Unlike Laray, Conroy turned out to be a softly-spoken, smart-sounding fellow, proprietor of a shop named Conroy's Cybernetics. His shop was unorganized, unkempt, and distinctly disturbing. Despite her familiarity with his technological medium, she found the sight of disembodied mechanical limbs quite unsettling.

Thank Coake, she thought, he's not into Bio-System prosthesis. Ick.

"So the great and highly sought-after Sliver is Makoto Kino!" Conroy remarked, sounding genuinely amazed. He was a short, thin man who always looked like he was thinking something amusing. His strict crew cut of hair left little of the tan-coloured shag atop his skull, seeming to make a point of the impish features upon his face. His apparent knowledge of the situation brushed aside his self-imposed image of the isolated doctor stereotype.

"Sought… What do you mean?" Makoto asked, eying the fellow closely, wrinkling her nose slightly when she detected the undeniable odour of oil and blood.

"Oh yes," he replied with a half grin, clearly aware of her response. "You, my dear, have a very sizable price on your head. Something close to thirty-kilocredits I believe. Not to mention that at the moment, more than a dozen troops are seeking you within the confines of New Quebec's walls."

Makoto stared at him, trying to glean some indication of honesty or deception beyond his augmented monovision sight.

"How do you know that?" she demanded angrily.

Han put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "He's got his methods, babe… trust me."

For a moment, she could not be sure. He seemed sincere, and Hanlan trusted him. She sighed. "I don't get it. Is there some organization behind all of this?"

"All of what?" Conroy asked, looking curious.

"Don't play stupid with me," Makoto snarled, striding with heated deliberation towards the man. "There's no way Han could have just turned up to save me the way he did."

"Why not?" The wisp of a fellow did not seem intimidated by her harsh demeanour. Then, as he spoke, his voice assumed a darker, more serious tone. "Listen, Makoto. Listen carefully. If you want any information at all, you are going to have to be more specific. I deny nothing; you are merely not handing me the required details."

Somehow, she felt, the conversation had resorted to a game, a form of verbal combat. To win, she had only to… to what? What was it he was playing at? Then it occurred to her. To win, she merely had to answer her question. To solve the object of twenty questions. Supply points to be denied or affirmed, and it would become apparent. Whatever it was. She fought an urge to tell him to take a seat on her vibro claws and go for an unhealthy spin.

"Like what? Like our escape, for starters. Tell me what you know and not what you've heard."

He half smiled as if impressed. "Over a cup of coffee, perhaps?"

Han grunted, confused. "Uh, Con, what are you doin'?"

The blond-haired man allowed a self-empowered grin to alter his expression. "You wanted to help Han, old friend… You've just found it. Your dear love and I, not excluding yourself, must talk before we proceed any further."

Han scratched his head.

"It's fine. You've done well," Makoto offered as Conroy led them deeper into the building.

It was cold; Conroy did not seem overly concerned about heating. As a cybernetics doctor, who knew how many implants he had within his thin shell of a figure? Light seemed to be held at a lower priority, a single sixty-watt bulb supplying for their conversation around a circular table of what might have been sealed wood, some lightweight alloy, or plastic. She could not be sure. Nor could she care less.

"I can't trust just anyone, you know," he explained after briefly sipping his steaming coffee. "Not even you, Han."

"Why the frickin' heck not?" the rouge demanded. "Me and you go back… way back."

"Look at us now, though. You're the musclehead, I'm the veritable cyber-freak." His expression seemed appropriate, calm, relaxed, which might very well have set in stone at any moment. The vague bemusement, however, was gone. Makoto snickered at his directness.

"Yeah, so?" Han retorted, not quite comprehending.

"Remember when the Shi-Con underground market approached us?"

Han nodded deftly. "Yeah. I wanted…" his voice fell.

"You wanted to be the big knight defending the damsel from the dragon - or, in this case - society's counterpart, the media. Not to mention the girls that went along with it." Conroy punctuated his sentence with a smirk. "As a result, only I accepted what they presented to me. It's tough to accept the Coalition's knowledge-stifling ideals." He took a breath. "Simply put, the difference is this: even Shi-Con doesn't trust you with every ingredient boiling in the stewing pot of a company. As an employee, even of the elite sort, they share little more with me, my friend."

"I guess so." He breathed in the vagrant flavour wafting from the cup sanctioned in both hands before taking a short sip. "You're not gonna dump out on me, are you?" An expression of what might be faint concern lighted Han's face.

"Regarding anything else, certainly not." Makoto paused before letting her pre-warmed questions loose upon this new fellow.

"So Han wasn't sent to rescue me?"

"Why not ask me that, babe…?"

"Um, sorry…" she glanced at him apologetically.

"Hey, it's cool," he replied warmly. "Yep, I wasn't looking for you… I was looking for any of the… uh, Sailor Soldiers. I still think that's a frickin' strange name. Anyway, I figured that she - uh, well, you, as it turned out - might've gone underground, like I would. It's not safe topside - not like that, anyway."

"So it was an accident."

"Kinda," he said sheepishly. "I heard lots of noise and figured maybe one of you'd escaped from Neo Tech. See, I knew it was just one of you. But, didn't know which."

Makoto gave Han an acknowledging nod and turned again to face Conroy.

"What is Shi-Con? Why are they interested in the Bishojo Sailor Senshi?"

"The Pretty Sailor Soldiers? For many reasons, few of which have been disclosed to me. The first of which is the uniqueness of your power. Are you sure you don't want a cup?"

"No, thank you," she negated softly. Her eyes then narrowed. "What do they want, to dissect us?"

"Our first objective is to return you home. Unfortunately, the task becomes more elaborate as we speak, largely because we have so little information about your individual whereabouts. As a result, the risk of exposing ourselves presents even greater complications."

Makoto considered her words for a moment. " 'Ourselves.' Who is that? What do they want, then?"

"Sorry, can't say. It's too soon, even for me. I am afraid they have protected this information because they fear a misstep on my part. You understand."

She pursed her lips, giving his words some thought, then nodded. "I guess. What do you know about my friends?"

"That's the most direct question you've asked since we met," he smiled. "Your speculation is correct, and the rumours are indeed true. The Coalition State of Lone Star has Ami Mizuno at this point. Rei Hino is training as a Fire Warlock in the Magic Zone. We have yet to locate Mina Aino and Usagi Tsukino."

"I suppose you've got people watching them."

He nodded. "Or at least, we had. Our operative failed to bring Ami to us before a pair of mercenaries got a hold of the girl. This was shortly after you escaped from Atlantis. Certainly a remarkable feat in its own right."

It would be a lie to say Makoto was surprised by the lack of emotion in Conroy's voice. He was working for an outside force towards an objective that only mattered to him for specific reasons, none of them emotional, unlike herself.

"So what now? What have you done about Ami's abduction?"

"Our undercover agent, Carl Silver, has undertaken the task of her safety. He currently works as a geneticist specializing in the mutant properties of humans in the Lone Star facilities. As such, he is well-trusted by our opponents and will not come under suspicion."

"How can you be sure?" Makoto asked pointedly.

"He will not. To save yourself time, I would accept that as fact. Unless, of course, you are not interested in the lives of the other 'senshi,' as you call them." Conroy's voice became hard, almost cold.

Makoto immediately concluded that "Carl Silver" was a supernatural being. A mage, at the very least. A mighty one, to remain undetected by the CS as long as Conroy's voice seemed to imply. His condescension irritated her.

"Don't play games with me, dammit," Makoto half-snapped. "I'm not unfamiliar with supernatural creatures. I have many friends among D-Bees, including dragons."

Conroy arched an eyebrow. "Then you are more resourceful than I first deemed you."

Makoto was tired of the vocal chess.

"Before Han and I go, I want you to answer my first question."

"You will reciprocate?"

"I'll think about it. Tell me: Did you engineer our escape from Atlantis?"

It was obvious to Conroy that denying what she believed to be true would only inspire a negative response. That is not what he was opting for. Thus, he seemed to consider his response for a delicate moment. A thoughtful finger was placed against his closed lips. It then dropped, at which point he spoke.

"Not directly, but yes, we are responsible for your freedom."

Makoto stood. "That's all I needed to know."

Han got to his feet and followed her as she exited the room. Conroy did not comment despite her expectations. Makoto did not stop when she passed the exiting door of the building.

"Where are you going, Mako? Did he tick you off or something?" Hanlan asked, concerned. She halted and faced him.

"No, love, he didn't. I need time… time to think. Alone." Suddenly, she was looking at him, asking for time alone, and Han found himself hesitant to answer her. There was something in her expression which set him at ill ease.

"Mako," he took her hands in his. "I need you…"

Her gaze did not quite meet his. "I'm not going to run off if that's what you think."

"Not like before?" While her words did not betray the raw anxiety she felt, her body did.

"I… you've got to trust me."

He did not, and a single glance told her that. He said nothing, fearful the wrong words would slip forth.

"If you love me… you will. I know you do… I can feel it."

Han looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"You know I'm empathic, right?" Waiting for his nod, finding it, she elaborated. "I don't know why - or how - but I know what you feel. Even when I don't try, I know you love me… but…"

"But what?" Tension drifted audibly in his tones.

"I won't leave you, I swear. I know those other girls, even though they might have cared for you… they never stayed. I'm not like that…" her face worked visibly in nervousness. "Han… do you want to marry me?"

Something like relief, amazement, and pleasure appeared on the bruiser's handsomely chiselled face. His words did not share the tone, however.

"Are you… uh…" No, he thought, she's sure. I know it. She doesn't say stuff she's not sure of. Not usually. "I mean, we don't know we'll ever make it…"

"Exactly. That's something we'll know when it happens." A nostalgic look succeeded the uncertain expression.

But why? something asked inside of her. Why marry him so soon? You know what Mama would have said. 'Wait a year, maybe two. Then settle in, have a dozen babies in your dreams while you give one birth.' "I never thought… I mean, isn't this a little…"

She smiled. What would Mama do when faced with this? I don't know. But for me, I think… I feel more than anything that this is right:

"Yes, but isn't it what you want?"

"C'mon? We haven't known each other for very long…"

Makoto was surprised and impressed by Hanlan's emotional chastity. "You're going to count seconds? Thought I was going to do that."

Han turned over another leaf. "I just… gotta do it once. Get married, I mean. Don't wanna rush somethin' so important!"

She pulled him towards her, pressing against him firmly. She mimicked his discomfort with a loving grin, saying, "C'mon? Big brave fighter's worried little girl will cause him too much trouble?"

He 'hmmed,' locking eyes with her. "I just remembered how much I like trouble."

"Yeah…"

He wrapped his arms around her, loving the feel of her solid warmth. "Yeah," he crooned. "And I ain't going to run either. Not from you… never."

Without another word, they kissed. It was a long, deliberately passionate, lingering kiss, unlike their first, emotionally desperate encounter. Instead, Makoto felt warmed by the heat between them and very much intoxicated, as Han did.

Finally, they paused long enough to breathe. Neither let the other go, holding tightly as if trying to bond physically. Han felt now, more than ever, that Makoto was a fact in his life, and to lose her… he did not want to imagine it. Makoto, separately, shared his thoughts, realizing that he was the type of man who could never betray her.

"Mako-babe… I'll leave you alone now if you want," he whispered, mouth against her ear.

She murmured dissent. "No, please don't. Alone is the last thing… I want to be right now. Really."

Silence accompanied them, sympathetic, holding them for a Time in a solitary fashion, allowing them a brief peace.

"Do you want to go and find someone to get us married?" Han asked, not wanting to let her go, wondering if he ever could.

"Not yet," she replied softly, tightening her grip on him as if telling him she would never leave. "There's no hurry."

—

The Coalition did not support the legal bearings of marriage since it required formal knowledge, which they were unwilling to allow the public. Nevertheless, even the uneducated masses honoured various marital systems. Often included is a dowry, though, unlike in recent centuries, it is not always offered from the woman's side of the bond. Makoto's offering of an exchange of gifts - rather than having a formal wedding in the light of limited time, funds, and guests - suited Han just fine.

Makoto decided that a pair of matching rings they purchased from Conroy would have to compensate for a legally binding signature. The rings, both of ruby in the form of pre-Rifts doves and silver, elaborately formed as vines to encircle the appropriate finger, were as magical as they were beautiful.

Conroy informed his unduly wary friend that it had been Laray's most recent venture as a Techno-Wizard and promised that the rings would help them in times of greatest need. When asked, he explained that the rings would act as tracers, allowing the two to be instantly aware of the others' locale at any given time, as well as allowing greater range when using telepathic communication.

Han shrugged in response, thinking little of the latter.

The proceedings took place in Conroy's shop. He professed that he was a practitioner of the ways of the once well-known Christian Clergyman. Hanlan seemed more concerned with Makoto's happiness than any other factor and offered little verbal obstacles to her expressed interest despite his lack thereof. Never quite the religious man, but damned if he was not sure a creator was keeping him alive and sane through the turbulent reality that was Rifts Earth, and expressing his gratitude for his meeting and love for Makoto Kino in the manner of prayer, something he had never attempted before. As she had regarding many other life factors, Makoto tried to settle her heart, knowing that things could be worse. She had fallen deeply in love through everything and was about to be married.

Wonders never ceased. The wedding was not expensive, nor did it have any extended list of invited friends. On the other hand, Makoto had not expected to be married at all after becoming a Cyber-Knight.

"Do you, Hanlan Ireson, take this woman, Makoto Kino, to be your wedded wife, through richer or poorer, sickness and health so long as you both shall live?"

He began to consider his actions for the first time in his life. Everything he knew spoke against this. It was as he had explained to her. He was sure they would come to hate each other after too long.

What would Mom think? He thought as an uncertain moment drifted between the gathered three. What would Mom say? 'She's a nice girl Hanlan.' Is that it? What are we about? I don't know, but she loves me. Not because she's weak… but, ah heck, I guess I'll never know if I don't do it.

Finally, the words came forth with the warranted hesitance. "Yes, I do."

"Do you, Makoto Kino, take this man, Hanlan Ireson, to be your wedded husband, through richer or poorer, sickness and health so long as you both shall live?"

Makoto scarcely believed she was doing this. A hundred thoughts fluttered like a furied murder of crows through her mind.

I wanted to share this day with my friends… Rei would tell me I'm going to screw this up, somehow. But… Am I making a mistake? Each time, a glance at Han negated that fear. Mama, forgive me, but I guess this isn't what either of us wanted.

"Yes," she affirmed.

"And since there will be no contest by any third party… I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

"I was waitin' for that bit," Hanlan smirked as he took Makoto into his arms and laid his lips upon hers with all the passion befitting. What seemed an eternity passed before their lips parted. Again, Makoto seemed half-consumed by her passions. Hanlan gazed steadily into her eyes, sure that he had made no mistake. Makoto turned quickly to Conroy.

"We need," her eyes barely met his. "Well… you know."

Conroy nodded soberly. "Certainly. I would not trust any inn, however. I have prepared a room for you upstairs. I quite understand if you do not wish to pursue your friends until tomorrow."

A faint blush warmed her face. We might need tomorrow, too, Hanlan thought.

"Han!" Makoto blurted, her blush only deepening.

Han looked immediately confused. "Huh? Babe, I didn't say anything."

"Um…" she wondered how much warmer her face could be. You must have thought it, she replied experimentally, keeping her tongue still.

I guess I musta. He took her hand with a smile, hefted her easily into his thick arms and carried her upstairs. A sinful grin evoked itself upon his face. This could be interesting!

Makoto found herself both shocked and excited by the implications. As they exited stage left, Conroy turned to his shop and decided it would be best to leave it closed for the next twenty-four hours. It was going to be a long night.

—

There was no question about it; it had been a long night. On that note, it was not quite over yet. Like everything else in Makoto's world, her emotions were stirred, like a four thousand-dollar painting by a madman. Every thought consumed her and pulled her back to a single pair of questions: Was their arrival on this future Earth an accident? What would the Senshi do if they should act as a team once again?

The first of the two was the most difficult to answer, for she had so little knowledge to fit into its puzzle. Conroy and this "Shi-Con Corporation" presented a significant chance to discover the executioner of the Bishojo Sailor Senshi. Despite the sober opportunity, trust was a giant - uncertain - commodity. Conroy could be lying through his not-so-pearly whites. While it was unlikely, it was possible, especially considering the resources and demands of such a considerable company.

Though every feeling she could glean from him indicated honesty and plainness of attitude, Makoto felt unable to face the sliver of a chance that the Senshi would ever become a team again. Pitched with other darker, unsettled emotions, tears seem in ready supply. As she mingled with the midnight call of the calm outside, warding those forlorn wellings was neither something she could do nor cared to. She had shed tears in Hanlan's presence before; his harsh nature did not seem to halt that. After having made love to him again, and not in a premarital fashion, she felt that it was difficult to share such feelings again. Why? He was supposed to be happy, wasn't he? Fielding her sadness might only draw him down as well. She did not want to do that.

The air was cool on the naked skin of her arms and legs. It was mid-spring, so the night was cool enough for a midnight stroll and ideal for this chance to contemplate her life. The shorts and tunic of tan cotton felt comfortable and eased her mind to some degree. A deep breath revealed a distinct sweetness she had not noted earlier. She could only relate the fragrance to the forest around them. In her day, such an odour was missed at the point in history that contained her birth. It was as calming to her as the clothes she wore.

Despite her efforts, in action and garment, to drop the weights set upon her shoulders, she still felt as though she bore their impressive girth. Reflection brought the nagging feeling that her act of marriage had been one of desperation and survival as much as one of love. She raised her hand and regarded the ring she continued to wear. The crimson dove had a radiance, a presence, and she felt it against her mind. After a moment of study and unconscious probing, she found the presence was Hanlan's elemental mind.

Makoto smiled selflessly; he had expended much effort and energy trying to indicate the honesty of his feelings for her through his passions. While he excelled in that area, as he had proven, his inability to express himself through words bothered her. She felt an undeniable need to talk to him. As much as the idea came with ill ease, she hardly wanted to conceal her misconstrued feelings and compunctions from him.

As Hanlan had said, was it not that kind of thing which tore young lovers apart? We did not take time to learn about each other, and we stumbled headlong into a relationship in which communication was unimportant. But they weren't young; she was certainly no longer a teenager, just lost and uncertain. It's funny he should know so much about relationships.

"Excuse me, Ma'am," quoth a year-grated baritone of mislaid sounding.

Reflexively, she snapped around to face the intrusion. A male figure of aged appearance sheltered in a robe reaching to ground length stood before her.

"Yes, what do you want?" Her words were ill-considered and held some venom within them; she had no wish to be disturbed.

"I'm sorry to bother you, my dear, honestly. I know something of your troubles; I have only recently shed the skin of a long-ailed marriage." Instantly, his words inspired mistrust. With a fragment of her mind, she reached forth to verify him and beseech any lie which might motivate his tongue. Upon finding none, she waited, hands set upon hips, for him to speak his purpose. "I seek only to quell what viral concerns taint your thoughts. Fear me not, I mean you no harm."

She removed her hands from her hips and crossed them - along with her arms - over her breasts. "Who are you? Should it concern you?"

"It does not, to be frank. Nothing does anymore. My single motivation here is to share a few words that may have saved me many pains that are now well faded."

"Are you a blind man? A beggar? If you want a spare coin, I have a few." Her eyes narrowed, gazing upon the somewhat distorted figure.

"Hear me well, child. The mind will conceive lies which the heart will follow, for the truth can scar."

Child? Her mind whirled. Anger flowed easily to the surface. The steel ring uttered gently as three blades slipped from the back of her hand. "What do you want, old man?! Talk straight, or leave me the hell alone!"

"Aye. I will seek to enlighten you no further."

In a blur of emotional agony, she grasped the man by the collar of his robe and dragged him from his feet. "Who are you? What do you want?!" she demanded in harsh, violent, overturned words.

"People are ignorant and childish, Makoto; they will believe what is heard because it is gentler than the truth!"

With that, the robe sagged and fell empty in her grip. With a snarl on her lip, she cast aside the robe and dropped to her knees, eyes closed, hot tears streaming. In an instant, the stranger had made her face everything. The truth. They could never be together again! The Senshi had been scattered to the four winds, and none save a Goddess could recover the brilliant shards. Hanlan was all she had! The only one she had. What was hope? A starving babe, scrying with its failing voice for love, life, comfort…

Warmth against Makoto's flesh caused her to forget her pain and recall the fury that had surfaced sharply. As she rose, the incredible smell and maroon-tinted evening had been replaced by a bedroom catering to an expensive layout and contents. Her tears felt vaguely warmed as she wiped them away with the back of her hand. The bed, chair, and table all offered a hand-constructed appearance in the late eighteenth century. The remainder of the room's pieces, curtains, carpets, a shag rug, and Victorian paintings, complimented the decor with accent colours of scarlet and a soft sapphire. The stiff brush of stale air across her neck caused her to turn, eyes asking for an opponent.

"Welcome, makoto kino. You like? Not that it matters…"

Before she could think to follow the source of the voice, a biting frigidness wrapped itself about her neck.

"Ki-ha!" Makoto cried with a blurred backhand strike of fist and fury.

The woman chuckled. A charcoal-skinned, silver-haired woman of some five feet in height adorned in a knee-length dress of cool grey took Makoto's hand and drew her forward. The shock of her incredible kiss was shortly enveloped by Makoto's seething rage at the perverted advance. Makoto grabbed the woman by the great lengths of thin hair and pulled with such force as to snap her head free from the shoulders.

"How dare you!" she growled venomously.

The woman laughed. "You're responding very well to this, my sweet."

Aghast and horrified, she tore the creature loose and threw her to the ground. The Darakan female responded by replying with an expression of wanton lust.

"Ah! The passionate warrior… a reliable source of…" she paused long enough to select the appropriate word. "Entertainment. Perfect."

Makoto said nothing, offering only an offensive stance for want of combat. The woman slowly rose to her feet.

"I have little time to play with you, however, so here it is: You are now my slave. My name is unimportant. You may call me Mistress, Lady, or Love. Enjoy the agency I allow you in this choice, for it is all you will ever be granted again." She paused, the reason for which Makoto was uncertain, but she obeyed the instinct belaying retaliatory action - for the moment. With a dead smile, the emotionally severed creature spoke, issuing decrees it seemed she was sure would be followed.

"I expect you to fight - for me - as a gladiator. That is, of course, when I'm not 'working' with you." A sly, dark and slightly sundry expression lighted upon her face. "I'll leave you now to adjust to this. I'd highly recommend you forget any former life or love you might have acquired. I expect now that you only respond to me and no other."

A seed of hatred was planted within Makoto's very soul that moment, to the wind - eventually - itself to her heart. The woman approached her, expecting her to step aside. When Makoto failed to concede, she noted: "Of course, you're not trained yet. Fair enough. Move."

"The hell I will, you coal-skinned bitch," was Makoto's well-fueled words. "Release me. You don't know who you're trifling with."

"Oh, don't I?" A bemused expression darkened her face. "I know who you were. The unbridled, unfettered - until now - Sailor Senshi; Jupiter, and the Cyber-Knight; Sliver, defender of the good, the righteous, and the weak. Now, merely Makoto, my pleasure slave and gladiator."

"Shi-Con will look for me! Hanlan will look for me! You can't hide me from them!" Makoto replied desperately.

"Of course not. You vastly overestimate your importance and situation. You act as if you have command of your situation. A quaint assumption, my sweet warrior," quoth she, with the regard one offers a newborn babe. "Push. Fight me. I invite you to do so."

With a grim grin, Makoto drew her right fist back in a dramatic gesture, eyes jammed shut, brought that projectile forth with strength enough to crush an ordinary human, and cried out in agony as it cracked - slightly - the suddenly stone structure of Marlanda's head. Grasping her broken and bloodied hand, three blades twisted at its end, she crouched forward and bit her lip with distracting force.

"You see? Be warned, you will truly regret your next attempt to retaliate." She stomped stone-footed steps towards the door and said before exiting:

"As for the pain, you will learn to enjoy that soon enough."

—

Despite the pain, Makoto found herself spending the time given her thinking. Her hand was only broken in five or so places, she felt vaguely. Gazing at her numbing hand and the mangled slivers of polished steel alloy, she cursed harshly at her stupidity.

If it hadn't been a mutation, she would have had a force field or something else; Makoto winced sharply, wondering if Marlanda would send someone to repair the damage she had done to herself. Her swift, unthinking anger had gotten her into trouble, and she regretted it. Not that she had acted but instead that her blow had failed to land. Yet, if consideration could have saved her this agony… What felt like hours passed. Finally, she gave in to curiosity and gauged the room with her eyes, pacing slowly about like a woman stoned.

Stoned? Stoned on pain, perhaps. Is that possible? To be in so much pain that it's like a drug trip? This could be the start. Besides, I've been hurt worse. Makoto experimentally flexed her right wrist, flinching as pain stabbed through her numb hand, arm and into her shoulder. But not much worse.

A sordid fascination eased into her mind as she watched the blood pour slowly through the ports through which the vibro-claws extended. She muttered a curse, reaching for the nearest cloth to stifle the crimson substance.

"Makoto?" The voice was distinctly male, deep, with a soft, nearly undefinable, attractive quality. Her gaze rose and fell upon a figure her mind stumbled to perceive. She gasped; reality faltered and ceased to matter.

"W-who… Um… what… Uh…" Each word was a mountain, and ascending them was a course of action with little consequence. He was impossibly attractive, flawless in every visible manner. The fact that Makoto did not prefer redheads hardly seemed to matter anymore. His body was that of an athlete: firm, well-muscled without the failings of extensive girth.

"Oh my…" Makoto found herself feeling light-headed and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Oh…" Upon his face was a look of welcome concern. Instead, Makoto welcomed it. "Are you alright? I'm here to ensure… if you are, I'll go."

Makoto shook her head curtly. "No, don't go…" her voice fell to a whisper. "Don't ever leave…"

He said nothing as he stepped towards her with the soft padding of a cat. The athlete facade waned, and in its place fell the hardened edge of a war-worn man, a soldier, from the frequency of scars upon his body.

"Show me your arm? The Mistress told me that you struck her." Makoto's heart thudded violently in her chest as he unravelled the bed covering. An inwardly drawn breath drew a clean, pleasant smell from him.

"This is bad. I'm going to have to remove these," he stated softly. She just nodded, entranced by his presence. How was a question that failed to occur to her?

"Who are you?" she asked gently, noting only faintly a piercing spike of pain as he tested the strength and resilience of the claws.

He grimaced.

"This is going to hurt. I'm Chalin."

"Hurt?" she blinked slowly, awareness flickering as a wind-whipped candle. Before she could say another word, a shrill yelp tore through her throat as the first of the three blades came free. She flinched back, pulling away from him as the fire came alive in her arm.

"I'm sorry… You're bleeding a great deal. It will surely get infected if I don't pull the other two. Do not worry. I have training in such things."

Hesitance seemed to hold him, and a nausea which drew Makoto somewhat back into focus. She noted suddenly that Chalin bore a recently beaten look, which tarnished the brilliant shine of his beauty, though only by a small degree. Another nagging point hit her: For someone who looked like he was familiar with violence, he indeed appeared to be jumpy enough!

"Chalin? Are you alright? Um…" her eyes dropped to his neck. He was adorned in a collar much like her own. It became transparent. Lacking eagerness for self-apparent reasons, she offered her wounded arm to him again. He yanked roughly at the second claw, which came wrenchingly free with the scry grinding of metal. Another cry joined the first.

"Hold still, I don't want this to hurt more than necessary. Mercy knows you'll experience enough of it later…"

She squinted at the barely audible statement. "What?"

"Just hold still." He set the pliers carefully as closely to the back of her hand as possible, and with the visible flexing of firm arm and chest muscles, the third drew the additional bloody blade and a whimper from Makoto. She leaned forward, tears of agony welling.

"I'm so sorry! I… I didn't mean to hurt you… Please forgive me…! It was that, or the Mistress had commanded me to amputate it!"

By the Goddess! Makoto thought raggedly, feeling weak, as though a Great Horned Dragon had summarily flattened her.

"It's th-uh-the blood luh-l-luh-loss… uhm… L-uh-ie down… um… Makoto." His hands trembled, reaching for her, and he halted. Supplying comfort was something he seemed unable to do. He retracted the unseen offer. "It's… it's over now; I just need… no, it's… I will dress your hand. This putty will heal it. Please hold still. Please."

As she lay back, she looked up at him, waning curiousness in her eyes. He carefully shifted aside the crimsoned blankets, urging her to relax.

"Chalin, why are you scared? I won't hurt you!" she breathed.

It was clear that he expected her to. "I… Uh…"

He swivelled away on a single foot and picked up a hand cast, a somewhat extensive collection of bandages, and some rubbing alcohol. Makoto let the subject drop. The primary image of him drifted romantically in her mind. She felt and saw with such definition his purity and his beauty. A furious blush rose to her cheeks as she recalled Hanlan, who seemed such a contrast yet so similar in comparison. His soul was as pure as her husband's, yet Chalin was a cultured, properly educated man.

As he cured and bandaged her hand, she felt the sensual nature of his touch. Her eyes followed his long-fingered, silk-skinned hands, how they traced the outlines of her fingers carefully, straightening them to fit into the cast, setting the bones to heal correctly. Finally, after an eternity of study, of relishing his touch, wondering how it would feel to have him touch her elsewhere… another flash of warmth added a tint of crimson to her cheeks.

"You're not the first to wonder," he stated gently, calmly, his stuttered tongue replaced by the refined calm and ease that permeated his touch. A trained mode, she realized with a dull wash of horror.

"Uh…" Makoto gasped. Her left hand found her mouth and covered it.

"It's alright, Makoto, if you want to…"

Makoto was shocked. "No, I… um…" I can't say yes, even though I want to… It's not right! I don't love him!

"I'm… I'm married."

He smiled. It was a beautiful smile. "That's wonderful."

His words drew the tension from her. He meant it. Swallowing, she thought to ask, "Chalin… why offer to have sex with me?"

"It would please the Mistress."

"No, no, no, no, no," she chanted self-determinedly. "Never. I will never bow to her! I would rather die!"

Chalin spoke, his response so clear it was as though this was a conversation he had carried out before. "She won't let you. She is a very possessive woman. She is also very meticulous in keeping her new slaves."

"I don't care! I'll fight her with every last bit of strength! That whore'll never touch me… I won't let her." Chalin had no reply. "I've fought and destroyed tougher than her," Makoto finished, realizing Chalin's withdrawal state. "Is that it? Is that the only reason? You just offered to have sex with me to please her?"

He was silent. "Have you ever actually loved anyone?" Makoto realized the question was incorrect a moment too late. By then, the time he had passed to correct it.

"No."

She succumbed to the abundant tranquillity in sound. The awkwardness was shared as the intimate distance between them. She said uselessly, "I'm sorry."

He stepped back from her. "No… I am. If there were any reason to make love to you, it would be out of love… not just for the Mistress. She will not be pleased, but I will accept the consequences on your behalf." In his hand trembled the medical equipment and the shattered strength of a once impressive seeming fist. Makoto's mouth opened, but not a word introduced itself. What in Mercy's name could she say? 'I'm sorry for having morals'? Yet, as she gazed at him, she could see plainly enough that beyond his pain and submission, he understood. There was no anger within him.

It was an eerie thing to glance into his tormented soul.

"I must leave. The Mistress will wonder if I linger too long." Then he was gone, the white door having shut automatically behind him.

"…the Mistress…" Makoto muttered, lost in thought, before lying back upon the lightly blood-stained bed and drifting into a listless slumber.