I don't own Magic Knight Rayearth. It is the creation of the wonderful CLAMP.

I'm working on the last chapter now. I'd actually forgotten until recently that I never wrote the final scenes. It's awfully hard to jump back into a story that's been cold for months, but it was so close to the end that I couldn't stand to leave it unfinished. It may be a cheesy story, but I still like it well enough that it deserves to have an ending.

And also, my next semester of school starts next week, and I'm hoping to have this entire story up by then. I can't guarantee it will happen, but that will at least be my goal. I may have to upload more than one scene a day – but you probably wouldn't mind that, right?


Scars

by Maelstra

Scene 7: After Half a Dozen Wrong Turns

Ascot stared down at the map and sighed. He had already spent a half hour looking, but he could not find a blue, spiral escalator. There were several green ones, and he had gone up and down a few of these, wondering if the man might have just been a floor off. It had proved futile. Ascot's headache was growing worse, and he just wanted to go home without any further delays.

This particular area had a lot more people. Most of them were dressed in huge cloaks and wore cloths covering their mouths. Some people, though, wore slightly simpler clothing, almost like that which the common people of Cephiro wore. None of them wore anything as elaborate as Ascot's green and white robes, and so by default, he stood out. And no one seemed to have regarded him hostilely yet, but the intensity of some people's stares made Ascot extremely nervous. For this reason, he did not dare ask anyone how to find either the Motive Towers or a blue escalator; it would too obviously label him as an outsider.

But as self-conscious as he was, he finally had to admit he would get no further without asking for help. He decided to pretend that he was already in Motive Towers, and ask for directions accordingly. Trying to look purposeful, Ascot crossed the current floor, and approached a woman who was standing beside the computer consoles that lined the wall. She looked older than anyone Ascot had ever seen in Cephiro, and she was presently adjusting her head cover in the reflection of the metal walls. "U-um . . . exc-cuse me, ma'am. I'm looking for G-geo Metro."

"Who?" She stopped suddenly and looked at Ascot peculiarly.

"Geo Metro. Um . . . he works somewhere in this building."

The woman yawned widely. "So check the building directory. There's a console right there." She pointed to his right, then turned around to fuss with something else, deliberately ignoring him.

Ascot looked at the console. It was just a plain computer display, without any visible keyboard or other way to input information. Then he noticed the headband that hung on a hook below the tabletop. Ascot swallowed hard, then picked up the headband. It was black, lightweight, and seemingly innocuous. He noticed on the inside the thin, silver circuitry that would touch bare skin, and could not repress a shudder. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. But, do I have any choice? Could I get someone else to do it for me? Ascot glanced around him, but everyone seemed to be giving him as wide a berth as possible. Oh . . . I can do this! No I can't. I have to do this – no, no! I . . . no. But I need to! How can I . . . ? Maybe if I don't think about what I'm doing . . . Ascot blocked all conscious thought from his mind, and slipped the band on, over his hair.

He heard a staticky sound (it did not seem to connect very well with his thick bangs in the way), but the static resolved itself into a monotone voice: – Cephiran intruder on level 62, Motive Towers, beside the public access consoles. Warning to all citiz–

Ascot yanked the band off immediately, gazed around desperately for any exit beyond the crowds of people, and then started to run. He heard shouts behind him, but did not dare to turn around. A few people tried to hinder his escape, but most dove out of the way, as though they thought him a threat. Ascot was not sure whether to be grateful or just sad about that.

Then someone behind him opened fire. Ascot gave up any efforts to be clever and just dove forward, passing between a cluster of about twenty people, gambling that the people behind him would not dare shoot civilians.

His trick seemed to work; the gunfire ceased for a moment. Now right in front of Ascot was a high, gray wall with two doorways: one was wide open and appeared to lead to a walkway; the other was labeled "staff only." Ascot charged for the latter and tried the handle. Locked, of course. Grumbling under his breath, Ascot directed a lightning spell to fry the lock.

Kra-shoom!

Ascot staggered back, momentarily blinded by the close-range explosion and smoke, then he forced the door open with a good shove from his shoulder. A energy bolt struck the door just beside his head. "Aaa!" Ascot ducked and hurried forward through the black cloud he had created. The hallway here was narrow and low – a bad place to try to outrun men with guns. Ascot sprinted down it anyway, as he had no other choice, but chanted quietly as he ran. Someone behind him fired several more energy bolts that sounded as though they only barely fell short.

At last, Ascot suddenly stopped, and aimed his lightning spell at the ceiling. He covered his ears barely in time. The bang was still almost deafening in the narrow space – but as Ascot had hoped, the spell made a large portion of the ceiling collapse. That won't stop them for long, but at least it's something. Then Ascot drew upon all his reserves of adrenaline and ran again.

The tunnel seemed to last for almost a mile, but then it finally ended at a locked, sturdily constructed steel door. The lightning spell hardly scratched the surface of it, but the inherent electricity shorted out the controls and made the door slide open just a crack. Ascot strained with both hands to push the halves of the door apart farther – finally it moved enough that he just barely got his slender body through. That should hold any gunmen off for a while. Something further back down the hall rumbled. Unless of course they carried explosives, in which case they could just blow it open.

Ascot finally took a good look at the room before him. "Whoa," he gasped reflexively. "Is the castle even this big?" The room seemed to be at least as wide as the tunnel had been long, and the ceiling itself was so high as to be mostly indistinct in shadows. But what really drew Ascot's attention were the Mashin: giant, armored, robot soldiers of destruction. Ascot had seen the Mashin of the Magic Knights before (and he personally thought those were much more impressive looking) but the Autozamian creations were not to be taken lightly, either. There were fifteen of these metal giants, Ascot counted, and each stood dozens of feet high. Ascot puzzled over how one could even access them, but then he noticed the mesh-steel catwalk that ran along about even with the Mashin's stomachs. He considered climbing up there and hiding inside a Mashin, but then realized that the catwalk only connected to a doorway that was way up overhead – there were no ladders or other such things to connect the catwalk to the ground.

"He's in the landing bay! Shoot him!"

Ascot dove out of the way, accidently diving into an energy bolt and getting grazed by it above his knee. He glanced over and saw at least two people trying to force the door open, and three hands that all held guns pointed his direction.

Ascot ran towards the closest Mashin, a dark purple one that seemed to have been created with an expression of permanent disgust. Someone had apparently been trying to repair its foot, and a large metal panel had been removed and currently rested on the floor – however the was no space in the foot for Ascot to climb inside. What can I do? Is there another door out of here? Ascot looked around but could see no other exit besides the one door up on the catwalk. What am I going to do?!

Ascot looked over at the people trying to break through the door, and saw one angry woman taking aim. He ducked just in time, and the bolt reflected off the armor of the Mashin's leg. Do I dare to summon one of my friends? But against these weapons . . . they would surely be killed. If only I could fly like Mimi.

Ascot dodged behind the leg to think – something niggled the back of his mind. Wait – before I grew tall for Umi, didn't I fly all the time? How strange that I should forget that . . . But yes – I just used a common lump of dirt . . . Ascot peered around the Mashin's leg and saw the metal panel on the floor. It was just the right size for him to comfortably stand on. He waited until another two shots went by, then he leapt out, grabbed the panel, and with difficultly dragged it behind the leg again. He heard the door start to groan as it was forced wider. Ascot stood on the piece of metal, closed his eyes, and tried to focus. Now, how did I do it? I haven't thought about it for months. It . . . it's really so strange that I would forget, but probably, somehow when I changed . . .

Well, never mind that now. What did I think to make it work? It's strange – I don't recall thinking anything. Actually, all I remember thinking was 'up.' Ascot felt a lurch and he opened his eyes: he was a foot off the ground. "Yes!"

The people at the door cheered as well – because they finally succeeding in forcing the door open wide enough to squeeze through, one at a time. Ascot did not waste a moment, and threw all his concentration into thinking 'up' – and 'quickly!!!'

Only one man kept trying to shoot at Ascot. The rest simply stared as the young man rocketed upward on a plain sheet of metal.

"It's just an evil Cephiran trick! Don't let him get away!"The fuming man's words seemed sufficient to convince his companions to start firing at Ascot once more.

Ascot's lack of recent practice made it harder than he remembered, but he nevertheless managed to fly up level with the catwalk, then a little higher still so he could jump over the railing. He let the metal panel fall back to the ground, hoping that the people would have the sense to stay out of the way. It hit the hard floor with a resounding clang seconds later.

The cockpit door to the ugly purple Mashin was wide open – apparently the maintenance on the foot had been pretty major – Ascot gratefully dove inside and looked around. The interior was covered in metal panels, consoles, and controls of mysterious origins. Guessing, Ascot hit a grayish button beside the door and was pleased when the cockpit door hummed and slowly locked closed. They shouldn't bother me in here. Then Ascot realized that the people below probably knew very well how to get up onto the catwalk. Oh no – now I've really trapped myself! What can I do?!

The answer was obvious, but Ascot did not want to admit it. He tried desperately to think of any other solution, but came up blank. I did put that inquiry band-thing on . . . that wasn't so bad . . . His attempts to reassure himself utterly failed – instead of calming down, instead his heart started pounding. Don't think, don't think . . . Ascot sat down in the black-cushioned control chair. There was a computer-interfacing headband laid across the right armrest. Don't think! I . . . just don't think about it! He clenched his eyes shut and choked back a whimper, then blindly grasped the band and slipped it on his head before he could talk himself out of it.

Images flickered into his mind, as though displayed on the back of his eyes. They blurred and faltered so much that Ascot could read nothing that was written there. With a sigh, he pulled his hair out from under the band.

He could feel the wires touching his bare skin. They tingled. Ascot curled up into fetal position and clutched his knees to his chest and just gasped for a wretched, interminable moment. Finally, his panic faded slightly and he could begin to let himself focus on the diagrams that the band was feeding directly into his mind.

The various graphs and readouts meant nothing to him, but as he wondered about each, explanatory text would suddenly appear and inform him which graphs were for fuel levels, power control, cockpit integrity, and so forth. The dancing graphs were simultaneously hypnotizing and terrifying. Ascot reached up with both hands and nearly pulled the band off his head . . . when he remembered the hostile people outside, and his immediate situation. It's okay. Really, it's okay. See? It's not hurting me . . . Ascot focused on slowing down his breathing.

At last, experimenting gingerly and remembering the same train of thought that let him fly the metal panel, Ascot extended his right arm slightly and visualized the Mashin doing the same.

The purple Mashin stuck out its right arm.

Ascot gasped as he felt power flow through him into the Mashin. I . . . it drains my energy, like I expected – I feel it . . . But it doesn't hurt. I – maybe it's not supposed to hurt? A little more of Ascot's fear left. He pictured the Mashin moving its legs and taking two steps forward. It did so, rumbling and clanking slightly.

No, this still can't be safe! Even though it doesn't hurt like I thought it would . . . just look at Eagle! It drained all his energy away and left him stuck in that sleeping death!

Ascot shook his head, and was chagrined that the Mashin did the same. No thinking. No thinking. I'm just going back to Cephiro. No thinking. There's the door over there. I wonder how I can get it open?

No other solution presented itself, so Ascot pictured the Mashin using weapons to force the door open. He was shocked when the Mashin opened fire with its entire arsenal, totally blowing the door away. Oops – I didn't mean that! Ugh, I hope I didn't hurt anybody. Ascot sent the Mashin lumbering threw the hole, then jumped off into midair.

The Mashin plummeted under the influence of gravity.

Aaaaaaagh! Ascot was too scared to vocalize his scream. Fly! Fly! Do something! Whoa!

The Mashin kindly activated its rockets and hovered midair.

Ascot leaned further into the chair and groaned. The interface showed him the power levels graph again, but he did not know why. The Mashin did not give any explanation, apparently expecting the data to speak for itself. Ascot just hoped it meant that the Mashin was functioning properly. Just take me to Cephiro, he thought firmly to the computer. Set a course for Cephiro, and go there at maximum speed, dodging any obstacles in our way.

Orders confirmed. Course laid in. Engaging now. The Mashin 'spoke' to Ascot through the connection, startling the boy.

Okay, great. Carry on, Mashin. Ascot sighed again, deliberated over taking the headband off during the flight, but finally decided he ought to leave it on. He closed his eyes, tried to relax, and finally permitted himself to take a long-overdue nap while the ugly Mashin rocketed toward Cephiro.