SEVEN

We're stumped. I'm sitting on one side of the trunk coffee table picking at a sandwich made from leftovers. Rei is taking a shower and Minako is heating up some noodles. Artemis is sat on the arm of the couch, licking his paws, deep in thought. We've been lost in ourselves since we recounted to him what happened. All he said was "Hm" and then set about cleaning himself.

After a few more minutes Rei emerges from the bathroom, dressed, with a towel wrapped around her head. She massages a temple, "Things could have gone better," she murmurs.

"Are their other senshi?" I ask, "They said they'd met someone else like us—but Mako-chan and Usagi-chan are still in Tokyo, aren't they?"

"Yes," Artemis says.

"Unless," Minako, having set her bowl of noodles on the counter flops down in front of Artemis, "Can you turn into a senshi?"

Artemis' forehead crinkles and he sets down the paw he was gnawing on, "No."

Minako giggles for a moment then, after scratching Artemis behind his ears, turns more seriously to the discussion at hand, "I don't recall there being others aside from us," Minako says, "but any things I have remembered about the Moon Kingdom have mostly been focused around the Princess and," she gives a smirk, "also around Kunzite."

"We're only a fraction of the planets in the solar system," I say, "I know Rei-chan and I had been wondering a while ago why there weren't Neptune or Saturn senshi."

"Aliens," Rei sits down next to me, "That's the only way I can describe them. They felt like aliens, and they called US interlopers."

"There's been no conclusive proof of alien life—" I start.

"Ami-chan—we used to live on the moon!" Rei says.

Minako tries not to snort her noodles.

"The Moon Kingdom did have dealings with alien civilizations," Artemis cuts us back into echoing silence, "I do not recall anyone whose attire was quite like what you described just before, but that doesn't mean we haven't had dealings—civilizations evolve—if they didn't fall to Beryl or Metallia—there were many group who chose to stay out of things," he stands up and stretches arching his back and bearing his claws for a moment, "The only way to know for sure would be to try and make peace, share information. There were Outer ring senshi but they were less directly involved. It could be possible that some survived somehow. If they stayed out there they'd likely not be human anymore."

"That's highly improbable—them being out there anymore. Those planets have been as thoroughly examined as they can and they're gaseous..."

"Now," Artemis says, "They're gaseous now. I'm honestly not sure how to discover anything without wandering around aimlessly again," he glances towards Rei for a moment, "Or…?"

"There isn't a fireplace," Rei says, "I don't want to set Ami-chan's apartment on fire."

"I would appreciate it," I add.

Minako rinses her noodle bowl out in the sink, "I think this does indeed warrant getting in touch with the others," she says.

When the phone rings right then I feel it would be the others somehow managing to call; but none of them has the number for my landline. Work is calling me in because they've a lot of changes in the coma victims and they need help. I'm more than happy to go, leaving Minako and Rei in charge of getting in touch with the others. As I busy myself getting ready to go they're arguing about the concert and some text that Minako received from Shatcho. We exchange quick pleasantries as I rush out of the door.

The hospital is a buzz given the sudden change in the coma victims, and it's hard not to be caught up in the jubilant mood until everything comes crashing down. An unconscious youth is rushed into the ER by a blond man. I have this momentary impulse to curl into a ball. The doctors and nurses are all looking grim as symptom after symptom mirrors the previous coma patients.

I'm left with one of the day nurses and instructions to make the patient as comfortable as possible while the higher ups confer. I also have to appease the family's concerns when they arrive. I imagine they're talking about contacting a higher authority. The subject had come up previously and then been tabled again when the victims began waking up. They were hoping that testing those who woke up would yield something helpful to restore the remaining few—as far as they know that's still a possibility and I have no idea how I would begin to explain to them that they need to find monsters and kill them and then their patients will wake up.

The young boy is wearing the uniform from one of the local private high schools. The nurse helps me undress him and hook him up to the monitors. She goes to check that everything is transmitting properly to the nurses' station and as the door swings closed I notice that the boy's tie is on the floor. I'm bending over to pick that up when I feel eyes on my backside, lingering there. I hastily stand up and turn around, adjusting my glasses again. They're constantly slipping down my nose lately, but then they're the same ones that I've had since high school and they haven't been worn that much until recently and I keep neglecting to get them readjusted.

The person behind me—they came in the door as the nurse left—could, qualify as cute if I was interested. They have short cropped blond hair and look a bit rumpled, carrying a jacket carried over their shoulder. It's the blonde man who brought the boy in I'd wager. He gives me a slight smile.

"How is he?" He asks in an odd accent that I can't quite place; perhaps, it's just another region of the US that I'm unfamiliar with.

I move towards the end of the bed grabbing for the chart, "Are you a relative?" I ask.

He shakes his head, "No. I'm from the school," he says the name of it, but it doesn't mean much to me.

"I can't tell you very much until we talk to his family, and then you can ask them."

"He doesn't have any. He's from a group home and then there's us."

I sigh, "That's-"

"I'm not looking to get you into trouble," he says, "You can call your boss. I have the paper work. I just—I don't want to know anything drastic. I just want to know if he's going to be okay." There's something I'm missing from his tone. I wish I was more socially adept.

"Well, there's only minor physical injuries, but the co-" I glance over at the teacher, between looking at the chart and the patient. I wonder if I'm doing that over explaining thing again, and he doesn't seem to be following me.

As he drops the jacket on to the arm of the chair the angle and the light of the window behind, I realize he doesn't have an Adam's apple. Despite the cut of the shirt I've been incorrectly assuming their gender, "He should be fine." Provided we kill the youma.

"Should be?"

"Well, this is one of the better hospitals in the area. Hopefully your school records can let us know what he is or isn't allergic to and we will make sure he gets the best treatment. We've had success with similar cases in the past. I just-I tend to try and give us leeway. Though things are highly positive," so long as we track down and kill the youma, "and he should be back to school in no time. Of course, whether or not that will please him as much as that would have pleased me when I was his age remains to be seen."

She gives a slight smile, but still looks troubled. I realize she can't be much older than me; and then I wonder what gender she actually identifies with and if I'm misconstruing the pronouns after all, "Are you sure?"

Not anymore, and that depends on what she actually was talking about.

"How do you mean?" I try not to give away my uncertainty. While this isn't exactly going against instructions I feel torn between the guilt that I'm not checking on other patients and the guilt that I can't just fix this even though I have a good idea what's wrong. Ordinarily I would have bowed my way out long before now, and where has the nurse gone? There's something very compelling about this woman. I'm not sure I recall teachers being so concerned for their students, but then that's not something to be condemned. Without the boy's description we have no idea what this new youma may look like. She did give me the school name, but how would we go about questioning the other students? I have to frame this so it's not outside of things a random medic at the hospital should really be asking about.

Well, ma'am. Do you prefer ma'am or sir? In all probability your student was attacked and part of his soul's energy was eaten by an entity that could be from another planet or galaxy or possibly even plane of existence we're not sure on that part, but rest assured I'm going to change into a pretty soldier and vanquish it and then he'll wake up, see? All good.

"Um…well, that depends. Do you know anything about what happened? Was it at school? The more details we have about anything he may have been exposed to the better chance we have of fixing things sooner."

There's a hesitation I catch on her part now. It reminds me of the way I get when I'm not sure I should say something. Perhaps she was with the boy when he was attacked? That would explain some things.

"He wasn't at school when he was attacked," she says, "He'd come down to..." there's hesitation, and then a smile, "something tells me you're not all that familiar with the world outside the hospital."

"That would be true," I admit, "Generally I spend my time between work and...never mind, you were saying."

"I'm keeping you from your duties."

"Actually I was asked to remain here until the boy's family showed up, um...I mean, I should be safe until I get paged."

Her smile widens just a little bit more, "Jason, his name is Jason Cawlis, " she offers me a hand to shake, "and I'm Alex."

I check that information on the chart. Then I remember she's holding her hand out. Her hand shake is firm and warm. Her grip is stronger than Makoto's. I feel my face flushing as she smiles at me.

"I race in my free time and sometimes the kids will come down to the track and watch. Jace knew I'd be down there today, and came down to there me, but then there was...someone," she says that last part firmly, as though trying to convince herself, "it-he, they, came in and attacked. It hit Jace with something and he was thrown across the room before I could do anything," she hangs her head, and runs her fingers through the short blond hair. Given the shirt is slightly unbuttoned, I catch the slightest of curves of the top of very small breasts. I look away, quickly towards the window and then the clipboard.

"What did the person look like?" I pause, "I'm sorry. The police will want-I'll let you visit."

"It's okay. I already talked to them. They're looking into things. Please. Stay. There—it's really messed up," her tone shifts a bit. I start to feel what she's saying is purely for my benefit. It reminds me of when I would practice cover stories over and over again and the blurt them out too quickly, "They think the track's coming up with some kind of mascot or something and the guy just inhaled too many gas fumes. They were wearing some kind of suit that looked like it was made from car parts," she shakes her head, "I'm just mad he got away I should have stopped him."

I give her a cautious, but hopefully reassuring smile that lets her know I completely believe her fabricated story by complimenting it with my own, "You wouldn't believe how many times we've had people in lately saying they were attacked by someone in costume. It must be a new gang trademark. I'm sure that the police will track it down."

She nods, chewing on her lip slightly, and I excuse myself before I really do get into trouble for being gone too long. As I duck out I catch strains of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik playing from her phone.