The architect of the house had created a section of the second-floor hall lined with windows, offering a perfect view of the lake below and the valley beyond. Here at those windows sat a troubled man, as caught up with the depth of his thoughts as he was with the moonlit scene. Within the protection of his arms slept his small half-sister, enjoying a comfort impossible for her companion to share.

His name was Yosho, and this was not the only valley he had ever gazed upon, nor the only moon. For he was not of the Earth, but a man from a distant world, an interstellar capitol known as Jurai, and through a passage of time measured in centuries and a route untraceable on any chart, he had finally come to this secluded place in rural Japan to meet his destiny. He was a living piece in a great game whose players were ruthless and intractable, and whose outcome afforded nothing less than the future of the stars themselves.

Yosho was unhappy to be simply 'a piece.'

Yet, what had he ever been? He had been born the heir to an Imperial throne, itself a form of destiny. He had been drawn in, with one other, to begin this vast game, a game to be concluded quickly and at his Empire's ultimate loss. But the one who started this match so long ago, the one known as Kagato, misplayed his strategy and the pieces began to play themselves. He, the knight Yosho, almost was lost. Badly hurt, instead he was moved to a far corner of the board. Locked in a stasis field for some seven centuries, only now -at the endgame- was he even potentially a part of victory.

And what of the other? She was Ryoko, a pirate, a scoundrel, a pawn. It was this throw-away piece that was to open up the game for Kagato. She, too, suffered grievously in the fight that sent Yosho into slumber, but her injuries did not lock her in imprisonment, but rather freed her from the game-master's control. For in Earth chess, pawns can become queens, and Ryoko had become ever so much more. Yes, she had become a queen, but also had changed sides. Indeed, she had done the impossible, and had leapt off the board. Kagato had yet to realize it, but Ryoko was moving pieces of her own, and had been for quite some time.

Yosho was one of hers and had been for forty years now.

Of course, he hardly understood that for most of that time. When he was awakened by a pair of graduate students, he quickly concluded Ryoko had died long ago, assured by his elderly rescuer, a woman in her sixties everyone simply called Grandmother Masaki, that he was the only legacy of that epic fight. Well, just he and a few thousand descendants of his.

Yes, how fogged he had been upon return to the board. But how clearly he remembered those days, being nursed by the young and vivacious OTHER rescuer, smiling at her constant chatter about school, proud of her earning her doctorate, warm and safe with her in the old homestead that stood not very far from the current Masaki House. On how all that was golden passed from mother to daughter that evil night, that wonderful night, when his second wife said her gentle sayonara, and Achika became a blessing beyond measure in his life.

How, how, how. Yosho stopped his memories here, as he always did. Grandmother always accused him of never facing the truth about Achika, and for once the bitchy old crone was probably right. After her, Yosho put away his Japanese disguise and wandered, becoming the tramp and vagrant his father always accused him of becoming. He truly believed he would never return here again. And, if not for Grandmother, he surely would have.

For there was no 'Grandmother Masaki.' There was only Ryoko, an ancient enemy what rescued him not once, but twice! Saving him for her revenge on Kagato. Manipulating him, not to mention over thirty generations of the Masakis that bore his bloodline, to set up traps within traps within traps for her former master and hated foe. She had so many threads woven so strangely, so intimately, Yosho wondered if even she knew them all. Every secret Yosho had found, every lie he had revealed, proved to be another hidden weapon of hers aimed at Kagato's heart.

Yet the greatest secret remained. The prize of the game. The reason Kagato had set up the board in the first place. Oh, it was power, to be sure. And it was the power of Yosho's royal line, Jurai Royal Family. But beyond that, what was it? The power of Jurai was linear, but no analysis had ever revealed it. It came from a time before anyone in the Family now living, back in the time when Tsunami, Mother of the Ship-Trees, joined with Yosho's line in the alliance that made Jurai the most powerful realm in the Galaxy. Few still lived from that ancient past, and Yosho was certainly not one of them. Yet, Kagato had been convinced he held some great secret, convinced enough to lure him so far from Imperial borders only to lose him on the small planet Earth.

But just for a time. Kagato had found Yosho, found him this very night, and Kagato waited for Yosho, waited for him in orbit about Earth's oversized moon, the same moon that so brilliantly lit up this night. Kagato would ask his questions now. Yosho hoped he had no answers for the man.



The girl in his arms moved ever so slightly. Sasami. Another piece in the game, an oh, so fragile piece. Before dawn, the great ship Tsunami, hidden in an orbit of her own, would take her back. Tsunami would protect the child, but what else Tsunami was to do was on a need-to-know basis, and as far as Ryoko was concerned, no one ever needed to know.

But for now, Tsunami had -against Ryoko's wishes- let the Jurai family have a few precious days together. Some joy before the dark. For the issue with Kagato was by no means assured. All could fall, all could be lost, and Yosho understood, as did they all, that Jurai Royal Family, Tsunami, and Ryoko might all need perish to keep the final power from the madman's hands.

All of them. Even the boy, Tenchi, perhaps the last of the Masakis. Fitting that the beginning and the end of such a loyal family should meet the end together.

Yosho shook his head. What was wrong with him? This place was making him think like some damned samurai about to perish in a hopeless cause. Preparation for death almost always got you there. No, I must prepare for victory, he thought. For Sasami, if for nothing else.

He held the girl close. How long, was his next thought, how long since I've held such a child in my arms. He stopped his memories there, as he always did. But his feelings, they were another matter altogether.