurita, you don't
read minds do you?"

	It seemed to take just a moment for her to catch his drift. 
"No, not in the way you probably mean.  Your face was radiating
less heat, and there were other indicators.  You were... I think
the word is disappointed.

	It looked like there was no point denying it.  "I guess I am. 
I mean, there go those thousand questions I was going to ask
you."

	The corners of her mouth came up incrementally.  She looked
vaguely embarrassed.  "I'm sorry, Doctor Fedorov.  Does this
mean you won't be able to help me?"

	It seemed she could appreciate irony.  "No, I'll do what I can.
 And just Peter is fine."

	She smiled warmly.  "Thank you, Peter."

	Half of Peter's mind responded naturally to her gratitude.  The
other half was drooling at the thought of finding out what was
going on in her head.  "I'm flattered that you've come to me for
help... overwhelmed, actually.  I'm curious, though.  If you
don't know the details of your internal architecture, how do you
know if my area of work will be of any help to you?"

	Again, the android woman hesitated for a moment.  "As I said, I
read your latest book.  That prompted me to read all of your
previous works."

	He raised a busy eyebrow.  "All of them?"

	"They took longer to find than to read.  I visited many
university libraries yesterday.  Your work spans many fields."

	"You read all that in one day?"

	"In a little more than an hour, all told."

	Not just human intelligence, superhuman.  The left side of his
mind was crooning now.  "And did this allow you to draw any more
conclusions about yourself?"

	"I assume I must be some sort of neural network.  I believe I
have the same sort of conscious experience as other people. 
When I tell them what I think and feel, people understand.  When
they tell me, I understand.  So I think much of my design must
have been reverse engineered from a human brain."

	"Probably a good guess.  What about these other things you do,
the... creative alchemy, for lack of a better term.  What is
your experience when you do that?"

	"Much the same as when I do strictly 'human' things like
walking.  I am aware of doing it, but not the details of how it
is done.  I acquire the ability in a slightly different way, but
otherwise it's like manipulating another limb."  She cocked her
head.  "Is something wrong?"

	He really wished she would stop doing that.  "I'm just feeling
rather overwhelmed.  Your engineers must have done something way
beyond reverse engineering a human brain.  They actually
designed extensions to it.  You read how the design of the brain
mirrors the design of the body?"

	She nodded.  "Yes.  Every part of the body is mapped to a part
of the brain, both motor cortex and sensory cortex."

	"More or less.  If they gave you four arms instead of two they
would have to redesign your brain accordingly.  But they went
one step further, they gave you motor abilities that are
qualitatively different.  Integrated into your brain is a
network that controls the fire and water and whatever else.  And
presumably whatever senses you saw the blood flow in my face
with... is it infrared?"

	"Ultraviolet as well."

	"Okay, so that would mean a complete redesign of your visual
cortex.  It's just mind-boggling, the magnitude of the task." 
Her eyebrows were arched, which is what she seemed to do when
she was puzzled.  She didn't get it.  Peter sighed.  "Why don't
I show you a few things."



		--***--



	They played with little robots for an hour.  Peter had just
scattered a bunch of blocks all over the floor and they were
watching an oversized bug on wheels gathering them up.  "Now
watch what it does," Peter said from his chair, pointing.  The
little bug slowly lumbered along to where two blocks lay.  Its
motors could move it much faster, its speed was restricted by
the rate at which its little brain could process what the
mini-camera in its nose showed it.  The bug sat there for a few
seconds, making little jerks to the left then the right. 
Finally, it turned and headed for the block on the left, and
caught it in the pincers that protruded from its front.

	"That's one of the hardest things to get a neural network to
do, resolve two conflicting motivations.  It wants both blocks,
but can only pick up one at a time to take back to its nest."

	"You really think it wants the blocks?"

	Peter chuckled.  "Ah, you caught me.  Okay, let me ask you one
first.  Do you think an earthworm wants to find food?"

	"I would expect so."

	Peter pointed out to the bug slowly making its way back to the
collection of blocks it had been gathering.  "Little Rasputin
there has a neural network that is probably about as
sophisticated as that of an earthworm.  I'd submit that it has
about the same level of consciousness.  That is to say, very
little indeed.  It is capable of wanting something, but maybe
only one or two things.  Now, consider something like a
salamander.  Far more sophisticated network, orders of magnitude
more complex.  It has to be, the salamander has to deal with a
more complex environment.  Avoiding predators while searching
for food.  Fighting competitors while searching for a mate.  You
make another quantum leap in complexity and you've got small
mammals.  More complex motivations, protecting their young and
so on.  Make another leap and you've got us."

	Ifurita nodded.  "Yes, I read that.  You said that
consciousness arose as a way of resolving conflicting
motivations."

	As they had been playing with the robots she had already
demonstrated an encyclopedic knowledge of pretty much anything
he'd written, so it no longer surprised him.  "Right.  Now
here's the point.  These clever little toys my colleagues and I
have been spending so much time making are many, many orders of
magnitude less sophisticated than the networks that are driving
you and me.  You already know that, of course.  But consider
what I'm up against in trying to help solve your problem for
you."

	Ifurita did think on that for a while.  She did not look
daunted or disappointed as Peter was expecting.  When she spoke,
he had the feeling that a barrier had come down.  "Peter, I
understand what you're trying to say.  But it wasn't really your
expertise in robotics that prompted me to seek you out.  It was
your work in philosophy."

	"Philosophy?"  Peter couldn't help but chuckle.  "I almost got
thrown out of the philosophy department.  That is, until I quit."

	"I can imagine why they were uncomfortable with your work.  You
wanted to develop a general epistemology, one that was not
restricted to humans.  You wanted to think about how any sort of
mind would understand the world.  Human, animal... machine."

	"And that's why I've been bouncing around departments like a
billiards ball."

	"I know.  Artificial Intelligence.   Neurology.  Linguistics. 
Psychology.  Robotics.  You've made significant contributions in
all those areas."

	"Well, I think you're overstating the case.  I've just become
an expert in expressing the basic questions of one field in the
language of another field, so I fool everyone into thinking that
it's new and fresh.  You're right about my motivation.  My dream
is to build a unified theory of cognitive science.  I think I'm
suffering from Physics Envy."

	Ifurita cocked her head.  "Excuse me?"

	"Sorry, it's a poor joke.  The point is, I'm very far from that
dream.  Even after all these years, I'm only just beginning."

	"I think you are further along than anybody else."

	Peter smiled.  "Well, I guess I'd better concede the point
before you stroke my ego up to dangerous levels."  He raised his
hand when it looked like she was going to object.  "I know, your
praise is genuine and it's appreciated - so I'll stop wishing
for knowledge I don't have.  Are you ready to talk about your
problem now?"

	She just nodded, piercing him with that frank, innocent look.

	"Why don't we get that photographic memory of yours working for
us, then.  You said there were things you did that you weren't
aware of until later.  Could you tell me what the first of those
things was?"  He sensed there was something wrong even before
she spoke.

	"I killed my husband's oldest and dearest friend."



Stage Two



	In the space of two seconds, Peter considered and rejected the
idea of making a run for it.  He swallowed.  "What?"

	Ifurita averted her eyes, drew a fidgeting hand through her
wavy hair.  "I'm sorry, it isn't like that.  She's not dead.  I
was able to save her."

	Peter took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.  "Ifurita, why
don't you start at the beginning and tell me what happened, in
as much detail as you can."

	She did.  Peter learned about her talisman, the 'staff key'
which allowed her to focus and direct far more energy than she
could with just her own body.  And how Mizuhara had freed her
from the bondage it held her in.  And how their friend Nanami
had tried to rejuvenate Ifurita's failing systems with the
staff's power.

	At this point she hesitated.  "Did something go wrong?" Peter
asked softly.

	"No, the process of 'winding my spring' worked as it should. 
But it affected me as it never had before.  I can only guess it
was because this was the first power boost I had received since
Makoto had freed me from the staff's hold.  Suddenly I was
feeling fear, blind rage.  I had no idea why, but I felt...
cornered.  Like some horrible thing was reaching out to snatch
away my soul.  But what or where that something was, within me
or without..." she shook her head.  "Of course Nanami was
alarmed by the state I was in.  She tried to comfort me, reached
out to me.  She touched my shoulder, nothing more.  The next
thing I was aware of was her lying on the floor in front of me."

	Ifurita took a shuddering breath.  She spoke more hesitantly
now, her eyes only making quick, furtive glances in his
direction.  "I could sense that her heart had stopped.  Maybe
that was what snapped me out of my paralysis.  In just a second
I played back what had happened.  The moment she had touched me,
my hand had shot out and applied a shock that stopped her heart.
 I knew I had done it, but it was like watching the actions of
some stranger.  By that point I was panicked, hysterical.  But
somehow I had the presence of mind to undo what I had done.  In
just a few seconds I applied a different sort of shock... I
believe you would call it defibrillating the heart.  It worked.
I stood over her, watching her recover.  I had no idea what had
happened, why I had done that.  All I could think was, what if
it happened again?  What would trigger it?  When she started to
regain consciousness I just ran."

	She took a couple of deep breaths before continuing.  It seemed
to calm her a bit.  "That was four days ago.  I spent the better
part of a day in isolation.  But introspection provided no quick
answers.  That was when I entered the city."

	"You were looking for me?"

	"Not yet.  I was considering it... I had read your book days
ago you see, was already fascinated with your ideas.  I decided
I needed more time to think before I approached you.  At least
that was what I told myself.  But looking back on it now, if I'm
honest about my motivations I have to say that coming to Tokyo
was an experiment."

	"Experiment?"

	She sighed.  "I don't know any other way to put it.  I was
using the people of this city as guinea pigs.  I wanted to see
what triggered my violent reaction."  The way she looked at him,
his reaction to this was obvious.  They both knew by now there
was no point hiding it.  "I know how that sounds.  All I can say
is that was how desperate I was.  Before I went anywhere near my
husband and my friends, I had to understand what was happening
to me."

	"And did something happen?"

	She nodded.  "Two incidents."  Pause.  "Neither were fatal. 
For anyone."

	"Do you feel like talking about it?"

	She answered the question by simply continuing her story.  "I
did prosaic things.  Checked into a hotel, bought clothing, ate
dinner, attended concerts, went for walks.  In a club where I
was waiting to be seated for dinner a man struck up a
conversation with me.  Even without my enhanced senses it was
obvious what he had on his mind.  I... did not discourage him. 
The first time he touched me was when my next blackout occurred.
 A moment later he was on the floor with a dislocated shoulder."

	"And you didn't remember doing it?"

	"No.  Not until I played back my internal recorders.  I reset
his shoulder for him and left."

	"You... just reset his shoulder?"

	"It was the least I could do.  He was in pain, but he will
heal."

	Peter decided to just let that pass for now.  "And the second
incident?"

	"I was sitting on a park bench feeding pigeons.  On the next
bench a man was having an argument with a little girl whom I
presumed to be his daughter.  He was insisting they had to go
home, but she wanted to stay in the park longer.  She was having
a temper tantrum, and hung onto the bench when he tried to pull
her away.  Finally he lost his patience and hit her.  She
immediately began crying out loud.  That was when I blacked out."

	It was difficult for Peter to work up the courage.  "And then?"

	"Next I was aware of standing in a dark alleyway, as if hiding
there.  I played back what had happened.  I had simply sprinted
away from the park and entered the first dark, isolated place I
could find."

	Peter felt a bit relieved by her answer, but also intrigued. 
He scratched his chin meditatively.  "Well, on the surface it
looks pretty straightforward.  In each case you had a very
intense fight-or-flight reaction to a stressful situation.  An
overreaction, to be sure.  Ifurita, you have been in combat
situations, have you not?"

	She nodded.  "Many times.  It is what I was designed for."

	"What you describe is similar to what many soldiers go through
after returning from tours of duty.  They were in an environment
where quick reaction to threat could mean the difference between
life and death, so they develop a hair-trigger.  They can react
violently to very mundane things.  A sharp noise, somebody
bumping into them, anything.  Later they often claim they were
not aware of their violent reaction until it was over."

	Ifurita considered that for a moment.  Then she shook her head.
 "In my whole life there has only been one battle when I really
feared for my life - and it ended quickly with no bloodshed. 
Before Makoto freed me from the staff, I was indifferent to the
idea of my own death.  In fact, looking back on it, some part of
me despised what my masters were forcing me to do, and would
have welcomed my demise."

	"So you never felt threatened before?"

	"Strangely enough, I felt threatened by Makoto when I first saw
him.  His journey to El Hazard left him with an ability to link
with the Living Machines, including myself.  A mere touch
flooded me with visions of his life, a life lived freely and
happily.  It threatened the whole basis of my existence.  But a
short while later he freed me from my chains, and I knew that
same happiness myself.  He was no longer a threat, he was my
salvation.  The only other time was..."  Her voice trailed off.

	Peter raised an eyebrow.  "Yes?"

	Ifurita sounded very awkward again.  "I told you how I felt
after the power boost, just before my first blackout.  It was
not just a vague, baseless terror I felt.  There was *something*
that I feared, something that I should have been able to
remember but could not."

	It looked like there wasn't much point in pursuing that.  At
least, not directly.  "I'm wondering if this is some conditioned
reflex that was drilled into you.  Did you have... oh, I hardly
know what to call it.  A period of training, learning?"

	"I have some vague memories.  More so than human beings I learn
by mimicry.  I recall watching and participating in mock combat
with other Demon Gods, and with lesser weapons.  But it was just
like my later experiences.  I learned defensive measures that
could save me in combat, but they never meant anything to me
except as another set of weapons and tactics.  Until I met
Makoto I don't think I had what you would call a survival
instinct.  Self-preservation was simply another directive I was
forced to obey."

	"It could be a reflex that was somehow planted in you without
your even knowing it.  Your mind is obviously at least as
sophisticated as our own, I think it's perfectly valid to think
of you as having a subconscious.  And it's conceivable that your
engineers took advantage of that.  Researchers here have been
able to do that with human beings, in a crude way, through
hypnotic suggestion and whatnot."

	Ifurita's expression of calm skepticism didn't budge an inch. 
"But I have never acted without thinking in battle.  I know
that, since I always played back tapes of any battle to analyze
them.  I was always fully conscious of what I did."

	Peter sighed.  "Well, something is obviously different now." 
He was beginning to think that Mizuhara had broken something
when he freed her from the staff key.  Presumably Ifurita's
engineers had built in barriers against that very thing
happening - perhaps some other important governors had been
dismantled along with those barriers.  He was reluctant to
suggest this to Ifurita just yet.  "It sounds like the best
thing we've got to go on is this *thing* you were afraid of
before your first blackout.  Is it possible to 'play back' that
moment from your internal recorders?"

	"Yes.  But I'm not sure what good it would do.  It would simply
give me a very vivid memory of what I was seeing and hearing at
the time, not what I was feeling."

	"That may be enough.  What I'd like you to do, if possible, is
play that moment back and just come up with words to describe
the thing you were afraid of.  Anything, even just one word."

	Ifurita frowned.  "That could be dangerous."

	"You mean to me, I presume.  Yes, I've thought of that, believe
me.  I won't move or make a sound, that way I won't be a threat."

	After a moment, she nodded.  "all right."  Her brows knitted,
as if she were in deep concentration.  He could see no other
reaction.  She may or may not have been quivering ever so
slightly.  When she finally spoke, it was as if in a trance. 
"Big.  Bigger than me.  Old.  Old as the world.  Watching me. 
Always.  Many.  Angry.  They hate me.  They hurt me."  Her face
transformed before his eyes, like an uncomprehending mortal
faced with the terrible wrath of a raging god.  "No..." it was a
tiny voice, almost a squeak.  Then she shivered and drew in a
deep breath.  It was over as soon as it had begun.  Now there
was only concern.  "Peter, did I do anything?" she asked
anxiously.

	"You blacked out, didn't you?"

	"Yes.  I think so."  She paused.  He assumed she was playing
back the moment.  "All I did was say one word."  She sounded
bewildered, but more than a little relieved too.

	"Are you feeling okay now?"

	"Yes.  But I really did feel that same fear again.  Just before
I blacked out."

	"Is it any clearer what you were afraid of?  Don't replay that
moment again, just tell me if there's anything obvious."

	She shook her head slowly.  "No.  I don't know what they were. 
The words I spoke, they just seemed correct somehow.  But I
still don't know what they are, these things."

	"You're saying 'they' now.  That's something new."

	She looked taken unawares.  "I don't know why."

	Peter sighed.  "Well, I'm really going out on a limb here,
but..."

	Ifurita's face lit up.  "You've thought of something?"

	"Something, yes.  The right thing, I don't know."  He just
couldn't bear to look into those wide eyes and withhold his
idea, even though he knew it was wildest speculation.  "I'll
have to speak in analogy here.  Consider a child, her
consciousness slowly forming as her body does.  She is learning
to understand her world.  It is a world of giants, adults who
tower over her and are a basic force in her world just as
gravity and momentum are.  They are omnipotent and omniscient,
they are everywhere.  They are demanding, forcing her to do
things that to her are incomprehensible.  They are impatient
with her, quick to judge and easily angered.  No matter how hard
she tries to please them, they find fault with her.  Punish her."

	Ifurita looked fascinated.  Not in the detached way he had seen
before, but in an intense, personal way.  He forged ahead. 
"What I have just described is the sort of experience most
people can recall from their early childhood.  For most, growing
comprehension of the rules by which the giants live brings an
end to the nightmare.  But consider a child for whom the
nightmare does not end.  Instead it only gets worse.  The giants
find yet more incomprehensible, horrible things for her to do. 
They no longer just hurt her when she makes a mistake.  They do
things to her.  They do things that change her, so that she can
do even more terrible things.  She wonders if she will ever
understand the purpose behind this madness.

	"Then one day they explain it to her.  It's very simple.  She
is going to be their slave.  Their tool.  Their weapon.  Forever
and ever."

	Ifurita looked stricken.  He felt both sympathy for her and
trepidation over what he had done.  He simply waited.  After a
while, Ifurita looked intently at him once again. "Peter, I'm at
a loss.  I feel as if you've told me about a part of myself I've
never seen. Yet I have no memory of any such things.  I don't
know what it means."

	Peter sighed.  "Okay, here's the part where I go out on a limb.
 I'll tell you my theory."  He leaned forward.  "I think what
Makoto did to you not only released you from your former
slavery.  I think it released subconscious memories you had been
keeping buried for a very long time.  Memories of your
childhood."

	Ifurita's eyes went wide.  "Childhood?"  She said it as if
invoking the name of an idolized and feared divinity.

	Peter nodded.  "That's right.  I don't think you're an android
at all.  I think you're a cyborg.  You had machines implanted in
you to make you into a weapon of war. But other than that, I
think you're as human as I am."



Stage Three



	Peter was becoming worried.  It had been over a minute now.  He
could almost believe that he had pushed her into some sort of
catatonic state.  She did not look distressed as she had during
her blackout, but nevertheless he was very reluctant to disturb
her.  Maybe throw something at her from across the room?

	He jumped when she suddenly looked up at him again.  "Is it
possible?" she asked.

	"As I said, it's a theory," Peter answered.  Now that he had
her attention and she was calm, he wanted to keep her focused,
keep her thinking.  "Even if it's not true, there's one thing I
am pretty sure of.  You're not a programmable digital machine
like these things."  He pointed at the PC on his desktop. 
"You're more like my little Rasputin.  We reversed-engineered
much of its neural net from the nervous systems of lower
invertebrates.  Your engineers must have done much the same with
you, studying their own neuroanatomy and modifying the design to
fit their requirements.  The point is, we didn't program
Rasputin to collect blocks.  All we did was set up feedback
loops that would lead to instabilities if it did not have a nice
collection of blocks nearby.  Call it a motivation if you like. 
That instability prompted it to go out and learn to find and
pick up blocks.  At first it was hopeless.  It was like watching
an infant trying to do a jigsaw puzzle.  But eventually it
learned, as a child does.  It's pretty good at it now."

	"But why do I not remember?" she asked.

	Peter got the impression she was still fixated on this idea of
her being human.  Maybe it had been a mistake, suggesting that
so early.  It was still an open question, he would have to keep
it that way.  "There are different sorts of memories.  Learned
behavior and skills.  Memorized facts.  Recollection of past
events.  All these sorts of memories can be the result of common
events, but they are stored and used differently.  It is
entirely possible that you had an early training period that
taught you skills like hand-eye coordination, language and
social interaction.  I have those same skills too but I
certainly don't remember everything about how I obtained them."

	"Yet you do remember things about your childhood."

	Peter really was beginning to regret having brought that up. 
"Yes, but the further back I go the more spotty the memory is. 
Humans learn their most important motor skills, language skills
and social skills before the age of five.  Yet few of us have
many specific memories from that far back."

	"I have none."

	It looked like there was no getting away from this.  "Ifurita,
I'll tell you what I think.  I have no idea whether you were a
human child who was operated on or whether your biological
components were grown artificially.  There may be no way of
knowing.  Frankly, I don't think it makes much difference. 
Either way, you started life as a blank slate with just a few
tendencies built into your network.  Instincts, if you like,
just like a baby has the suckling instinct.  You mentioned that
you learn by mimicry.  For complex behavior that means you must
have had teachers from whom to learn by example.  No doubt they
were harsh taskmasters. They had very specific ideas about what
they wanted you to become.  They would have been relentless in
their efforts to mold you into that role.  They would have
seemed to you like cruel, domineering parents."

	"So they are the things I am afraid of?"

	"Yes, I think so."  He was not nearly as certain as he sounded.
 But after all when he was this far out of his league what was
one more leap of faith.

	Ifurita thought about that for a moment.  "It makes sense. But
Peter, the people who made me what I am are long dead.  How can
I fear something that's not there?"

	"It's not that simple.  If you were mistreated, then removing
the people who mistreated you doesn't change what happened.  As
I understand, what Makoto did gave you back your freedom to do
as you will.  Maybe that also made you free to act on impulses
that were imbedded in your behavior by this past trauma."

	Ifurita shook her head, looked upon him with new resolve.  "I
have to find out what happened to me."

	Peter nodded, encouraged by her answer if not by the edge of
urgency in her tone.  "You've made a start today.  But I suspect
it's going to be a long process."

	She shook her head again, more sharply.  "You don't understand.
 I can't go back to Makoto until I've laid this to rest.  If
I..." she shuddered.  "I can't risk hurting him."

	"I understand," Peter said softly.  "Listen, I'll do everything
I can to help you, okay?  But it's going to take time.  For now,
why don't you call him up and tell him the situation."

	"No," she said flatly.  "If he knew where I was he would come
to me.  And I can't bring myself to lie to him.  He must be
worried sick by now.  I just don't know what to do."

	She was becoming too agitated for Peter's liking.  But he felt
just as lost as she did.  Which meant it was time for yet
another stab in the dark.  "Okay, how about this.  When I asked
you to play back the moment before your first blackout, that
brought out some new memories of your past, even if they were
very vague.  Maybe repeated iterations will bring out more.  But
Ifurita, even if that does work it's just the first step. 
You'll have to come to terms with whatever you remember."  And
never mind that she should be doing this with a clinical
psychologist, not an ex-philosopher turned robot engineer.

	Ifurita really did look like a lost child now.  It was becoming
harder and harder for him to think of her as being anything
other than human.  Abruptly her face lit up - or at least that
was how he perceived the sudden lifting of her distress. 
"Peter, in one of the papers you co-authored you talked about
hypnotic regression therapy.  Would that work on me?"

	Peter threw his hands up.  "Whoa, wait a second.  Slow down. 
That is a very experimental technique.  It's still in its
infancy despite what its practitioners claim.  There have been
some encouraging results, but it's got a spotty record at best. 
There are only a few people qualified to practice it, and I'm
certainly not one of them."

	Ifurita looked undaunted.  "In your paper you explained what
you thought was happening in the patient's brain when in the
hypnotic state.  You explained how it differed from both the
normal waking state and the sleeping state.  It seemed to make
sense."

	"I don't see how that helps.  You would still need a qualified
therapist, that is assuming this would work on you at all.  I
was only interested in it from the point of view of linguistics
and consciousness.  The process of hypnotism fascinated me, the
way it so dramatically changed the patient's state of
consciousness just using words.  I certainly didn't learn enough
to practice it."

	"I don't think I would need a hypnotist.  I could put myself
into the hypnotic state without help."

	"Ifurita, what makes you think you could do that?" Peter said
very carefully.

	She slowed down a bit, explained more calmly.  "It's something
I do without thinking, that's why I never thought to tell you
about it.  I have much more control of my state of consciousness
than humans.  Even when fully powered I still need a small
amount of sleep.  A short nap every few days is enough.  I can
put myself in and out of that state at will. But it's more than
that, I can set myself to a kind of sentry mode where I react
only to specific sorts of stimuli.  When I read your account of
the hypnotic state I was certain that this was in fact what I
had been doing to myself."

	"I suppose you want to try this?"  Peter felt like he had just
stepped over a cliff.

	She seemed to pick up on that.  "It won't be dangerous.  In
that state, I would be essentially paralyzed.  We will just have
to agree on a benign stimulus to return me to normal
consciousness."

	Peter sighed.  He looked up at the clock.  The early risers
would be arriving soon.  "Okay, I'll go put up the 'Do Not
Disturb' sign."  And I sure hope we know what we're doing. 
Yeah, right.



			--***--



	The couch was normally for when Peter couldn't even spare the
few minutes it would take to go to his apartment and back.  As
he watched, Ifurita took off her shoes, laid back and made
herself comfortable.  Peter wheeled his good chair up beside
her, sat down and flipped open his notepad.  "Well, I always
knew the day would come but I despaired of ever seeing it."

	Ifurita turned her head to look up at him.  "Excuse me?"

	"For a long time I've believed that one day computer
programmers and robot engineers would become android therapists."

	He was happy to see her smile.  "Do you remember the signals?"

	"When you open your eyes, I can start asking questions.  When
I'm done, I count down from five to one and snap my fingers."

	"Correct."  She hesitated, as if unsure about what she wanted
to say next.  "Peter, this is very important to me.  No matter
how painful it is, I want to uncover what happened to me.  It's
not just to help cure me.  It's to find out who I am.  Please,
even if you think I'm suffering, help me find out everything I
can."

	Peter nodded.  "Don't worry, Ifurita.  I'll do my best."  It
was the only sort of promise he felt able to give.

	"Thank you."  She looked straight up and then closed her eyes. 
Her expression became neutral.  It already looked like she was
asleep.

	In an astonishingly short time, her eyes flipped open again. 
It seemed like it hadn't been long enough, he wondered if
something had gone wrong.  She stared at the ceiling vacantly. 
He decided to just watch her for a minute.  She remained
perfectly still - except for her eyes blinking with perfect
regularity, as if to some internal clock.

	Finally he decided to test the waters.  "Ifurita, can you hear
me?"

	"Yes."  Her voice was soft, slow and emotionless.

	Well, here goes.  "Ifurita, can you remember the first Demon
God you defeated in combat?"

	"Yes."

	"What was her name?"

	"She was of the Banshee series."

	Peter already knew this.  He had just spent over an hour
questioning her on the parts of her past she did remember, to
give him points of reference.  He checked off the item on his
notepad.

	"Do you remember the first city you destroyed?"

	"Yes."

	"What was it called?"

	"Ithilien."

	So far so good.  He asked her several other questions basis
what she had told him previously.  Her answer matched correctly
each time.  Gradually, he took her back further in time, closer
to her earliest memories.

	Finally, he got to the point where he was stepping across the
line.  "Ifurita, can you remember when you had the last of your
battle implants installed?"  Ifurita had admitted no memory of
having any of her implants installed.

	"Yes."

	"And did the implants work after they were installed?"

	"Yes."

	"Were your masters happy with the results?"

	"Yes, they were very happy."  Her voice was still toneless,
devoid of life.

	"Can you remember the last time your masters were not happy
with you?"

	There was just a moment's hesitation before she answered. 
"Yes."

	"And how did you know they were not happy with you?"

	The change that came was subtle, almost subliminal.  But he had
been watching her utterly still, expressionless face so intently
that he picked up on it immediately.  There was a tightening of
her mouth and throat, a twitch of her eyebrows.  He began to
wonder if she were coming out of the trance.  But there was no
other sign of life.  He got nothing but a vague impression of
unease and tension.  "Ifurita, can you hear me?"

	"Please don't hurt me."  If he hadn't seen her lips move he
would swear it was another person speaking.  It was the same
tiny voice he had heard during her brief blackout.  The hints of
stress in the voice were now more subtle, but still unmistakable.

	"I'm not going to hurt you," Peter assured her.  "Nobody is
going to hurt you.  You're safe here.  I just need you to answer
a question.  Now, Ifurita, do you remember the last time your
masters were unhappy with you?"

	There was a moment's hesitation.  "That's not my name," she
said in the same high, stressed voice.

	Then Peter understood what was happening.  It was all he could
do to keep from shouting out another colorful oath from his home
country.  He just silently cursed himself.  Oh great, now you've
done it.  Congratulations, you've just uncovered the first case
of android split personality.  So now what are you going to do
mister genius cyber-Freud?

	For the moment, he would just work with it.  "And what is your
name?"

	She hesitated.  "Yuki."

	The word meant 'snow'.  Peter suspected she was remembering her
name's meaning, not it's original sound.  Be that as it may, he
was obviously talking with somebody else.  But that didn't
change what he needed to do.  "Yuki, can you remember the last
time your masters were displeased with you?"

	The cords in her neck stood out for just a moment before she
replied.  "Yes."

	"And why were they displeased with you?"

	"I did not obey immediately.  I hesitated."

	"But you did obey?"

	"Yes."

	"And what was it you had to do?"

	Her face screwed up.  Tears welled up in her eyes.  "I had to
kill mommy and daddy."

	Peter shivered.  *My God.*  An obedience test.  To make sure
she would do anything they asked.  He felt sick.  But he forced
himself to think about his next step.  He had been taking
Ifurita back in time, trying to probe the things she did not
remember.  But he felt compelled to take Yuki forward, to get
her perspective on the periods that Ifurita remembered.  It was
just a gut feeling, but he decided to go with it.  "Yuki, do you
remember the first Warlord you served under after your training
was complete?"

	Tears had trickled down from each eye.  But she seemed to be
past the worst of it now.  "Yes."

	"What was his name?"

	"Helcore."

	He ticked off an item on his notepad again.  Ifurita had
remembered him as little more than a name.  She had served under
many generations of these aristocratic Warlords, the early ones
were only dim recollections.  So perhaps there was some overlap
between their memories.  Though as yet he had no idea what to
conclude from that.  *Nothing, fool, you're flying in the dark
and you know it.*  He decided to probe forward more slowly now. 
"Do you recall the first order he gave you after taking
possession of your staff key?"

	"Yes."

	"And what did he order you to do?"

	"He made me kill somebody he didn't like."

	It was utterly morbid, hearing her talking about committing
what was probably a political assassination in this little
girl's voice.  "And was he pleased with you?"

	"Yes.  He said I was a good girl.  He said he wanted to reward
me."

	Peter raised an eyebrow.  Why would one reward a slave whose
obedience was guaranteed?  "And did he reward you?"

	By now he was very closely attuned to her level of distress. 
It shot through the roof.  She did not answer.  Tears trickled
down her face again.  Her unease was contagious.  Peter was
loath to press her.  But he had promised to help her uncover the
truth, however painful.  "How did he reward you, Yuki?"

	"He took me to his bedchamber and told me to remove my uniform."

	Peter took a deep breath and let it out.  No.  No more.  "Five.
 Four.  Three.  Two.  One."  Snap.

	Ifurita closed her eyes, prompting the tears welling up there
to trickle down the shining tracks laid down by their
predecessors.  For a while nothing more happened.  Peter was
debating calling out to her when her eyes opened again.  There
was some life in her face again too.  She looked mildly
astonished.  Her hands came up and she wove her fingers into the
platinum hair at her temples, pressed her hands against the side
of her face.  Again, there was no movement save her blinking
eyes and her breathing.  The fact that she had moved at all gave
Peter some relief, it demonstrated she really had come out of
the trance.  At least he hoped so.  He was content to let her be
for now.

	He didn't have to wait long.  Presently she sat up facing him. 
Her hands absently wiped at her cheeks, then went down to rest
stiffly on the couch at her sides.  Her glance drifted into his
as if by accident.  "How do you feel?" he asked.

	"A little disoriented," she said.  It was Ifurita's voice.

	"Is it really Ifurita I'm talking to?"

	She smiled slightly.  "Yes, I'm Ifurita."  She obviously
understood what he was really asking.

	"You must have already played back what Yuki said," he
suggested cautiously.

	She shook her head.  "No.  I remember what she remembered.  I
remember everything.  Yuki no longer exists."

	"Just like that?" Peter said incredulously.

	She smiled at his skeptical tone.  "I was aware of everything
that was happening.  More than that - I was aware of everything
Yuki was thinking.  I have integrated her memories into my own. 
I have brought her into myself."

	Peter resisted the urge to simply repeat his statement of
incredulity.  But he felt bound to test what Ifurita was saying.
 "So you remember what happened to your mother and father?"

	Her face fell.  "Yes," she said sadly.  "As a final test of my
bondage to them, they made me kill my mother and father."

	"You really remember doing that?"

	She nodded.  "I know it's hard to believe, that I suddenly have
all those new memories.  But quickly integrating new patterns
into my consciousness is what I was designed to do, like when I
acquire a new weapon.  Once Yuki's pattern was made known to me
I could internalize it in a matter of moments."

	Peter sighed.  "I'm sorry Ifurita.  You make it sound so
simple, but I don't imagine remembering these things can be easy
for you."

	"No, it isn't," she admitted.  "But it's far, far better than
not knowing."

	"So you can see what it is you were afraid of?"

	"Yes.  It was the Masters of the Engineering Guild who made and
trained me.  I really was a small child when they took me from
my parents.  As they trained me they did something to change my
form.  I have to assume it was very sophisticated genetic
engineering.  Then came the implants.  It was in my sixteenth
year when I was declared ready to serve my first warlord."

	God, only sixteen when those things happened.  "Helcore."  He
immediately regretted uttering the name.

	Her smile was sad but warm, as if to assuage his concern. 
"It's okay, I'm not embarrassed to talk about it.  By that time
I think Yuki was the only one who felt anything about what was
happening to me.  Even what Helcore did.  And he was hardly the
last.  For Ifurita, the act had no more significance than it
would for a plank with a knothole.  It was another order to
obey."

	"And now?" Peter asked gently.

	She considered for a moment before replying.  "Now, I can only
feel sorry for them.  The Masters, the Warlords, the Kings they
served, all of them.  They all feared me far more than I ever
feared them.  Everything they did to me was to allay their fear
of me.  And yet they just went on creating more and more Demon
Gods.  They were so pathetic."  It was said with more pity than
bitterness.

	"Do you at least have a few happy memories now?  I mean, of the
time before you were taken."

	He could see her visibly relax just a little.  "A few.  Mostly
just feelings.  I'm quite certain I was their only child, my
parents really doted on me."  She couldn't hold back a smile. 
"I'm sure they spoiled me terribly."

	"I doubt that.  You had the courage to endure what was done to
you, and then to face the truth about what had happened.  They
must have done something right, helped give you the strength to
bear it.  At least you have that."

	"Makoto gave me more happy memories than I ever dared hope I
would be granted.  I am content with that."

	She had told him about Makoto transferring his childhood
memories into her own.  Peter would have gladly given up the
rest of his life to learn how that worked.  "I'd say you've
earned every happiness."

	She smiled.  "Thank you, Peter."  When she spoke next, it was
with far more passion.  "Thank you."  Her expression said *for
everything.*

	"I think you did most of this on your own.  But I'm happy I was
able to help a little."

	"I'll be happy to fulfill my part of the bargain now."  Peter
didn't bother expressing his puzzlement, he knew by now she
would pick up on it.  "The thousand questions you wanted to ask."

	Peter chuckled.  "Blessed Lady Lovelace, I'd forgotten all
about that.  Anyway, this isn't the time.  You should contact
your husband, tell him you're okay."

	The look of gratitude in her eyes was more heartwarming than
anything he could ever remember seeing.  "You're very kind,
Peter.  I am anxious to go back home.  But I really want to
repay you in some way."

	"Well, I'll tell you what.  Sometime when it's convenient for
you I'd like to borrow your remarkable mind for a couple of
days."

	"Is there some task you have in mind?"

	"Not exactly a task.  Since you read through all my work in an
hour I'd like to give you a slightly longer reading list...
something that would take about a day.  Then I'd like you to
spend a day writing an essay on what you read.  It can even be
just a stream of consciousness piece, whatever random thoughts
you have about what you've read.  I would be very interested to
see what you come up with."

	"That doesn't seem like much, considering what you've done for
me."

	Peter smiled.  "Just meeting you has been reward enough.  I'd
consider this a favor."

	"I'd be happy to do it.  For my own sake as well.  I assume it
is material on cognitive science you wish me to analyze.  It may
teach me something more about myself."

	"You mean about ourselves."  Ifurita arched her eyebrows in
puzzlement.  "Have you forgotten?  You've rejoined the human
race now."



Epilogue



	Makoto assaulted the practice dummy with a ferocity he never
knew he had.  He was still very much a beginner, be it in
Japanese or Rostalian martial arts.  But he lay on his small
repertoire of attacks with a vengeance.  The two priestesses
he'd been studying under would have been surprised and impressed.

	That is, if they weren't trapped on another world, now forever
out of reach.

	"*No!*"  He slammed a fist one last time into the padded
surface of the poor helpless stick man.  He just held it there,
leaning into it, hyperventilating, nearly faint from pushing
himself beyond all endurance.  Sweat dripped freely from his
downturned face onto the mat.  *No.  Not forever.  Only until
Ifurita comes back.*

	He staggered out of the dojou and into the bath, peeled off his
gi and washed himself.  Then he sank down into the tub and
closed his eyes.

	Who is it I am so angry with, he asked himself.  Nanami?  Maybe
she should have waited for him.  Maybe if it had been him
instead of her he would have seen what was going wrong, stopped
it before it went out of control.  But it was Ifurita who had
wanted Nanami to do this thing for her.  She should have known
better.  She should have realized that her link with Makoto
might be vital if something went wrong.

	But whatever way he looked at it, it always came back to him. 
He'd seen the signs of Ifurita's deterioration, in retrospect
they were obvious.  But he had been so ready to accept her
excuses, to believe that everything was okay.  He'd been all too
eager to try and pretend he was married to the childhood
sweetheart of their shared memories and not to a Demon God full
of alien military technology that was slowly killing her.  No
wonder she hadn't come to him, hadn't wanted to shatter his
little fantasy.  He'd been lost in a self-absorbed delusion that
was worthy of Jinnai.  And now it might have cost them both
everything.  He squeezed his eyes tight and clenched his teeth. 
It was himself he was furious with, himself he was trying to
hurt.  But no amount of pain would be enough to atone for his
folly.

	Makoto dressed and made his way to the living room.  Nanami was
sitting right where he had left her.  The only difference was
she was looking at a book laid open on the coffee table.  As he
approached he saw it was a photo album.  Nervously he perched
himself on the front edge of the couch beside her, leaning
forward.  The pictures on the open page were mostly of the
Fujisawas and their baby.  "I don't think I've seen these," he
commented.

	"I only put them in the book last week," she said tonelessly. 
She did not look up. He couldn't recall any time she had
actually met his gaze, not since that horrible day when she'd
frantically confessed all that had happened, collapsing into
tears and begging for his forgiveness.  Of course he'd done
everything to try and convince her it hadn't been her fault. 
But she still didn't believe it.

	"Makoto-san?"

	She'd suddenly become very formal too.  He didn't like it. 
"Yes?"

	She still gazed down at the pictures.  Her profile was a
picture of quiet misery.  "Are we going to have to try and
pretend that none of it ever happened?"

	Makoto sighed.  He looked down, contemplated his hands steepled
between his knees in front of him.  "No, we aren't.  We'll meet
them all again.  If she doesn't come back to us then I'll go
find her.  I've done it before, I'll do it again."

	"Where will you look?"

	"Everywhere."  He didn't say it with much conviction anymore. 
If Ifurita really had fled in a fit of madness, then the staff
would open all of space and time to her.  He really would need
to look everywhere.  In this universe and all the others.  Or go
back and change the past.  Or create a new universe where this
hadn't happened.  Or some other impossibility.

	Nanami stood up.  "I'll make us some lunch."  He just watched
her back, which was pretty much all he saw of her now.  She
spent a lot of time and effort making elaborate meals, taking
care of trivial things around the home, fussing over her
investments.  Anything to keep from talking to him.  But he was
no better.  He couldn't bring himself to talk about it either. 
He knew perfectly well she hadn't done it deliberately, she
could never do such a thing.  Had they drifted so far apart that
they couldn't trust each other even that much?  It was yet
another of his dismal failures.

	The doorbell rang.  "I'll get it," Nanami said.  "I'm expecting
a delivery."  She dashed off to the door.  Makoto's gaze drifted
to the open photo album.  They were due to go back today.  Soon
their friends in Rostalia would be getting worried.  At some
point they would realize something was wrong.  They had the Eye
of God, maybe they could do something.  Afura might be able to-

	"*Oh My God!*"  Makoto was already on his feet and running.  He
came around the corner just on time to see Nanami break away
from the newcomer's embrace and take her by the shoulders. 
"Where the hell have you been?"  She was trying to sound angry
but doing a poor job.  He knew her tears were there without
seeing them.  "Mako-chan has been worried sick!  He's a wreck,
I've practically had to nurse him day and night!  Dammit, if you
needed this long to go blow off steam you could have at least
called!"

	Makoto was only vaguely aware of all this.  "Ifurita."

	She gently took Nanami's hand in order to free herself and
stepped aside.  She had that same shy, slightly embarrassed
smile she used when she'd committed some minor misstep.  "I'm
sorry.  I would have let myself in but I forgot my keys."

	"Is that all you've got-"  Nanami had to wait in silence for a
full minute before the two of them finally came up for air.  She
rolled her eyes.  "Well, if you two are quite done steaming up
the windows I think somebody has some explaining to do."

	There was only one thing Makoto needed to know.  "Ifurita, are
you okay?"

	"Yes, I'm fine.  I'm sorry I made you worry."

	"As long as you're back that's all I care about."

	She turned to Nanami.  "I'm so sorry about what happened,
Nanami."

	Nanami sniffed and wiped her tears away, trying to win back
some dignity.  "Well, I wished you'd warned me something like
that could happen.  I'd have worn kendo armor or something."

	"I didn't know that would happen."

	"You didn't know?  I thought you were supposed to know
everything."

	"No, I'm afraid I don't."  She smiled playfully.  "After all,
I'm only human."



The End



Postscript



I took the title "Android Epistemology" from a book of essays
edited by Kenneth Ford, Clark Glymour and Patrick Hayes, since I
liked both the title and the book.


And yes, it's *that* Shinohara Heavy Industries.  I figure if
they had mechs by 1999 there must have been some reverse
engineering from alien technology involved.



Next Chapter:  The Silent Invasion