Author's note: I'm going to try to get the updates running smoothly from this point on, but no promises. My headspace is not as solid as it could be right now - looking for a job is damnably depressing - but I'll be putting in an effort. So long as my muse holds out, I should be able to make it.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, and this whole mess is a tribute and form of entertainment. Don't sue, I'm too broke to afford a lawyer.

Chapter Three

Marceau LaFleur, CSIS, hadn't done wetwork in a little over five years, but some habits never changed. For one, he always measured up any important person for a theoretical knife in the back should he be called upon for such a task. It was a habit he'd picked up in that profession, one he'd retained when he'd transferred to a desk job. Usually, it wasn't that hard to put such a plan together, even for someone with unusual skills and talents.

He wasn't exactly sure how he'd go about something like that with Ranma Saotome. Probably, like the American demon Hellboy, it would start with 'a precise headshot from an anti-materiel rifle from 500 yards in the dead of night while he's sleeping.' He was only slightly less sure that would work on Ranma than he was of Hellboy, though for different reasons. Hellboy, he figured it might not actually work if it hit. Ranma, he figured, might manage to dodge it anyway.

The little shit was just that fast.

They'd spent an hour the night before sparring. LaFleur wasn't exactly a fanatic at the martial arts, but he was good. It had been a requirement in the old days, and he'd kept it up since to keep in shape. He knew he'd not lost his edge; it had been a point of pride to stay fit, a snub at the brass who decided to shove him behind a desk more often than not.

Ranma made him look like a rank amateur. A five-foot-nothing man, barely more than a kid, throwing him around like he wasn't most of a foot taller and a good twenty pounds heavier. And the whole hour, he'd been offering little tips and advice, little things he could do to tweak his combat style. And they'd worked. It was insane; the man was an utter genius when it came to combat, even if he was constantly chattering about ki and other mystic stuff that couldn't apply to a regular Joe like him. Marceau LaFleur felt like he'd made more progress in his martial arts in that hour than he had in the last year.

And so he found himself not just humoring his temporary sensei by showing up for a morning of class. He was actually eager to feel like a raw rookie again. Hell, he was looking forward to seeing who else decided they were just going to unsubtly test the TSAB folks. At least he knew that CSIS, outside of its usual display of 'oh my aren't WE incompetent?' - IE sending a rather obvious foreigner to 'infiltrate' the place – was using that as protective colouration to disguise the real team as it set up a few blocks down. Everyone liked and trusted Canadians, thought they were all nice and sweet folks. They saw CSIS' mummery of incompetence and never looked past it.

He'd done an hour of 'light' sparring with Ranma already this morning. He was taking a break now, while Ranma worked with a student who wanted private lessons. Apparently, one got private lessons rather than group ones by being eager to learn, having lots of potential, and persistence.

The training thus far had been intense. He was trying to walk off the adrenaline, now, and fighting the urge to calm down via nicotine. He'd quit smoking several times over the course of his life, and was up to three weeks on this latest round, but he was having enough trouble calming down at the moment to consider it. It would make things so much easier, whispered a familiar little voice in the back of his mind. He tried to ignore the addiction. He would ignore it. He was – he was about to spot another agent.

Walking through the crowds was an all too familiar face. Head and shoulders taller than the black-haired crowd, Michael Jones was a golden topped beacon. "Tabarnak," he muttered.

Jones seemed to notice him, and did a double-take. Shaking his head, he walked towards the Quebecois agent. "Not sure why I'm surprised to see you, Marceau. It's been what, three years?"

"About that. Since that business in Kenya, I think."

"Sounds right. I think I still owe you for that beer." Marceau waved that off. "Anyway. Your outfit isn't nearly loud and offensively touristy enough for you to be here for pleasure."

"I suspect we're both 'ere for the same mission."

"Entirely likely, and drop the act, LaFleur, I know that's not your real accent. Have you met this Ranma Saotome yet?"

"I've spent two hours getting my ass kicked by him."

Michael gave him an odd look. "You sound much to happy about that." The American made a show of giving him a look over. "Did you get replaced by a pod person, or something?"

LaFleur snorted. "No. I am learning. 'He lives up to 'is reputation."

There was a long moment of silence between them. Finally, Jones broke it. "So, do you have a backup team, or are you it?"

The Quebecois snorted. "Backup? You think we have a budget or something, eh? No, just me. Yourself?"

"I hope to God my boss has some in place. I swear, though, he's still pissed that the TSAB decided that they'd set up all their diplomatic stuff in Japan rather than the States. I'm doing double duty as an agent and an insult to their intelligence."

"I thought your President didn't mind t' situation."

"I suspect The Director agrees with the President about as often as your bosses agree with the Prime Minister."

"I suspect you're right." They both chuckled. "Merde, I hope that someone had the good sense to do this properly and not just throw a man in front."

"At this point, I doubt it."


Katsushiro Roth, on his way back from a corner grocer and making a show of looking over a street vender's wares as he listened to the two agents chatter in a language they probably figured no-one else on the street understood, smirked at that.


The two spies had spent the last hour or so at an okonomiyaki restaurant, catching up on old times. They weren't close friends, but they'd run across each other a dozen or so times over the years on assorted missions. Given the line of work they were in, meeting someone who understood you was rare. Meeting someone like that who was outside your chain of command but nominally on your side was even better. The odds of critical words about one's superiors had rather less chance of reaching said superior's ears. They kibitzed over some genuinely excellent food, Marceau slipping back into 'character.'

Eventually, current business reared its ugly head. "So, you've met Saotome, and he's as good as his rep at fighting. What do you think of the man, beyond that?" Michael was still working on his okonmiyaki, but it was clear his attention wasn't on the food.

"'He seems smart, and very observant. Watching me walk along for a minute told him what martial arts I practiced. He's straightforward and honest, and I got t' distinct impression he's none too happy with his bosses about this situation."

"He have much to say about the Bureau?"

"Didn't really ask 'im about them. He's been offworld wi' them a few times by our records, and he's got one of their translators."

"Does he? That's good to know. My Japanese is a lot rustier than I'd thought."

Marceau chuckled. "As is mine, mon ami. Still, we will get by, no?"

"Still, if he's with them, he might make things difficult for us."

"I did not get the impression that he would go out of his way to cause problems. Though he'll probably insist on teaching you as much martial arts as he can before the Bureau group arrives. Make it look like we 'belong' in one of 'is advanced classes."

"Unlike certain poutine-gobbling Canadians I know, I've kept in shape. I'll be fine."

LaFleur laughed. "Oh, Michael, I can't wait to see you meet him now." A pause. "No, I think he's going to try and help us, at least not hinder."

"So he won't pick a side? This Saotome is loyal to no-one?"

"Saotome-san is loyal to his friends first," said their waitress suddenly, in remarkably decent English. Neither spy had noticed her walk up to top up their drinks. "After his friends, he is loyal to those he has given his word to." She noticed their stares. "I am sorry, honored guests, but I could not help but overhear."

Marceau recovered first, slipped back into character. "No apology is needed, cherie, we should 'ave watched our words better, an' not assumed that none would understand."

"He's right," sighed Michael. "Much as I hate to say it. Still. You're a friend of this Ranma, miss...?"

"Konatsu. And yes, Saotome-san is a friend. And if you are having a problem, simply asking him may help to solve it. He appreciates people being.. what is the English phrase.. 'up front' with him."

"Good to know. Again, t'ank you, cherie."

Oo0

Arsène Lupin the Third hadn't expected to find himself back in Tokyo at any point in his life, really, but stranger things had happened over the years. Not so many since he'd traded in his black hat for a white one with the DGSE as a way to keep himself out of prison when everything finally went wrong, but still.

At least it would be an easy assignment; just monitor a particular dojo and hotel, both already nicely bugged, and keep an eye out for anything suspicious. He wasn't expected to dive headlong into any problems that might come up, which suited him fine. Without the old gang around, doing so held little appeal. He missed their adventures, though in his old age he was probably best off behaving himself with legit work. Especially legit work that still made use of some of his more refined skills.

0oO

Kendra Zendor made careful preparations for her journey from the Magical World and into Tokyo.

It would be her first time leaving her homeland, which would be enough to make her heart all aflutter on its own. But more than that – she was going to wed her beloved! Her fiance! It was enough to make a girl faint. She was so looking forward to it, but she was going to take her time, make sure all her preparations were done correctly. Crafting a temporary portal from her home to Tokyo would be tricky, especially since she only had Genma's memories of that city to work with, and none of her own. But she'd manage. Her heart demanded it.

Oo0

"No, Jones, you gotta use yer reach! Stop tryin' ta grapple, she's stronger'n you are, an' she's got a stronger stance."

The big blond agent bit back a snarled reply and tried to get out of the Chinese girl's reach. His mood was not helped by the way Marceau kept laughing. It helped only very slightly that Ranma was calling advice to the purple-haired girl a fair bit as well, even if most of it boiled down to 'please don't break the American.'

Jones tried to block a kick as Shampoo lunged towards him again. He caught a piece of her pants leg, but not enough to protect himself or avoid the hit, and he found himself kissing the mat once again.

Shampoo offered him a hand-up, which he accepted with some gratitude. God the woman was strong, he easily outweighed her by a hundred pounds and she picked him up like he was a goddam pillow. "Thanks," he said once he was back on his feet. He looked around the dojo, shook his head. "Not used to being this badly outclassed. You weren't even trying, were you?"

The Chinese giggled. "Was trying keep it almost fair fight. Trying not hurt you too bad; that make it hard."

LaFleur, damn his froggy hide, looked like he was going to hurt himself holding in laughter. "An' you were so sure you'd be fine. I told you, mon ami, an' you didn' listen."

"Oh, shut it."

Ranma was trying to look serious, but it was clear he was almost as close to giggles as the Chinese. "Enough. Jones, you should stretch out a little more; looked like you were a bit stiff. An' size helps, but not if you ain't leveraging it."

"I thought I was," he muttered. "Normally, grappling with someone I had that much height on would be a win."

"You no know Amazon ways," said Shampoo smugly.

"Ranma did warn you," said Akane, her expression one that could only be described as gleeful.

"An' so did I," added LaFleur, smugly. "But non, no need to listen to t' Canuck."

Ranma raised a hand for silence. "Okay, guys, I think you rubbed it in enough. LaFleur, your turn. Akane, you want to take a crack at him?"

The young woman nodded."I could use a little control practice."

The Quebecois spy looked suddenly concerned, but quickly put his poker face back on. Oh good, thought Jones, I think I'm going to enjoy watching this.

He did, but not quite as much as he'd hoped. Marceau, though clearly outclassed, was probably in better shape than he himself was – which was impressive given he was mostly a desk jockey these days – and it was immediately clear to the American's eyes that the wiry little shit had gotten faster since the last time they'd had a... professional disagreement... on the job. He took comfort from the fact that Ranma was actually giving him more advice than he'd given Jones, so clearly there was something for a picky – if admittedly damned skilled – martial artist to complain about.

All too soon, the round of sparring finished. Marceau had had no more success than he in challenging his opponent, though he'd taken a few less hits. The Canadian worked his left shoulder as he walked back to the side lines, grinning like an idiot. "See? Not just you who is outclassed, mon ami."

"I suppose. This is a bit surreal." He managed a self-depreciating grin. "At least nobody back at the office would believe it."

"Oui, but I have evidence. I took pictures of you getting your ass kicked by a girl."

"...You wouldn't."

"Perhaps right before your office Christmas party. That would be a good time for it, no?"

"You would." He sighed. "You have truly shattered every preconception I ever had of Canadians being kindly, honest, nice people."

"It took this long? Merde, I must be slip- Tabarnak!" His head whipped around, looking to the center of the room.

Michael followed his gaze. Ranma and Shampoo were sparring now, and he suddenly felt much better about his earlier defeat. They were flying, and moving almost faster than the eye could track, certainly faster than he himself could manage, even on his best day. "Holy shit."

"They are just showing off," said Akane in slightly accented English. "There is not really enough room in here to really practice flying combat."

"Merde, is this what he expects us to be able to do? To look like we 'belong' in his class?"

The Japanese girl giggled. "No, this is beyond even most of our circle of friends."

The three watched in near silence (Marceau was swearing quietly in French) for a few minutes. Then Jones asked, "I'm guessing you can do this, too?"

"Yes," replied Akane.

"Then, if I may ask, why the hell are you sparring with mere mortals like me and the Canuck?"

She gave him a look. "There are many ways to improve, and many things to learn. Control is very important. And we still have to work with regular people in the world, there is no point to being strong if you cannot move without hurting someone." A shrug. "And it was interesting. I have never fought someone who uses savate."

"I 'ope you enjoyed t' experience, cheri," said Marceau without looking away from the fight, which was up near the rafters now. What looked like honest-to-god energy blasts were flying around now. "Mon Dieu.. This is insane. And he thinks this can be learned?"

Akane shrugged. "He taught me. He thinks you have some potential, Marceau, and I agree."

"And me?" Jones couldn't keep some hope from his tone – if the Canuck could...

Akane paused, gave him a briefly measuring look. "Anyone can benefit from good training."

"I'll take it that's a no." Jones tried to keep from sounding hurt.

The Japanese girl took a moment to parse his turn of phrase. "Not for high end ki abilities. But you could certainly make a very strong normal martial artist."

"Huh. I suppose from him that's a complement?"

"Yes. As he likes to put it, his standards are very high."

"Well, I suppose that's inevitable. How long do these matches usually take?"

"This one will probably last a little longer, they are both in a good mood."

The spar went on for another five minutes or so, before suddenly and abruptly heading for the mat, Ranma having landed a hefty blow to the Chinese woman's forehead. He'd caught her before she could hit. "Someone get me some water an' a cloth, didn't mean for that ta connect."

Marceau was already in motion. "What 'appened?"

"She zigged when I expected her to zag." He grimaced. "I screwed up."

Shampoo swatted the cold cloth away from her forehead. "Ooh... Not had that happen in a while."

"You okay?"

"Shampoo a bit dazed. Thought that was a feint, tried to get inside it." She touched her forehead lightly for a moment, shook her head, and said something in Chinese. Michael didn't catch it. Ranma replied in the same language, which he also didn't catch.

The purple-haired girl stood. "Shampoo spending too much time working ramen shop, should have been able to dodge that."

"In mid air, at that speed?" asked Marceau incredulously.

"Yes," matter of fact, as if it was obvious.

The two spies exchanged looks. Michael turned back to Akane. "The bunch of you are nuts."

"Perhaps we are." She was smiling. "It keeps life interesting."

"And on that note, I've got some more prep work to do before Aston's bunch get here," began Ranma. "So I think it's time to kick everyone out for the night. You okay getting home, Shampoo?"

She waved off his concern. "No-one living in this neighborhood dumb enough attack me."

"Fair enough, just don't want the Old Ghoul comin' after me."

"Well, if we 'ave to leave anyway, I'll offer to ease your mind, Saotome-Sensei," began Marceau, a jaunty grin on his face. "If t' young maiden would permit t' offer of escort?" He offered an arm. Looking more amused than offended, Shampoo accepted.

"Just be back early tomorrow, Marceau. I wanna throw some more training at ya. You got potential."

"Did that sound more like a jail sentence than a complement to anyone else?" asked Michael, smirking. Ranma responded with a toothy grin.

"Either way, I shall be here, Sensei. Madame, shall we?"

Giggling a bit, Shampoo lead the Canadian from the Dojo. They conversed in Chinese quietly.

"Want me around early, too, Saotome?"

"Sure, your form's not bad, but you could use some practice."

As he walked back to his hotel, Michael Jones reflected that this might not be the healthiest choice he'd ever made.

Oo0

Akane'd offered to help tidy up before she, too, took her leave, and they'd spent a few minutes straightening things up. Ranma had mostly been berating himself for accidentally connecting with a fairly hefty blow. Accidental hits while sparring weren't exactly rare among their bunch, but it had been a while since Ranma had been the one making the hit. Akane had almost been out the door when Ranma's TSAB comm went off, and she'd paused while he went and answered it. He seemed amused after he'd gotten it.

"Good news this time?"

"Good news. Couple friends are in town, an' they're havin' a party tonight. I figure I can let planning slide a bit t' hang with Nanoha an' Fate."

"Those are the magical girls who you helped go after Ryoga with, right?"

"Yeah. Nanoha's family lives in Tokyo, an' she's apparently home on leave. Thus, party. Wanna come along? It sounded like they're inviting a buncha people."

Akane thought about it for a moment. Well, it's not like I've got an early class tomorrow, and it might be interesting to meet these people... "Why not?"


"It looks... normal," said Akane as they walked up to the Takamachi home. She'd been expecting something a little more... unusual for the home of a Magical Girl.

"So? The Saotome and Tendo Dojos look normal from the street, too." Ranma shrugged. "It'll be nice ta see Nanoha again. Figure I'll pick her brain a bit, get some trainin' ideas."

Akane giggled. "Or you could enjoy the party and not drag work into it. Aren't they on leave? I'd think they wouldn't want to chat about work stuff."

Another shrug. "Guess we'll see." He smirked. "Might try ta get her ta drop in halfway through a class, just ta watch Aston an' Dia panic."

"Oh?"

"They've run through her class before."

"Ah." It didn't explain everything, but given the way he said it, she could guess.

Ranma knocked on the door, which was opened by an older man. "Good evening, I'm Ranma Saotome. Nanoha called me, an...'"

"Ah, come on in then. Shiro Takamachi." The two shook hands. "And your friend?"

"Akane Tendo," she said, and shook the man's outstretched hand. There were old, thin scars running along it, and combined with the strength of his grip, she figured him for a fighter of some kind. He lead them both inside. She saw a number of people she didn't recognize, as well as Usagi(sans disguise, which was generally a good sign) and Nanoha and Fate. She hoped they were as nice as Ranma made them out to be, because she'd been a royal ass to them when they'd first met.

"Hey, Nanoha," said Ranma, shaking her hand. "Gotta say, I wasn't expectin' ta see you so soon."

She grinned widely. "Peace broke out, so we got a chance to take some leave." She gestured around the small group she was sitting with. "I'd like you to meet my friends, Alisa Bannings and Suzuka Tsukimura."

Ranma gave a slight bow. "I'm honored. This is Akane Tendo." He glanced around as Akane gave a quiet greeting of her own. "Where's Vivio? Or is she on the Mid with Yuuno right now?"

"She's around somewhere. When Chibi-Usa arrived, the two of them took off, thick as thieves."

"Ah. We'll find out what they're up to when they spring it, I guess." A round of grins and chuckling went around the group at that. "So how are you two – huh." He blinked, grinned. "I guess congratulations are in order." Nanoha and Fate both smiled.

"What are you talking about?" asked Akane.

At the same time, Alisa whispered to Fate, "You're not showing yet at all, how can he possibly tell?"

"Look at their ki," said Ranma, glancing at Akane.

"He cheats," said Fate, and Nanoha giggled as she nodded.

"Just 'cause it ain't magic don't make it cheating."

Akane tuned them out. Look at their ki? She could do that, but she wasn't anywhere near as skilled at it as Ranma was. Regular sight would only distract her, so she closed her eyes, and exhaled, willing her ki to follow the breath into the room.

Ranma – A bonfire, yet one kept tightly controlled, bound by discipline and will.

Usagi – A miniature sun next to Ranma's bonfire; not the same kind of energy, not even simply magic, but something distinct and somehow more pure.

She focused; between them, they nearly drowned out everything else in the room. But they always did, and they were familiar; she could look past them. Concentrating, she filtered them out.

Nanoha's family – Father, brother, and sister glowed with power, like Ranma's but in lesser quantities. Her mother, by contrast, seems normal.

Alisa and Suzuka – Not normal, but she could not quantify why they seemed odd.

Concentrating, loosing another breath, she finally focused on Nanoha and Fate – strength, love, magic, confidence and power. Even looking past the magic, more power than she expected, and within -

She blinked. Within, she saw a light within the greater light, pulsing not-quite-in-sync with the greater. A reflection? An echo? No, neither of those... A second ki source within each of them.

A child.

Eyes wide, Akane sat down quickly. Ranma, perhaps expecting that reaction, had a chair ready for her. "Wow. Did I... did I see..."

Fate smile softly. "Babies? Yes."

"Heckuva sight, isn't it?" Said Ranma.

"Yes. Yes it is."


Miyuki was glad enough to see her niece – she didn't get near enough chances to spoil little Vivio – and seeing her little sister again was fine too. The bureaucrats she worked for were generally quite stingy when it came to leave; or at least leave that worked for Nanoha and Fate together. Hopefully, they'd be a little less unpleasant about that sort of thing in the future. She really wanted to be able to spend time with her impending nieces.

If not, well, she intended to make the most of the next few months. She was well behind on her quota of teasing and otherwise annoying her little sister. She took a little more care about that, these days, than she did when they were younger, but it was all in good fun, and Nanoha knew it and mostly didn't hold it against her.

Of course, they knew how a serious fight between them would end. Miyuki, Kyoya and their father Shiro had defended the family shop-slash-dojo during the Battle Of Tokyo, and had seen off a number of lesser youma. But when a squad of Bradeson marines had shown up in armor, they'd not even been able to scratch them. Shiro had stayed at the dojo while the siblings drew the marines off, leading them on a merry chase and finally feeding them to a JSDF ambush. They'd felt quite proud of themselves, too, pulling that off.

Until they watched the news coverage that night and saw their little sister shatter Bradie power armor and mechs in job lots outside the Imperial Palace. Annoying, that.

Still, it was good to have her home for a while, and get some genuine family time. The Takamachis didn't get enough of that, which was perhaps a given in their line of work. And for all that a fair bit of effort had gone into setup, and more would go into cleanup later, she was glad they were throwing this party. It was looking to be really fun, and she was really looking forward to finding out what Vivio and Chibi-Usa were up to – the most likely targets of their inevitable mischief weren't her.

Saotome might be the target, which would be entertaining. She'd enjoy seeing that – she well knew the aquatransexual's rep was justified, but seeing what he'd do when attacked by someone he couldn't retaliate against would be amusing. Or they might go after Kyoya. Her brother had been his usual Casanova self the first time he'd met the Senshi, and for all of Usagi's protests about having a boyfriend of her own already, her gaze had followed him as much as the others. Chibi-Usa, being, it seemed, Usagi's daughter from the future or something, was less than amused by his flirting, and had expressed her displeasure with Kyoya in entertaining fashion. Vivio liked playing pranks on her uncle, and would likely go along with Usa's targeting decisions.

Her sister met the weirdest people. It did, at least, make things amusing.

Right now, Nanoha and Ranma were talking shop – two teachers comparing ideas. Protests that this was a party, and she was on leave, hadn't deterred either of them. Nanoha was a total workaholic, but one who enjoyed her work. So, it seemed, was Ranma. They were having fun over in a corner chatting about training people. Shiro had joined them, no doubt offering various anecdotes about training herself and Kyoya.

Friends, family, and excellent food. Yes, this had all the makings of a good night.


Akane had recovered her composure fairly well. She was the first to admit(well, these days, at least – her sisters wouldn't let her forget that she never used to admit it) that she didn't react to surprises well, but a surprise like that; a beautiful sight that had given her abilities to read another's ki a promotion from 'occasionally useful skill in combat' to 'something I really do need to use lots more' was at least a nice surprise.

She hadn't been sure she'd enjoy this little party, but so far it was surprisingly fun. Chatting with Usagi was always fun, and the others were quite interesting. Fate wasn't someone she really knew – she'd met the blonde when the Bureau had first recruited Ranma, of course, and once or twice since then, but she'd never really had a chance to chat with her, or with Nanoha. That the two women were devoted to each other, and their children, was obvious. She didn't exactly approve of it, mind, but just like Haruka and Michiru, it seemed to be working for them.

Alisa and Suzuka(she still couldn't quite nail down why their ki seemed odd, but it would be... impolite to blurt out a question about it) seemed nice enough as well, and the four of them were chatting together. Usagi was looking a lot more cheerful than Akane'd seen the Senshi in a while, relaxing around friends. The group talked about classes, and work, plans and dreams. Fate had some interesting stories of her adventures on other worlds. Eventually, conversation wandered back to Nanoha and Fate's children.

"So," asked Alisa, "have you picked names yet?"

Fate smiled. "We have. We know they're both girls, and mine will be Miyuki Lindy Haralowan. Nanoha's will be Alicia Momoko Takamachi."

"Good names," said Alisa. Suzuka and Usagi nodded agreement. The way they agreed, Akane figured there was some history involved; she'd ask Ranma or Usagi later. For the moment...

"I have to ask," she began, "And I'm sorry if this is sort of a rude question, but I'm honestly curious... Who are the fathers?"

Fate's smile turned wry. "It's a valid question. Technically, we both are." There was a round of confused blinking in the small group. Fate giggled, then elaborated. "One of the worlds we encountered during and after the Battle of the Rift is called Mejale. It was colonized entirely by women centuries ago. With a world full of women, and no men, they've come up with some interesting medical science to take care of procreation."

"Why would they even set up a world like that?" asked Usagi, head tilted a bit to one side.

"We're not sure yet, they're fairly private about their history. We know it wasn't their choice, but imposed by the world that created the colony in the first place." She shrugged. "They've been at war with a similar world, Tarak, settled entirely by men, for generations."

"Weird," said Akane, thoughts racing. Worlds with entirely single-sex populations? Madness! What sick-minded lunatic would do that to their own people?

Usagi nodded slowly, also looking thoughtful. "So they're what, combining eggs from each mother, on Mejale?"

"Essentially, though there was a bit more involved. Biology isn't my field, I didn't understand all of it, though the women tried their best to explain it to us."

"Sounds like an interesting place," said Suzuka.

"Oh yes, and quite beautiful. They're interested in joining the Bureau, too."

"And this... Tarak?"

"Not so much, though we're trying to talk to them, too."

"I can almost see how Mejale's solution would work, but how does a planet full of men make babies?"

"Massive bio-labs and state-run creches, as far as we heard." A shrug. "Tarak's nowhere near as nice a planet as Mejale, in many ways."

Before Akane could ask her to elaborate – Ranma, for all he'd been to several worlds now, was maddeningly vague about them when he did tell tales – there was a loud, flashy, but largely harmless blast of energy at the far side of the Dojo, accompanied by a splashing noise. A thoroughly soaked, and somewhat singed-looking, Ranma blinked, pushing sodden red hair out of her face with a sigh. Hidden somewhere out of immediate sight, two children giggled.


The rest of the party had gone without real incident. Vivio and Chibi-Usa had both been tracked down, and made to apologize. Vivio had even sounded sincere. Though Ranma had admitted his own unhappiness with being pranked was undermined by the fact that he'dve had no problem with them pranking someone other than him.

Everyone had had fun. Akane had learned more about the Bureau, and about two magical girls who Ranma counted as allies. He got along with them easily, and that had worried her a little at first, but she'd dismissed any concerns long before the end of the night. Where she didn't worry about Michiru or Haruka going after Ranma because they had no interest in his male form, she didn't worry about Nanoha or Fate going after her fiance for a simpler, and more profound reason. They had eyes only for each other.

Even beyond that, she found she liked the two, and their friends. They were all fundamentally decent people, and she didn't know enough people like that in this world. They'd parted ways cheerfully enough, and Ranma had walked with her as far as the nearest Light Rail station. She'd headed for Nerima, he for his own dojo.

An interesting evening, and one that had given her much to think about. For all it sounded like a strange and outright weird place, she figured she'd like to see Mejale someday. Bizarre society, of course, but... well, after two years of training with the Outer Senshi, she couldn't muster any real outrage at the concept.

A wry smile: Either those two have been corrupting me more than I thought, or I'm mellowing as I grow up.