LIVING A LIFE FORETOLD

Chapter 2: "Oath"
A Sailor Moon fanfic

By Bill K.

After her shift ended, Ami changed into her civilian clothes and headed up to the third floor Intensive Care Unit of the hospital. Through the entire trip, as she had through the remainder of her shift, Ami wondered about Ryo, her former crush from high school. How was he doing? Why was he as drawn and unhealthy as she could tell he was while she was trying to alleviate the bullet wounds in his body? What had happened to him since they were both shy, starry-eyed teens terrified by the feelings of sexual and emotional attraction they each felt for the other?

And what could possibly motivate him to try to assassinate Japan's Prime Minister?

Her key card let her into the ICU. As she approached the nurse's station, Ami saw in the face of the duty nurse that she wasn't recognized. It wasn't surprising. It was a big hospital. She'd only been working there six months and her internship hadn't rotated her to Intensive Care just yet.

"Hello," she said, almost timidly. "I'm Dr. Mizuno, from the ER." The nurse's puzzled expression faded. "Earlier today, you had a patient come up from the ER. His name is Ryo Urawa. I was wondering how he was doing."

"I'll look him up," the nurse said, consulting her charts. "The name doesn't sound familiar, but then it takes me a day or two to learn their names. Are you new? I don't remember seeing you around, Doctor."

"I'm interning," Ami replied. "I've only been here six months."

"Mizuno," she repeated. "There's a Mizuno that practices in pediatrics. Oh wait, are you that intern I heard Dr. Nakahara talking about? You must be something special. I've never heard Dr. Nakahara talk that way about anybody. And you've only been an intern for six months?"

"I'm certain Doctor Nakahara was being kind," Ami flushed.

"Here it is," she said and briefly scanned the chart. Her face grew grim. "Oh. He's THAT ONE."

"What? What is it?" Ami asked anxiously.

"Right now he's stable," the nurse related, "but his condition is listed as very serious. Of course, given how many wounds he had, I guess that's not surprising, huh? He had his medication about forty-five minutes ago, so he's probably asleep."

"May I see him?" Ami asked.

The nurse let out a heavy sigh. "You'll have to arrange that with Dr. Yamamura. He's the attending physician. And with them, too, I'm afraid."

She pointed Ami to a cubicle in the ICU. Two uniformed officers of the Japan Security Force were guarding the door. Through the glass outer wall of the cubicle, Ami could see Ryo laying in bed, a ventilator in his mouth and IV's hooked above him like clusters of fruit. The vital signs monitor display above him showed a steady heartbeat, but Ami didn't like the look of his blood pressure.

"Are they afraid he's going to run away?" Ami muttered incredulously. "He has four bullet wounds in him. At this stage he couldn't even lift his head if he wanted to."

"Um, Dr. Mizuno," the nurse began cautiously, "you seem awfully emotionally involved with this case. Do you know this guy?"

Ami's gaze dropped. "We went to high school for a time," she confessed. "Ryo - - um, Urawa-kun and I were - - friends."

"Oh," the nurse replied and Ami knew the woman had guessed what Ami had left unsaid. "So what kind of guy is he?" Ami knew she meant to ask why he would try to assassinate someone, but was being diplomatic.

"I'm not certain I know anymore. We lost touch years ago." Suddenly she turned to the nurse. Grabbing a pad of paper, Ami wrote down a phone number. "If there's any change in his condition, could someone notify me, please?"

"Certainly, Dr. Mizuno," the nurse smiled. "I hope it works out."

Wandering out in the hall, Ami went as far as her legs had the strength to carry her, then absently leaned back against a wall. It all seemed like a bad dream. But there was a very real prospect of Ryo dying. She knew it for a fact. She'd seen the wounds and, though she'd done her best to repair the damage, four bullet wounds weren't something a healthy person just got up and walked away from. And Ryo was far from healthy, from the looks of him.

And even if he did recover, what did he have to look forward to other than a humiliating trial and a life in prison? Suddenly Ami felt an ocean of tears welling up in her head, drowning her logic and threatening to pour down her face.

"Ami?" she heard the man's voice say and quickly moved to dab at her eyes.

"Mamoru," Ami choked out, struggling to stay calm. "Are you just getting off shift?"

"Still got a few hours," he said. "I'm just down here checking on a patient. What's wrong?"

For a moment Ami hesitated, embarrassed at her emotionalism. Then she remembered it was Mamoru and that being embarrassed by emotion was silly. Then the whole story tumbled out.

"That terrible," Mamoru said softly. "I remember Urawa. I was always impressed by the strength of his character, how he was able to resist Beryl - - certainly longer than I did. I think his delaying tactics helped throw Beryl's plans off enough to give Usako the chance to fight back and win."

"You can remember the time you were under Queen Beryl's control?"

"Every moment of it," Mamoru responded. Ami could see it wasn't a pleasant memory. "Have you been in to see him yet?"

"They won't let me in," Ami moaned. "The Security Force has him guarded. Only Dr. Yamamura and the ICU staff apparently can get in."

"Yamamura?" Mamoru asked. "I interned with him. I think I can get him to give you visitation privileges."

"You can?" Ami asked, hope dawning in her eyes for the first time in a while.

"Let me give him a call," Mamoru told her. Ami lunged and hugged him. It was surprising, but not unpleasant. Still, Mamoru eased her away gently. "Meanwhile, why don't you go home and get some sleep. In this doctor's opinion, you look like you need it."

Ami nodded, sniffed back some tears, and wandered off toward the employee parking garage. When she was gone, Mamoru headed for a phone to call Dr. Yamamura.

"COME BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE . . .!"

Akiko did her best to crawl as fast as she could, but she wasn't fast enough to outrace her mother yet. Makoto swooped in and pulled the ten month old girl off the floor before she could make it to the electrical socket that the refrigerator was plugged into. Akiko squirmed and fought, trying to escape the grip that was preventing her from exploring her world, but the superior strength of her mother won out yet again.

"Do I have to put a leash on you?" Makoto demanded in frustration, pulling Akiko right up into her face. Equally frustrated, Akiko's pudgy hands pressed to Makoto's cheek, trying to push away from her mother and continue her explorations. The toddler scowled petulantly.

Just then, Makoto heard the door to their apartment open. Akiko was cradled against her breast.

"Ooh, I can't wait until you're old enough to spank," Makoto grumbled as Akiko persistently, stubbornly tried to shove away. She walked into the living room and found Sanjuro, her longshoreman husband, easing himself into his favorite chair after turning on the evening news report. "Hi,San-San. Rough day?"

"No rougher than usual," he exhaled. His beefy frame sagged into the chair, but he managed a smile for his two favorite women. "How was yours? I heard you and Akiko going at it again."

"Da-da! Da-da!" Akiko squealed. She began squirming and writhing in Makoto's grip, reaching out to her father. Makoto brought the toddler over and handed her off to her husband.

"You ever try to herd cattle and juggle grenades at the same time?" Makoto asked, grinning wryly. "It'd probably be easier than trying to cook dinner AND keep an eye on her."

"Are you giving your mom fits again?" Sanjuro asked his daughter. The girl snuggled up against his chest and cooed with self-satisfaction. "You're just a bad little girl, aren't you?" It almost seemed like the toddler chuckled.

"She does it on purpose, you know," Makoto smirked.

"You could always put her in her playpen," Sanjuro offered.

"I've tried that," the woman sighed. "If I do that when she wants to go roaming, she cries. And she WON'T STOP until I let her out! Sometimes I can outlast her . . .!"

"Maybe we should put her in solitary confinement," San-San cracked, jiggling Akiko with his arm.

"Maybe you should stop with the jokes," Makoto countered. Then she sniffed the air. "Oh, my squid!"

"We're having squid tonight?" Sanjuro asked as Makoto hurried back into the kitchen. "With peas, I hope." Akiko gurgled. "And some strained peas for you, sweetie."

Then a news item caught Sanjuro's ear. His attention shifted from his daughter to the television.

"Babe!" he called out. "Come look at this!" Makoto entered the room, curious. "You hear anything about this?"

The couple listened to a news report about the attempt that morning on the life of Prime Minister Arashi. It was accompanied by jostling footage captured by news crews of two security officers wrestling with a gaunt, dark-haired man.

"Oh my," Makoto gasped softly.

"Takes all kinds, doesn't it?" Sanjuro added. "The guy had to be delusional or something just to make an attempt in a public place with security everywhere."

The footage continued, finally zooming in on the captured assailant's face after he broke away from the guards and was shot down. Makoto stared at the face with a strange sense of deja vu.

"The assailant was identified as Ryo Urawa . . ." the newscaster read. Makoto felt the blood drain from her face.

"Urawa?!!" she gasped.

"You know him?" Sanjuro asked. However Makoto was already across the room and on the phone. "Babe?"

"San-San, turn out the oven so the squid doesn't burn!" she said urgently. "I've got to call Ami!" As Sanjuro stared and she waited for the call to complete, Makoto sagged back against the wall. "Urawa? I can't believe it!"

Ami hung the phone up and went back to bed. Of course, Makoto had no way of knowing that she had been sleeping and that she didn't have to get up for another four hours yet. The doctor hoped she hadn't sounded cross on the phone.

Thirty minutes later, with no sleep in sight, Ami pulled herself out of bed and sat on the edge. She thought a moment, then donned her fuzzy slippers and crossed to a book shelf at the far end of her bedroom. Ami's hand passed along the volumes housed in the book shelf until she found what she searched for - - a yearbook from eighth grade.

Leafing through page after page of pictures from junior high school brought back so many memories for her. Most of the student pictures were recognizable only as familiar faces from class, but there were some that meant more to her. One page had Makoto's picture on it. She was smiling for the camera with wistful tolerance and Ami knew exactly what was going through her mind: That she didn't think she was as strikingly beautiful as everybody else did. Her own picture was on the next page and Ami grimaced at the trembling, mousy innocent that stared back at her. She recalled she had run calculus formulas in her mind while the picture was being taken to keep from blushing. The next page had Usagi's picture among the other students, naturally beaming a smile so bright and so warm that it threatened to over-expose the film taking the picture. Ami smiled at the memory.

Urawa was on the next page. He'd made the yearbook, even though he hadn't finished the term with Crossroads. Ami touched the picture, irrationally hoping that she'd feel Urawa's firm jaw rather than slick paper.

"What happened, Urawa-kun?" Ami whispered as she gazed into the picture's sensitive eyes, eyes that always seemed to know what was coming. Even though there was a sadness to those eyes even then, there was life and hope in them. "How did you go from this to that emaciated wreck that I operated on? What was it that sent your life spinning out of control?"

A drop of water splashed onto the page. Startled, Ami recovered quickly and wiped it away, then dabbed at her eyes with her fingers. Realizing the effect it was having on her, Ami closed the yearbook and shelved it. Her nightgown dragged along the floor as she crossed back to bed, doffed her slippers and climbed back in. She wanted desperately to change into Sailor Mercury, call in the senshi and get to the bottom of this. However, the scientist in her knew that she had to wait for more data to know how to act efficiently. She'd just have to wait.

And hope that Urawa didn't die before he could talk to her.

Ashitaki Nishimoto held a doctorate in engineering and in physics. Forty-six, he had worked at various times in his life for Mitsubishi auto makers, Kendo Heavy Industries, Tokyo University and the Japanese government itself. He was a certified genius at the design of hydraulic systems, robotics and their industrial application, advanced computer systems and in fabrication of reinforced but lightweight synthetic metals. He had sent the scientific community buzzing with his latest theories on applications of cybernetics. No one questioned his brilliance.

But Ashitaki Nishimoto never seemed to stay anywhere longer than a few years. He was considered coarse and blunt by some, single-minded by others, and generally difficult to work with by all. He didn't work well with others and didn't take criticism well. He found the business climate duplicitous, the educational community stifling and conservative, and public service painfully slow and a dead-end. As an innovator, he was consistent and productive. What he often lacked was money and facilities to make his theories a reality. This always necessitated linking up to those people in business, education or government, all of whom he detested, to help make his ideas come to life. And usually by the time his idea came to fruition, he'd managed to wear out his welcome and had to depart - - without his innovation.

Nishimoto paused as he caught his reflection in a nearby window. He saw a man with limp, unstylish black hair, thick black horn-rim glasses and as boring a costume of white shirt, black slacks and tie as could be. He saw a man gaunt and gawking, disdainful of his fellow man and painfully uncomfortable around women, who he feared saw him as unattractive. How many times had he gone down this path, alone and with no one to understand him or fight for him? Nishimoto sighed. Maybe this time it would be different.

"Nishimoto-San," Hikaru Ishii smiled genially as he entered the engineer's design studio. Nishimoto made a half-hearted attempt to smile back. "I have good news."

Hikaru Ishii was chief operating officer of Kujawa Heavy Industries, Kendo's main competitor. He was in his late fifties and had graying black hair and the waistline of a man with too much money and too much interest in the finer things of life. He could be smooth,
diplomatic and ingratiating with an ease Nishimoto never could muster. But Nishimoto was smart enough to recognize the glint in the eye behind the benign mask, the one that seemed to be calculating how he could separate a man from his wallet.

He had listened to Nishimoto's pitch, how using his theories in cybernetics could make an actual mobile battle suit a reality rather than a fantasy of anime. Ishii had recognized how such a product could revolutionize the armaments market and create entirely new and lucrative revenue streams for Kujawa Industries. He had set Nishimoto up in the company Research and Development Department designing, constructing prototypes, experimenting with his synthetic metals theories, programming cybernetic nets - - with the proviso that they would proceed only if they could get the government to throw in with them. Nishimoto threw in with Ishii, knowing full well that the man would try to cut him out of the deal somehow. The engineer held no illusions - - Ishii was just a means to an end.

"The government is going to help finance the project?" Nishimoto asked, trying to read Ishii's body language rather than the mask that was his public face.

"Not yet," Ishii admitted. "But I've got Toguro-San working on that and he's confident that he can get the appropriation."

"If you say so," Nishimoto scowled and went back to his blueprints.

"Don't scoff," Ishii cautioned. "Toguro may be deposed, but he's still got pull in the Diet."

"Not as much as he used to," Nishimoto countered. "Arashi calls the shots now."

"Speaking of Arashi, did you hear what happened this morning?"

Nishimoto looked at him blankly.

"Someone tried to assassinate our Prime Minister."

"Really?" Nishimoto inquired curiously.

"Yes. Tragic business, really. I'm certainly glad he's all right," Ishii said as Nishimoto studied him, "even though it might have helped our cause if he were incapacitated." Ishii put a mint into his mouth, taken from a tin he carried obsessively. "Still, maybe this incident will convince him that less money needs to be devoted to propping up the tech companies and more needs to go to defense manufacturing. They say a conservative is just a liberal who's been robbed."

"Yes," Nishimoto replied, trying to mask his disdain for this man.

"Should we get favorable treatment from the government on this inquiry, are you ready to proceed?" Ishii asked.

"Yes," Nishimoto sniffed. "All the schematics are drawn. The test models worked to within specifications. The synthetics are blending nicely. I can start construction of the prototype mobile suit at any time."

"Excellent," Ishii smiled. "Even if the plan does get shot down, we can use your synthetic metals process in our farm equipment lines. This looks like as close to a win-win scenario as I could have ever envisioned. The Diet will probably take a few months to debate this, but I'm confident. Be ready to move, Nishimoto-San." And Ishii turned and ambled out of the studio.

"Oh, I will," Nishimoto said to himself. He smiled as he went back to the blueprint on his drawing table. The smile didn't improve his look.

Continued in Chapter 3