Ascension
Four: Beginnings
-mentalyoga-

(A/N: Yes, this chapter has been a long time coming, and it's not a particularly action-packed one. I apologize for the laziness on my part, but between full-time school and part-time work, this story has been the least of my concerns. However, I've got the next two chapters actually planned out, so they should be much quicker in surfacing. Enjoy, and please review!)

"Mrs. Chiba, you're pregnant."

She hadn't budged even a millimeter on the car ride home; her body seemed lifeless, cool to the touch as Mamoru carried her up the narrow stairs, through the front entrance, and down to the relenting couch cushions. A pink flush had blossomed on her cheeks, but her eyes gave no sign of the excitement belied in her complexion.

"Usako." He took her hand solemnly, "say something to me." The silence, the limp frame, the apathetic disposition—it certainly wasn't the reaction he would have expected. Had she talked or whined ceaselessly, had she suddenly started binge-eating ("I'm eating for two now!")…those he would have understood. But not this. "Talk to me, Usako. Come on. I know it's a bit unexpected, maybe even far earlier than we thought, but this isn't insurmountable." A pin dropped. Well, not really. But Mamoru imagined one dropping, and him hearing it. That sort of moment. He stood up to go.

She rolled over to him, prompted by the possibility that her eager words would be kept unspoken. "You don't understand, Mamo-chan." Her eyes looked past him, unfocused and greyed over, as though a vicious fog had crept in unnoticed.

"Don't understand what?" He clenched her hand more tightly—this wasn't the type of look he was accustomed to from his odango-adorned mate.

"There's something wrong." She removed her hand from his, slowly rubbing the not-yet-protruding skin of her stomach. Though the flesh there lay flat, the force inside pressed outward—an energy she was yet wary of. "This pregnancy—I can feel it, there's something off. I'm not sure what it is yet, but something's telling me to take caution." She turned away from him once again.

"Usako. Let's talk this through. What is it you mean…something's wrong? We knew this baby was coming sometime soon—we knew Chibi-Usa was on the way."

But was that the case? Chibi-Usa should—in actuality—still be nearly eight or nine hundred years off; not even a dim twinkle in his bright blue eye. Of course, it wasn't as though their actions, especially with Chibi-Usa's continued presence, and Setsuna's alterations, hadn't in many ways changed the path of the future. Yet, maybe Usagi was right; maybe Chibi-Usa had been delayed, and this…well, this was in fact something else. But the question remained—what?

Silence. They were back in the void.

"Usako?"

She lay still and without words. He stood and began his motion towards the bedroom once again, stopping at the threshold and looking back expectantly—assuming, of course, that she wouldn't be able to bind her thoughts. Yet she managed, maybe simply to spite him. She had snapped shut as a clam and he sighed before wandering back to their room in a haze all his own. Perhaps sleep would wear away at the worry that clouded his mind. He trusted her; he knew her doubts weren't without warrant. And her words had chilled him. Yes, he would try to sleep this off.

By herself now, Usagi gave in to the doubts and the fears, and they pressed down in unison on the growing life in her belly. A thimble now, said the doctor—just barely the size of your thumb. It made her think of those emergency clinics—the places where concerned nurses with tight hair and tight faces tried to keep women from terminating pregnancies by showing them thimble-sized models of tiny babies. As if a fetus looked like a fully-formed infant by the third week of development! The doctor was shocked she was experiencing any symptoms, noticing anything, so early. She supposed that they would rather her not understand until it was too late. But her doubts, would they lead her down that path? She could already picture herself laying out on those tissue-covered doctor beds (that were always too short and left your ankles hanging over the edge) while one of those nasty nurses feigned sympathy. She could end up crying out in one of those clinics.

At the thought, a bolt of pain struck her stomach—this concentrated lightning that had wracked her body several times now; she curled up in fear, hoping to make it go away. And it did, after she was well aware that whatever grew inside her had complete control. It seemed, indeed, that thisthing within wasn't planning on leaving—willfully or not—for some time to come.

Meanwhile, there was something else not quite right coming into plain view in their Tokyo. Something…human, it seemed, on their television screen. A woman. Slicked-back black hair and devilish eyes, brows furrowed sternly, and a pencil-skirt cut primly below thick kneecaps. The woman squinted at the cameras, pounding the podium before her with a contained fury.

"We must build a new Tokyo!"

Her whole demeanor reminded Michiru—who was watching the woman on the screen—of some cross schoolmarm, and the aqua-haired beauty half-expected her to pull out a thin metal ruler from the clutch at her side and use it to smack the knuckles of the paparazzi before her.

"We're ruled by debauchery and disease! Ladies, when you're lying alone in bed, where are your husbands? Out lying elsewhere—with the whores our 'good' metropolis feeds like maggots. And your children, out on the streets in the midst of easily-obtained guns and just as easily-found cocaine, mari-hwa-nah! (Michiru laughed at her pronunciation, here…) We let men lie with men and women lie with women as we each lie with our husbands and wives!"

Ah, sighed Michiru, the moral high ground. And what was this little spectacle?

"Oh yeah," mumbled someone on the barstool beside her to their companion. "Elections are next week, eh? Looks like all the crazies are comin' outta the woodwork." He laughed, and slapped another few bucks down. The bartender slid a cup filled with frothy, amber-colored liquid across.

The woman on the screen continued.

"The politicians making your decisions have taken advantage of the votes you granted them and run with their own personal agendas. What was once a political, economic, and cultural capital of the world continues to devolve as it strays further and further from the path we must now rejoin! So join me in reclaiming Tokyo!"

"Hey," replied the friend, "She's not a bad speaker. And she's got a point."

Michiru slurped up another deep gulp from her own drink—a crisp Appletini—reasoning at that moment that if she didn't have something else to fill her mouth, the biting tongue inside might come out to teach the douchebag at the bar a little lesson.

"I mean, I went to my son's basketball practice last week, and what did I see sitting in the stands, all affectionate and acting like they was just like any of us? Coupla dykes, that's what."

Michiru felt her neck tense and her pulse accelerate. She finished the rest of the drink. No use starting a brawl with two inebriated, much larger fellows. Times like these, she realized she had it a bit easier than Haruka. See, she could 'pass,' so to speak—Michiru was the femme one, the lovely little lipstick lesbian—but Haruka wouldn't have such luck next to these bigots. With her rough hair, gruff demeanor and quite noticeable, plump breasts, she'd have stuck out like a very sore, 'dykey' thumb. Michiru gave the schoolmarm on the TV one last look before setting her tab down on the counter and leaving.

Saito Noriko. That was schoolmarm's name, and it wasn't one Michiru would soon forget.

"How'd it go?" came a hoarse voice—attached to an equally brusque woman. She brushed past a cluster-fuck of aides and secretaries and good-for-nothing, low-level coffee-getters and pencil-sharpeners. Yet, where was her goddamn coffee? Why wasn't someone shoving a nicely sharpened pencil into her thick palm? Amateurs.

"Very well, Ms. Saito," one of the lackeys spat out. "In fact, polls are in—you have a 5 lead on your major opponent!"

"We've started taking some preliminary interviews with the citizens of Tokyo—there's quite a market out there for rigid morality!" another cackled.

"One woman said she'd be kicking her wandering husband out of the house and using the alimony payments to contribute to your campaign!"

"But let's not forget, these successes have to be built upon," a short, nerdy looking aide mentioned. Was his name Umino? He was intelligent, surely, but his bottle-neck glasses and googly eyes made her blood rise. "Election day is only a little over three weeks aw—"

"That's all," she cut him off tersely. He whimpered a bit like a dejected puppy, but that in itself only made Saito want to kick him all the more. She hated kiss-asses, and she absolutely despised puppies. "Leave me," she ordered, loud and firm enough for everyone to hear and obey. She stepped into her office and slammed the door as angrily as she could. Sitting down at her meticulously organized desk, she kicked the painful stilettos off, propped her stocking-covered heels up on the desk, and lit a thick, unfiltered cigarette. Why sugar-coat death? Her philosophy was to commit to everything she did and to always, always ensure her own interests were fulfilled. This new job, however, required a few sacrifices on that front.

She pulled the cigarette to her thin, pursed lips. Inhale. Hold it in 'til the burning hits your esophagus. Exhale. The smoke billowed out in front of her eyes, taking shape in images and omens. Or at least she liked to imagine that it did something like that.

So what was the plan now, to continue the little momentum she had gained today? Would she be expected to lovingly dole out kissed for malformed babies? Hold morally rigid public sermons? Appeal to the commonfolk by promising tax cuts for the poor, while formulating plans to get the homeless off the streets and into secure positions? Oh, but she had plans for all these things in mind, though perhaps not using quite the same methodology as the citizens might desire—it was just a matter of getting into the office and getting approval from the Top.

You see, right now she was waiting for The Man. He never kept her waiting long, of course. She shivered a bit and tugged her shawl tighter around her stout frame. The room had lost heat in a swift motion—suddenly she could see her breath billowing out before her; just as quickly as she noticed that, the moisture from her exhalation had frozen and fallen to the floor in a mass of icy drops. She took a thick drag of her cigarette again and let out another large puff of smoke, but in this one, a form did take shape in the swirling mass. Here He was. No, he never kept her waiting long.

"Saito, we've got a little problem." An androgynous voice—no decided gender, no inflection, no emotion. The voice coming from this seemingly human mass wasn't human at all.

Saito was not a weak woman; she had come very near to death a handful of times (that time she fell on the Subway tracks was no walk-in-the-park!), had acted in horrifying ways, had lived fifty long, trying years. She was a self-proclaimed tough broad; a real bitch…but The Man had her trembling in her stockings. No matter how many times The Man appeared to her, it never got any easier—the fear never subsided, the voice never failed to wreak havoc in whatever heart she couched in her cave of a chest.

"And what would that be, sir?" she inquired calmly. Somehow she knew that The Man could smell the fear on her, like an animal; she couldn't hide what was inside from him. Everything was outside in the eyes of The Man. And the more she attempted to calm herself, the more fearful she became—knowing The Man would sense her pathetic attempts to conceal it, to rectify it in his very face.

"It's nothing to do with you, Saito," came the same droning monotone—the dead voice that somehow managed to carry with it immense power. "I presume you're aware of the Sailor Senshi, yes?"

"Sir," she affirmed.

"And do you know what happened last week, Saito?" A vague red glow in the swirling mass; the room grew colder. She did not need vocal inflection to feel The Man's anger rise.

"The Senshi defeated our youma in their attack of the mall, Sir." She had removed her heels from the desktop and sat with legs and arms crossed, cowering behind the desk. Her teeth had begun to chatter; goosebumps showered her thick skin.

"Indeed," The Man replied as the flames became brighter, "See, I wasn't even fully aware that the Senshi were still active—after the defeat of Galaxia, I had been under the impression that they were rendered powerless. And yet, the very first attack, and they're back in the running—and claim victory!"

"Sir, there were injuries to the Senshi, howev—"

"Silence." Her body was paralyzed by now; she was unsure if this was due to the cold or due to…His control…in any case, she would be silent now, whether she willed it or no. "One. The Senshi must be eliminated. Two. The youma must be given more power, which will—as you know—leave me weak for some time. And finally, your campaign must succeed; part of this success will be your claim to eliminate the youma plaguing the city, once we have them at that level."

The room had thawed, and though her teeth continued to knock painfully together, her voice had returned. "Sir," she challenged warily, "would it not be better to…keep the Senshi around, at least for the time being?"

The light blazed; Saito shielded her eyes with a fleshy hand. Yet even stranger, it died away as quickly as it had come in.

"Perhaps you're onto something there Saito." She thought she heard a chuckle before The Man continued. "Very well, then. Strengthen the youma and win the campaign. The senshi will not be eliminated; they will be tested. Take liberties with that order, Saito, but do not fail."

With that, The Man was gone; the only traces of his presence were the papers strewn across the floor and the hairs that still stood on end. Failure was, of course, not even an option here. Saito knew quite well coming into her position that this was no white-collar, CEO type of career. There was no prison to go to if she embezzled funds; no unemployment agency to lean on if success evaded her. There was only the cold, lightless void that waited beneath.

"Higher!" Jupiter shouted out encouragingly to her companion. She stood a striking three inches taller than her already Amazoness-stature in the senshi boots; she leaned clumsily against the chain-link fence behind her, attempting to seem casually smaller. She had forgotten those little things about her fuku; the itchy texture of the collar around her swan-neck, the embarrassing length of the skirt and the way the slightest breeze could lift open that scant cover off the family jewel's, and of course, the insufferable height added by already painful heeled-boots.

She drew her attention back to Mercury's continuing failed attempts to leap to the top of the building before her.

"Damnit, Jupiter, I'm not getting any better at this—no matter how loudly you shriek at me!" She toppled to the ground in a heap of navy blues and periwinkles. "Besides, I don't feel any less prepared for an attack than I did when we were angst-filled high schoolers."

"I think," Jupiter reproved, "that the youma at the mall would beg to differ."

Her friend chuckled, rubbing absently at her sore ribs. "Touché."

"We've got to get back in the game, darling'" Jupiter went on, "because I have a nasty feeling about this."

Mercury raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"I consulted the Magic 8 Ball," Jupiter smirked, running a hand through her bangs bashfully, "and it told me to check back at a later time."

Mercury nodded in mock approval, "I'd say that's as accurate or better than Rei's damn tea leaves."

"Speak of the fiery little devil, where the hell is she? Minako's supposed to be here, too!" She scanned the parking lot briefly before shrugging her shoulders in defeat. "Course, Minako's more and more unreliable, and Rei's been acting funny lately."

"Funnier than usual, you mean?" Mercury retorted. Her eyes glazed over as she stared off into something only she could see. "None of us are much the same, are we? I think I finally understand all those things my mother used to tell me about getting older."

"Hey!" Jupiter punched her arm, "We've got some life in us yet! Twenty-three is the new…thirteen?"

"Erm…yeah…"

"Let's, uh, get back to work, huh?" Jupiter offered before taking off running at the building before her. "Now watch me!" she cried behind her, making a gallant leap towards the building…before smacking right into it. She fell back down to the ground, strangely contorting her body before landing sloppily on her firm two feet. "I'm good!" she called.

"So," said the brain, "is that how it's done?"

"I think," said a husky, prematurely aged voice, "that we might need to try something else now."

"And where have you been, Mars?" Jupiter said, only a bit of anger in her even tone. "We've been waiting around for you and Venus for at least half-an-hour." She screwed her face up in a sneer, sticking her tongue out as far as it could stretch.

Mars laughed and waved her away. "So what's this little shindig all about?" She produced a tiny flame in the palm of her hand, tossing it at a cardboard box lying sadly on the ground a few yards away. It took the fire just a moment before it extinguished; only the slow glow of embers remained as they watched it burn away.

"Been seven years, Mars," Jupiter noted astutely. "Think we still gotit? And do wanna take that risk?"

Mars scoffed. "What is it?" She tossed another flame and a half-washed away newspaper erupted in ash and smoke. "Did we have this it when we were forced to bear the weight of the world? Or is it something acquired?"

Mercury spoke up, suddenly shy. "I think Jupiter has a point, though. Who knows what seven years can do to your body, your agility, your reaction speeds? When next we're hit, do you want to think that maybe with another week of refresher courses you could have saved a life?"

Mars looked down to the embers still whiling away their short life on the gravel. "Well, let's get started then."

Jupiter held a hand over her eyes and scanned the area once more. "Where did you say Venus was?"

"Where you think you're going, girl?"

The thick fingers clenching her arm tightened. She could hear his breath, uneven and catching on the fury boiling beneath. Her own heart matched his and then some, but she would not let him find fear in her eyes. He was the enemy, now, and she never feared her enemies.

"Out," came an even voice from her throat; disembodied, it seemed, someone else's voice. Not hers.

"Did you get permission?"

"No."

His grip was choking her arm now; she could feel the skin tingling with the lack of oxygen and blood. "'No' what?"

"No sir," she muttered almost silently. The ultimate humiliation, this.

"You won't be going anywhere, baby," he laughed, his grip finally loosening enough to allow feeling back into her palm and her tingling fingertips. "I got some work for you to do," he licked his lips and patted the crotch of his jeans.

Her mind raced for an excuse. "You don't—don't understand, hon," she said delicately, her eyes flicking from his veiny arm to his narrowing eyes. "This is…really important. I'll take care of you when I get back."

"No," he said, grabbing her wrist once again. "It's you who don't understand, babe. You. Aren't. Going. Anywhere." He laughed again, now in her face…his breath heavy with hard liquor and stale smoke.

Minako kept herself from screaming back a haughty retort, but she didn't hide the flash of lightning in her expression. Just as quickly as she realized it, the back of his hand had collided with her cheek. The pain was minimal, but the blunt force of it send her careening towards the haphazardly placed dresser. She felt her temple explode and all went black.

Hotaru had fallen ill, and her three mommies didn't know quite how to make it better. Haruka sucked her tongue disapprovingly when Michiru attempted a little old fashioned energy healing. Setsuna ran tests in the home lab she had built from the ground up; nothing was apparent in the results, but Hotaru's quickly waning figure and paler-than-usual complexion gave no reflection of that scientific 'fact.'

The still child-like girl had been in and out of consciousness three days by that point, murmuring in some tongue that didn't sound altogether human and sweating out every last drop they forced between her lips. Her mommies had changed the sheets twice by noon.

"You don't think whatever's been affecting Usagi could be doing this?" said Haruka, feigning nonchalance but nervously biting at her cuticles every few words. She took a quick glance at her handiwork; there were drops of blood on several fingertips.

Setsuna picked up the slack quickly, her crimson eyes flashing. "No. Usagi knows already what afflicts her, as shall we whenever she decides to inform us." She dabbed a damp cloth over Hotaru's glistening forehead. "This is something very different, though perhaps in the greater scheme, they are somehow related."

"How do you know that?" Michiru demanded. She had been sitting quietly on the sidelines for a few minutes; she was a clever woman, but she chose her words with care. These words were rash, but Setsuna's usual secrecy seemed unwarranted in a situation where Hotaru's health was at risk. She looked over to the girl, still tossing and mumbling foreboding foreign words beneath her quick breath.

"The details remain hidden; not everything has been revealed, and I fear that the possibility of it is unlikely. My vision is clouded; Rei's as well, I presume." She smirked. "I do believe we're in for a…how do you say it…doozy?"

"All right, girls" said Jupiter, a thinly concealed grin on her face. "I think that should do it for the day. Good work!" She raised a mocking salute.

"Ice cream?" Mercury offered.

"Only if it's got a shot or two of liquor in it," Jupiter answered.

"I think I can deal with that," Rei smirked.

And just as the three were about to let their transformations lapse, a crash sounded from the other side of the lot. A mushroom cloud of smoke billowed out, choking them as it dissipated in the afternoon sunlight.

"What is that?" Mercury cried out, shielding her eyes and taking a defensive stance. Mars ran up beside her with Jupiter in tow, and the three waited for their enemy.

The ground beneath them rumbled and began to crack—the line shooting towards them as the earth seemed to split. Mercury was caught off guard and nearly slipped between, catching herself on the side with precarious, shaking hands. Mars quickly tugged her back up to the steadying surface.

And the dust parted.

"Come on, girls," Jupiter rallied them. "It's time to show 'em what we learned."

Next up inAscension The senshi's first test, a change of heart, and a date with destiny.