(Rating: PG-13) 
 
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Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Orion 
A relatively original fanfic by LeVar Bouyer 
Episode 415: Starlight, Starbright, First Star I Save Tonight 
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*** [title sequence] *** 
 
	The two senshi raced once more through the streets of the Second
Nagano City, this time fully realizing how crucial their mission was. 
Before, the enemy acted with unclear goals; most of their opponents seemed
bent on general destruction, with the exception of two that had gone for
Antares and Valhalla.  Now, they knew exactly what was at stake: their
ability to win.
 
	Station GS-03 wasn't much to look at; it looked like a slightly
larger than average telephone booth, with a few yellow and black caution
stripes around it.  It was positioned in the same location a typical booth
would be, too, which made it hard to defend.  The two senshi would have to
anticipate attacks from any direction.  Sailor Orion ran through all these
possibilities immediately and came to a conclusion she didn't like.  She
grabbed her communicator.  "Kim, anyone there have any ideas on how we can
handle this guy?  Our methods didn't work the last time, for certain."
 
	"No," answered Lieutenant Commander Young.  In the background little
could be heard; command must be about as quiet as it got.  "We're stumped. 
Antares is too, he says plan B is your best shot."
 
	"B?" 
 
	"Blast the hell out of it." 
 
	Sailor Orion almost sighed, but thought better of it.  Time was at a
definite premium.  "Okay, we're going to have to take our chances.  Plug
in." Her bows and skirt swirled and flared for a moment as she spun 180
degrees, putting her back to the Gertie.  Then she reached without looking
for a small, almost invisible black cord that ran from a protrusion on the
Gertie to the center of the back bow of her fuku.  This particular design
apparently ran the gestalt from the small of the back, rather than from the
hands as she had on Pleiades.  She didn't know why; in all probability only
Antares knew.  He had kept the plans in his memory, and had taught the
engineering students only what they needed to know to build the device in
the shortest time possible.
 
	On the other side of the gertie Sailor America was doing the same. 
She absently rubbed the shoulder pad of her super sailor fuku and wondered
why it was there.  It didn't seem to do anything useful, that was certain. 
Then the edge of it turned a glowing red as a silver streak nipped it. 
America snapped her head up, tracing back to the source of the beam.  A
figure stood atop a three-story apartment building, cape blowing in the cold
winter wind.
 
	The brown-haired senshi didn't say a word, simply turned and brought
her arms to bear.  "American Stars and Stripes!" The sparkles and streamers
raced up from her hands, the Gertie magnifying their size and brilliance to
the point of making it painful to watch. Her gloved hands didn't feel a bit
of the warmth, but the mysterious man did, leaping up to avoid the heat.
 
	Alerted to the threat by the cry, Sailor Orion spun around and
brought up her sword.  With a quick cry she called out her attack name.  Her
quarry was moving too quickly, though, and she couldn't manage to keep up
the pressure.  Her attack needed time to work, and he wasn't giving it to
her.
 
	Above, the man landed on a rooftop.  It was all he could do not to
cry out in pain; his left arm had been partially liquefied, and his fingers
and hand dripped messily on the gray gravel that covered the rooftop.  These
damned sailor senshi, he should have destroyed them when he had the chance. 
Cursing, he teleported again.
 
	Sailor Orion was immediately on her guard once she felt the pressure
change.  A body had just teleported next to her, and the displacement always
produced a very small change in air pressure.  Most people couldn't sense
it, but a senshi could, and was trained to do from a very early point.  On
instinct, she reached behind her with her arms and grabbed hold.  The senshi
then flipped her newfound prize over, slamming his back into the ground.
 
	"NO!" cried the Sixth, but it was too late.  Sailor America was
immediately there, two fingers pressed to his skull.
 
	"One move, pal.  One move and you'll be seeing stars, and that'll be
the last thing you *ever* see.  Got it?"
 
	The Sixth was nothing, if not a survivalist.  A lower-rank entity
might have tried a suicide move, or perhaps self-destructed, taking the two
senshi with him.  He happened to like being alive, though, and perhaps there
was a way to turn this to his advantage.  He nodded once, and for the first
time the senshi had a prisoner of war.
 
*** 
 
	Headquarters was a beehive of activity as plans were made to secure
and hold the prisoner.  The xenology experts were almost screaming to get a
detailed look at him, intelligence wanted a vigorous interrogation as soon
as possible, the more hard-core militants wanted the captive killed.  It
seemed for a moment that there wasn't enough of the prisoner to go around.
 
	"Vanessa," said Kim from across the situation table, "Lieutenant
Nishimura from intelligence says they have a temporary holding cell ready."
 
	"Hold on." Vanessa punched up the latest report from the
xenologists.  "The specialists say they want an observation window,
preferably several of them."
 
	Kim nodded and spoke into her headset again, looking up after a
moment.  "Intelligence is balking.  They'll agree to cameras, but no
windows."
 
	"Hm, let me see if they'll agree to it."  Vanessa opened another
connection to the xenology department.  It was a small matter for her,
actually.  She had acted as a liaison between departments on Pleiades;
handling the relationship between the pure-minded scientists and the almost
paranoid military was easy for her to do.
 
	After another minute of negotiations, they had finalized the
agreement.  Intelligence would place eight cameras and a dozen other sensing
devices to measure temperature, humidity, sound, and various other things. 
Two speakers were also included.  A moment later, orders were already in
place for an armored car to pick up the prisoner -- designated Papa-Zero-One
-- and transfer him to the detention cell.
 
	Kim leaned back in her seat and stifled a yawn.  It was now 01:13;
she, Sammy, and Vanessa had been there since 08:00 and sent the rest of the
staff home.  Now they were working with the overnight shift.  Sailor Orion
had already called and specifically ruled out calling in the alpha shift. 
There were other preparations to make as well.  Shiotani had been contacted
and, by Orion's orders, told to prepare Project Hanasu.  None of the
valkyries knew what Hanasu was, but whatever it was seemed to have terrified
Shiotani, who insisted there wasn't enough time.  For now, though, there
were more important things to tend to.  "Yes, this is Young.  Could you
bring up some coffee?"
 
*** 
 
	04:55 found Sailors Orion and America standing in an elevator as it
slowly descended into the Hinansho Defense Force's underground base.  The
two had had little reason to go there recently, other than one check to see
how repairs to Valhalla were going.  Sailor Orion knew, though, what they
had just captured would put all the repair plans on hold.
 
	The redheaded senshi sipped tea from a cup as she leaned against the
wall of the lift.  Sailor America had already gulped down a soda heavy in
sugar and caffeine.  "They say he speaks Japanese," said Sailor America,
breaking the silence.
 
	"Makes a certain amount of sense.  We could see that this one is
different from the rest."
 
	"You think he's more intelligent?" 
 
	"Most likely, but I wouldn't want to take it for granted.  He could
just be a reconnaissance drone; it would be a logical conclusion.  I'm
rather interested in the xenologists' report . . . ." She trailed off as the
elevator announced their arrival at the appropriate floor.  Straightening
her skirt, she stood straight and walked out, Sailor America following
behind.
 
	The two senshi walked into the makeshift detention center, Sailor
Orion still holding her teacup.  The base had never been designed with the
expectation of prisoners, and they had built the cell in what had once been
the armory before all the weapons were moved elsewhere.  The control room
was small and cramped, with one wall filled with video monitors.  Despite
the efforts of the officers there, both women occasionally felt hands and
arms bumping into the bottoms of the two senshi.  They tried their best not
to say anything about it; there was nothing to be done, really.
 
	"How are things going?" asked Sailor Orion.  One of the monitors
switched to Sammy's face.  Behind the blonde, the sky was just barely
beginning to lighten as morning came.
 
	"He's finally starting to stir from all the tranquilizers they
pumped in him," replied Sammy.  "He should regain consciousness very soon."
She didn't mention how lucky they had been that he hadn't overdosed and died
on them from their lack of knowledge about his physiology.
 
	The redhead nodded.  "I understand."  She looked at the rest of the
monitors, which showed the alien as he lay motionless on a bed.  Nothing
else was in the room except for it.  The bed itself had no sheets, and the
bedposts were bent in such a way that there were no sharp edges.  They
wanted no possibility of their captive committing suicide.  He looked so
average; he had been mistaken for just another officer in Valhalla . . .
was he an exception, or were all the upper-level aliens like this?
 
	With a sudden snap, he was awake and sitting upright.  The control 
room staff gasped at this. 
 
	"Security fields holding!" 
 
	"Guards report all clear!" 
 
	"Cell is intact!  No electromagnetic breaches!" 
 
	"Calm down, people!" shouted Sailor America, raising a white-gloved
hand.  "He just woke up, let him snoop around and see what his situation
looks like.  Are the xenologists watching?"
 
	"Every second," confirmed a tech. 
 
	"Good, I'm going to need their opinions on this."  On the screens
the being groggily moved to its feet and looked around.  Sailor America
tried to put herself into his position: captured just a few hours before,
forced under duress to surrender to the enemy, immediately drugged and
brought to an unknown location, presumably deep in hostile territory.  She
thought she knew what he would think next: was escape possible, and if so,
how?
 
	Now to see if her theories were correct. 
 
*** 
 
	He looked around.  Gray walls, gray floor, gray ceiling, all made of
the same unyielding metallic substance.  He briefly summoned his power,
albeit greatly weakened, and found that he couldn't muster enough energy to
punch through it.  More observations: there were cameras, lots of them. 
Rather primitive design, he could easily eliminate them, and then perhaps
there would be a weakness to exploit.  Raising his hands, he aimed at one of
the corner cameras.
 
	"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said a female voice.  He looked
about frantically, but the acoustics of the room hid the source.  "Calm
down, I promise no harm will come to you as long as you don't do anything
foolish."
 
	He blasted a camera. 
 
	"That was something that I'd call foolish." 
 
	He blasted another. 
 
	"My name's Sailor America." 
 
	And another. 
 
	"I think you should know that if you don't stop immediately the
pressure in the room will increase to several dozen atmospheres, killing you
instantly.  Now are you going to talk, or die?"
 
	A fourth camera was destroyed.  Five remained.  Then he felt a
sudden, aching, burning pain in his groin, and he fell to the floor
screaming.
 
	"Actually, I lied.  That was an infrared laser.  It would be easy
for us to incinerate you alive with it, but we'd rather see you unharmed."
 
	The being struggled to catch his breath.  "I'd rather die," he
croaked.
 
	"We won't give you the option.  Look, I'll break it down for you. 
We're tired of fighting, and I bet you are too.  All we want is to send a
small delegation up there to negotiate and find out what we can do to end
this."
 
	"No interrogation?" 
 
	"We have all the information we need," she lied.  They needed
everything they could get from their captive, but Sailor America was betting
her reverse psychology would loosen his tongue.  If she was wrong . . . she
tried not to think of what would happen if she was wrong.
 
	"You'll provide me with the proper equipment?" 
 
	"You'll use your own." 
 
	"What guarantee do I have that you won't kill me?" 
 
	"If we wanted you dead," said Sailor America patiently, "we would
have killed you by now.  Oh, there is one other condition.  The delegation
must include myself."
 
	The being was smart for his kind, but not smart enough.  Baustch or
Holbrow would have seen the trap instantly, but he never did.  "To
surrender?"
 
	"As a gesture of goodwill."  The captive could almost see Sailor
America smile warmly.  "Just because your people have been trying to kill
ours doesn't mean we can't have a friendly conversation."
 
	He nodded in what he thought was understanding.  "I see, then.  I'll
make the arrangements immediately."
 
*** 
 
	Two hours later.  The sun had now fully risen in the mostly cloudy
skies of Hinansho, on a mid-December day which held the promise of being as
eventful as the day that had preceded it.
 
	In the room with the slanted windows which served as the new home of
headquarters, Sailor Orion looked out over the now-silent city.  It was
still on an alert status after the battle the night before, and the
redheaded senshi was already considering whether she should order the full
evacuation of the city.  It was quite possible things could become so
dangerous as to outweigh any safety the city could offer.  That was in the
back of her mind, though; one other thing seemed much more important.
 
	"I'm sorry, but I won't allow you to go up there alone." She pivoted
on her right heel to face the slightly shorter Sailor America.  "I'll go
with you!"
 
	"Sailor Orion," said the brunette, "I know I'm not the tactician,
but think about it.  You're needed on the ground.  I sure as hell can't
coordinate everything that needs to be done here, and even with the ability,
the people don't know me as well.  You have the skill and the respect needed
to lead.  I've got the skill and respect needed to 'negotiate.' Anyone can
see that I should go and you should stay, and we're wasting time discussing
this, so let's get moving!"
 
	Sailor Orion bowed her head.  "I don't want to lose you," she said 
very quietly. 
 
	Sailor America walked towards Sailor Orion and gently lifted her
head with her left hand.  "You'll never lose me, Jennifer.  I swear it." She
gave her partner a gentle, passionate kiss, pushing Sailor Orion's back into
the cold slanted window.  When Sailor America broke off the kiss, the
tenderness in her brown eyes lingered a moment before it was replaced by
resolve and determination.  "Now let's get to work."
 
	She turned and went back into the fray of command, followed closely
by Sailor Orion.  The rest of the staff, who had tactfully found other
things to do during the exchange between their two superiors, now stood to
face them, ready for orders.  They didn't have to wait long.
 
	"Sammy," asked Sailor Orion, "how's the transportation going?" 
 
	"Shuttle zero-one is fueled and on standby at the spaceport, as is
the fighter escort," recited the blonde.  She didn't even have to look at
her console.  "Three Mark-11 Executioners, the last fighters in the Defense
Force."
 
	Sailor Orion held back a wince at the reminder.  Everything they had
was being put into this mission that had been conceived and developed in
just a hundred and twenty-two minutes.  It *had* to work.  "And the
payload?"
 
	"Hanasu is mounted on one of the Executioners."  Sailor Orion raised
an eyebrow.  "Antares says she can still fly."
 
	"Let's not put words in my mouth," chimed in the AI.  "I said there
was a sixty-five percent chance that the fighter could handle the extra
weight.  Dr. Shiotani and myself are much more worried about the power
supply; as it stands now it'll be a craps shoot as to whether enough power
can be generated by the fighter's destruction for this to work."
 
	The redhead blinked.  "What?" 
 
	"It's the only solution that will work, Jenny.  The only thing we
have portable enough for a fighter to carry along with the device is the
fighter itself.  If it goes to afterburners and maintains it long enough, we
can channel the excess energy and harness it for the device.  In the process
the drive will overload and self destruct; the trick is to get the device
clear before that happens."
 
	She mulled this.  'Afterburners' was an anachronism; the actual
mechanism at work was light years removed from the twentieth century method
of dumping raw fuel into the engine exhausts.  The overall effect was the
same, though; a short term, high gain boost in thrust and speed.  The method
was never meant to be used for more than three or four seconds at a time;
exceeding that limit was invariably fatal to both fighter and pilot.
 
	She had to smirk bitterly at this; she wouldn't have known even this
much if it wasn't for the war.  Modern fighters, while capable of space
flight, were usually kept in the atmosphere.  It had been judged futile to
consider sending fighters up against full-fledged starships; that was what
the main ships of the navy were for, and consequently the Royal Star Navy
boasted only a single fighter carrier.  When the aliens had first attacked
in September, almost all the fighters were mowed down in the skies over
Nagano-2 in the failed effort to destroy Sierra-1.  These three were the
last left, and had previously been deemed too valuable to waste in even a
reconnaissance flight.  'Oh well,' she thought, 'that's why they call it a
last-ditch effort.' "Does the pilot know what's required of him?"
 
	"Yes," answered Antares.  "We would have liked for me to pilot it
remotely, but the transmission lag involved rules that out.  The pilot is
one Keishi Yamura.  He was injured in the second attack and isn't expected
to survive much longer." A pause.  "He volunteered, Sailor Orion."
 
	The redhead nodded somberly.  "I'd like to talk to him before we
start, but I don't think we have enough time."
 
	"Three hours, seventeen minutes, thirty seconds." 
 
	"Thought so."  She privately resolved for him to posthumously
receive the highest commendations for his bravery.  "How about our
passengers?"
 
	"All waiting on standby," answered Vanessa.  She checked her
computer.  "They're having a last-minute lecture on emergency procedures."
 
	"They won't need them," said Sailor America lightly.  "We'll make it
just fine."
 
	Sailor Orion nodded with more confidence than she felt.  "Right. 
How about our prisoner?"
 
	"He's still in holding.  Making final arrangements, I think." That
had been one of the biggest disappointments: their failure to extract any
information from the captive.  Aside from a few scraps of their language,
they hadn't learned anything from him.  The xenologists had screamed for a
biopsy and been turned down every time.  He was their ticket to orbit, and
hopefully safe passage for long enough to launch the distress signal which
was the true goal of this mission.  Diplomacy was a bonus, but the real
prize would be getting word to senshi-controlled space.
 
	"Okay, then."  Sailor Orion looked at the main board.  Three hours,
thirteen minutes, forty-eight seconds.  "Operation Phone Home commences in
about three hours," she announced, wondering once again about her lover's
rationale in choosing that particular name.  Another one of her old American
movies?  It would fit, along with her new interest in the ancient American
sport called baseball.  In any case: "Good luck, everyone."
 
*** 
 
	At the spaceport, little was said. 
 
	"Stand strong, Eileen." 
 
	"See you later, Jennifer." 
 
*** 
 
	Sailor America leaned back in her seat and tried to relax as the
shuttle slowly climbed up from the bounds of Hinansho's gravity.  There were
so many uncertainties in this plan, the least of which was the one splinter
fighter that would rocket off in one hundred and twenty seconds, according
to a quick glance at her watch.  The hope was that they would be close
enough to the main ship that they would choose to capture the shuttle rather
than destroy it.
 
	She turned to look at the rest of the passengers.  Two
representatives from the governor's cabinet: education and defense.  Two
representatives from Parliament.  Two from the University.  Two military
police, conspicuous in the red turtlenecks of their uniforms that replaced
the usual white.  One alien, almost a complete unknown, growing more and
more confident as they neared his ship.  And one sailor senshi, in space for
the first time since her arrival on the planet years before.
 
	She clasped her hands and looked out the window as the blue sky
rapidly turned to black.  The alien didn't know what was coming, and they
had to keep it that way so he didn't alert his fellows.  When it came, the
aliens would hold all the cards; the other two fighters, while armed to the
teeth, couldn't hope to defeat the ship.  Soon enough, they would know what
was what.
 
*** 
 
	Keishi Yamura gripped the controls tightly.  In a very short while
it would be time for him to sacrifice himself.  He knew he would die months
ago.  He had lingered on life support after shrapnel from his first fighter
had ripped through his body.  Now, awake only because of the massive amounts
of painkillers coursing through his veins, he remembered only his duty. 
Wait for the appointed time, arm the device, aim for Nozumi, hit the
afterburners, and rocket off like hell.  After twenty seconds, after the
heat was unbearable, after he was long past the point of no return, he would
push a final button and send the device rocketing away.  The precious
distress signal would fly past the bounds of Hinansho's orbit, and to the
faraway repeater satellites that would take their plea to the Sol system.
 
	He had made his peace; now there was only the waiting. 
 
*** 
 
	Bautch looked up with shock at the alarm.  "What's going on!"  He
had been told that the humans were returning the fallen champion to
surrender themselves and throw themselves on their mercy.  He had thought
nothing of their small armed craft; they could do no harm.  But now . . .
what was the third of their armed ships doing?
 
	Holbrow stood by his side.  "I don't know . . . a suicide run?" 
 
	"There's nothing out there but empty space!" 
 
	"Perhaps-"  She was cut off as the craft on the screen exploded with
a flash.  "Perhaps it was a suicide run after all."
 
	Bautsch shook his head.  Such foolish humans . . . where would their
race be without the sailor senshi who had stopped his people so long ago? 
"It seems-"
 
	"My lord!" shouted a peon.  "Something detached from the human ship
before it exploded!"
 
	"WHAT?" roared Baustch.  "Where-" 
 
	"Towards the primary of this system!" 
 
	Baustch turned slowly to his former lover.  "The primary." 
 
	"And their communications satellites.  Looks like they managed to
contact their Queen after all."
 
	Baustch turned white, both with anger and with fear.  Could victory,
seemingly inevitable for so long, be snatched away from them once more? 
"Now, Holbrow.  We must end this now." Before it's too late.