From: mew3point14@doramail.com (Daniel Snyder)

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful bride. She knew love, and she 
knew what it was to be loved. But she was proud, too, and resolved not 
to give herself to anyone.

"On day of her wedding, she was dressed in her most beautiful gown and 
surrounded by everyone she loved. But she frowned, because she was proud 
and she had only half-chosen her husband-to-be. Although she knew him by 
the word of others, she had never seen his face.

"'Smile and love your husband,' they all shouted, 'smile and love your 
husband.' And the longer she did not smile, the louder they shouted, and 
the more impatient everyone became.

"Finally, she swallowed her pride and smiled weakly. In that moment, her 
bridegroom came to her. She saw him for the first time.

"He was beautiful to look upon, and charming in his bearing. Willingly, 
she smiled then. Willingly, she married him.

"What was the name of the bride?"
--
"Victory, Shinji."

Ikari Shinji  looked inquiringly at Nagisa Kaworu, whose face shone from 
the far side of a rose trellis. Shinji set aside his notes as the other 
boy walked around to join him. The two sat Indian-style on the concrete 
flagstone of the greenhouse. They were dressed identically in button-
down white shirts and black slacks. Both were shod in freshly-shined 
shoes and clean, white cotton socks. Only their undershirts differed: 
Shinji wore royal purple, and Kaworu had on amber gold.

Behind them moved Ayanami Rei, with the footsteps of a grown woman. 
There was no carefree, innocent twirl when she moved anymore, as there 
had been when she discovered the word "passion" within Shinji. Yet the 
hope remained. A zeal, a zest, a caring consideration was about her, 
manifest in every motion of her work. She no longer looked for aphids--
she looked at her roses and saw what they suffered from. The spray that 
came from her watering can, she knew, was blood that could enliven her 
plants but drown them as well. She too was only what she was, and they 
could be something more. _Her_ roses.

As unwavering as the firmament which they stood upon, Pen-pen dozed in 
the early morning sun.

"We are at the point of Netzach, or Victory, or Eternity. Eternity and 
victory, to the prophet, are one and the same," explained Kaworu. "If 
you know things as they are now, you know them as they once were, and as 
they will be. This, your victory, is eternal; and with eternity you are 
victorious."

"That's right," Shinji said earnestly. "You were talking yesterday about 
how the will of God extends forward and backward through time. But...I 
can see how knowing the present, you'll know the future. Knowing the 
past, though, how does that follow?"

"Excellent question, Ikari Shinji. It is, truly, a fine point, one which 
many do not comprehend, and many more would downplay. But listen to me 
now."

Kaworu took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then interlaced the 
tips of his fingers. Only when the geometric arrangement of his body was 
_so_ did he speak aloud. "Remember, Shinji, that we are dealing with the 
territory, not the map that is drawn from it. If we know the territory, 
we can draw whatever map we like of it. If we know the Will of God in 
this instant, we will know it as it will reach to the future, and we 
know what it has been like in the past. From this generality, we can 
deduce how to live to better draw close to God.

"Those who know the will of God, who have unlearned, will see things _as 
they were for all._ Not stripped of their subjectivity, but at one with 
it. Be it the physics of the automobile accident, the animal and 
psychological pain of the victims, the unease of the witnesses or the 
machinations of the law as evidence is collected, analyzed, assembled 
and disseminated, a prophet can come to understand the past through the 
eyes of billions, and prophecy to then as well as now."

Shinji moved forward. "Tell me," he said eagerly, "what about me? Will I 
understand God by looking to my past as well?"

"What do you think?"

"Well, yeah."

Kaworu made an expansive gesture. "Then there is your answer, is it 
not?"

"Yeah," Shinji chuckled. His gaze fell to the stack of papers at his 
feet. "I think...maybe now's not the best time to pursue that."

"You know."

"I do have this presentation to give." He pointed to the sheaf of notes 
that lay by his knees. "It's for the faculty, and they're being good 
enough to give me a chance to speak to them. I shouldn't waste it."

"Then you will wait."

Both boys fell silent. Shinji took the opportunity to look at his watch, 
and he saw that it was still a few moments before he needed to go. "I 
want this to go well," he said.

"Will it? In large part, it is for you to determine."

The anxious boy looked to his friend. A smile spread across Shinji's 
face. He leaned back to listen to what Kaworu had to say.

"Are you at one with your subject matter, Shinji? Intrinsic to victory 
is the splendor of your focus and the foundation you have built. Thus 
far, we have discussed Eternity, Splendor and Foundation as though they 
were separate entities. Not so! Eternity encompasses Splendor, 
Foundation and the Kingdom within this world, just like our own three-
dimensional universe can accommodate infinite planes, lines and points.

"Now, when you have achieved Victory, bring it down with you. Water will 
flow between glass jars and take on their colors, but the water itself 
remains clear. Likewise, as a prophet and an angel, you must bring God 
with you, from Netzach to Hod to Yesod to Malkut. Yet the substance 
never changes."

"I don't understand," Shinji put in. "You talk about truth and God and 
God's will, but it's so unclear. It's like you know something, something 
big, and you're keeping it from me."

"I know many big things, friend Shinji, and so do you," replied Kaworu 
in his usual tone. "The fact of the matter is that there is so much to 
tell you about, and I have only one mouth. I cannot teach you Hebrew, 
let alone calligraphy or gematriya, simply because there is no time. 
Believe me, please, when I say that I do not mean to mislead you. I 
simply wish to emphasize some certain points at the cost of others."

"It's all right," said Shinji. "I'm not angry, or hurt. "

"I'm so glad to hear you say that, Ikari Shinji. From the depths of my 
heart, I am. How are you feeling? Are you happy?"

"I'm quite happy," Shinji replied. "I feel better about my life in 
general than I did this time last week. I'm more even-keeled, and I look 
at life differently now."

"I'm happy for you then, friend Shinji," said Kaworu. "Tomorrow, we will 
be at an important fulcrum. Much that I have postponed will be discussed 
then. Remember now, I pray, all that I have taught you. But the hour is 
close at hand. If you wish to the school board meeting, now is the 
time."

The two boys lifted themselves off the floor to go outside, followed by 
the girl and the waterfowl. "Victory," Shinji repeated. "I can do this. 
I can talk to these people. I have to. Others are depending on me to do 
my best. I'll see you later today, Kaworu. Have a great morning, Rei. 
Rei?"

He approached the girl and said, "I hope I haven't been too lost from 
you these past few days, Rei. I've spent a lot of time talking with 
Kaworu and visiting with other people. It hasn't been like in past, I 
know. It's been strange. I want to make it up to you, to let you know 
you're still important to me."

Rei nodded. "I do not understand what I have seen, Shinji, no matter how 
you or Tabris explain it to me. Nor shall I ever. But do not be 
concerned. I feel that I have a purpose with Tabris. I am content. I 
have a purpose with you, different from my purpose with Tabris. 
Parallel. This is the way things are. Joy is in my life, Shinji. I am 
thankful."

"I'm glad," Shinji said. Then he bade his housemates farewell.
--
Nemuro Memorial Building was on the north side of Nagamara Dormitory. It 
was one of the few buildings on the Feuervogel campus that was not 
constructed in a Mediterranean style. Its roof was not peaked, but 
sloped gently down from the apex before dropping off. Below it were 
three stories of gray rock, perhaps weathered marble. A kind of Gothic 
attention had been paid to the sides of the building: rigid columnar 
joints ran up and down between and beside the darkened windows, like 
ribs. Three pairs of empty eye sockets stared down on Shinji as he 
entered the building from the western door.

Inside, a wide and gloomy hallway yawned out before him, disappearing 
into the bowels of Nemuro. To his left were photos of famous people from 
the school's history: Feuervogel alumni, gone like fine wine. To his 
right was an unmarked office with a grated window. Chairs, shelves, 
files, papers stacked and scattered about, a flickering computer screen, 
and copious dust competed for volume below a half-hearted bulb on a 
wire. Nobody could be seen.

Nonplussed, Shinji tapped the bell on the window's ledge. "Excuse me?" 
he said, less timidly than he would have in weeks passed. "My name's 
Ikari Shinji. I'm here to see...to attend the faculty meeting. Board 
meeting."

There was a thump, then a rustle, as something was set aside. A soprano 
voice wafted in from parts unseen. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Um...I think Professor Fuyutsuki made one for me."

"Oh. I see." There was a pause, another thump, and then the unseen woman 
spoke again. "You may as well go in. Follow the signs. You can't miss 
it."

Shinji glanced to his left, and down. Placed just to one side of the 
window was a green-upholstered chair. A small card was propped up on the 
seat with a printed finger pointing off down the looming hallway. 
Written above the finger in neat calligraphy were the words, "This Way". 
Arm to arm with the chair was another one exactly like it, bearing an 
identical card aligned perfectly with its neighbor. One next to another, 
chains with cards lined the facing wall as far as he could perceive.

Struck for a moment by its peculiarity, even in a world of 
peculiarities, Shinji collected himself and gave a polite "Thank you" to 
his unseen helper. He received no direct reply, only a mechanical 
whapping sound that ushered from the mysterious back of the office.

The boy followed the line of chairs back into Nemuro Hall, and with each 
step the light of the front door drew away from him. Opposite the 
chairs, the photographs became fewer in number, stopping altogether as 
Shinji crossed through the first of the building's hallways. The walls 
were bare now, except for blue-gray paint with brown trim. His footsteps 
echoed in the hallway, a hollow sound.

Shinji noticed a smell in the air as he crossed the third hallway, now 
heavy with darkness. The smell was dank and musty, one of neglect. The 
impression crept over him, like the shadows in the building itself, that 
he was the first person in a great while to walk this path. It was a 
fabulous notion, to be sure--the members of the Board must have come 
that very way that morning! He knew his imagination was running away 
with him. Yet when he looked down to his feet, in what little light 
remained, Ikari Shinji felt sure he could see a fine layer of dust 
across the carpet. His footsteps were the only ones to be seen.

By the time that he reached the sixth hallway, it was completely black 
in the corridor. Shinji was walking slowly, worried more about his own 
safety than a prompt arrival for the Board meeting: he kept his right 
leg only a finger's breadth from the chairs, and touched each pair of 
arms as he passed it with his hand. At the sixth intersection, as he 
came around the corner, his eyes were speared by the flash of a green 
light--bright enough to startle, yet too dim to fully illuminate the 
cul-du-sac before him. The hallway's chairs still wore their shadows, 
half-human and ghastly. The line stretched around the corner to the head 
end of the cul-du-sac where there were three doors. Two black doors that 
faced each other lead into the ground floor rooms of Nemuro. The third 
was in between them, in the wall in front of Shinji, and furrowed down 
the middle. Above it was the electric sign that read "Elevator", lit 
from within by an incandescent bulb. To its side was a read button and 
the final finger card.

Shinji took a deep breath and pushed the button. The doors in front of 
him shuddered apart, revealing an elevator cab barely large enough for 
one person. On the far wall, starkly visible in the cab's light, were 
five pictures: a butterfly on top, a chrysalis, a caterpillar, an egg, 
and a bare leaf.

He stepped inside and turned to face the door. It closed behind him 
automatically. The interior light went out of its own accord. Then the 
elevator dropped into freefall, and Ikari Shinji finally allowed his 
fear to overtake him.
--
He was not wrestling with angels in the desert of the Near East. He was 
cold, tired, and afraid, naked before his father in a dressing room. His 
limbs and head were aching. The moisture absent from his mouth was 
collecting in his eyes.

"I don't know why I came," Ikari Gendou said. "It would have been better 
if I had stayed away. The only reason I came at all was that your 
guardian said you were finally making some progress with your kendo. It 
seems he wasn't entirely correct, or else, honest."

The boy gave no reply, even though his jaw ached to do so. Shinji 
clenched it closed. He would not say anything, could not bring himself 
to say anything, to the man he still called "otousan". Ten meters away 
there was a herd of people, of all years and all walks of life, begging 
for the chance to meet Rokubungi Gendou and Ikari Shinji, the man who 
had brought Olympic gold home for Japan and the boy who now stood 
undefeated, untouched, in two age brackets.

Gendou glared down at his son with thunderstorm force. "You are not 
efficient, simply less inefficient than others. You are not quick 
either, just less of a target than your opponents are used to. And as I 
hope you realize, you have a tremendous way to go with your brute 
strength."

"Fath...?"

"But what I am most concerned about," he went on, drawing himself up as 
high as he could, "was that pointless and ridiculous burst of emotion 
after your final bout. Everyone is perfectly aware of our blood 
relation, and those who are not aren't worth your time or effort. There 
is no point at all in drawing attention to the facts.

"I had hoped that you would have learned some self-control from your 
present sensei, but it seems that in his exuberance he's allowed you far 
too much free reign. If that's the case, then I suppose nothing's to be 
done except to find you a new sensei."

There is a certain comfort in being a victim. One comes to identify with 
the power of the tormentor. As your own identity ebbs, the imagined 
strength waxes. There is a defensive distortion of identity. The ego 
atrophies. The beating becomes a kind of self-esteem prosthesis, 
supporting the soul as the aggressor's dominance becomes complete. 
Despite the undercurrent of menace in his father's words, the promise of 
change should have given the younger Ikari some wistful glimmer of hope. 
There was none. The poor, pitiful boy in the middle of an almost empty 
dressing room would not allow himself the joy of joy. He was dressed in 
his underclothes--the protective garments he had shed lay around his 
feet like a shattered beetle's carapace. His sword was discarded flat at 
his feet. And the father figure, his vision of hope that he had built up 
impossibly larger than life, turned his back and left the room.

"A mere victory is nothing to fuss over," said Rokubungi as he left.
--
Across memory's windstorm, Ikari Shinji reached out and took hold of the 
word as his tether. Victory itself, the word, became the separation 
between past and present. Shinji pressed a hand damp with sweat against 
the wall of the elevator and slouched into a corner, half-collapsing 
with the effort to collect the remains of his thoughts.

_Victory. Is victory something to shout about? Is eternity, then? Past, 
present, future...what would Kaworu say if he were here now? He's always 
smiling, more or less...always happy about something or another. Kaworu 
would say yes, eternity is something to celebrate.

_Even if there's pain and fear, eternity is cause for joy. If it's an 
eternal victory, a victory is cause for celebration._

With an effort, he pulled himself up on to his own two feet. Underneath 
him and around him, the elevator was slowing. The pictures remained 
frozen on the sheet metal wall behind him.

_How do I know when a victory is eternal?_ he asked himself. _Am I 
strong enough to make a victory eternal? Or is it more than me? Like 
Fuyutsuki-sensei and his helping me talk to the Board. How do you make a 
victory eternal? I guess I'll just have to be patient and learn more. I 
mustn't run away..._

With a hideous screech, the elevator jarred to a halt. A moment later, 
the doors opened. Shinji stepped out into a huge room, almost as large 
as a football field and several meters high. It was very dimly lit, but 
brighter than the hallway had been, and the boy could make out several 
details. In the center was an oval table, much longer than it was wide, 
with nine seats around it: one at either end, four on the further side, 
three on the nearer. An unlit chandelier hung over the table.

Decorating the floor itself was a bubble chamber photograph in red, 
showing the collision of two subatomic particles; mute witness to the 
awkward interplay between matter and energy across subatomic space. Its 
mirror, on the ceiling, looked like a medieval European woodcut. It was 
a roughly hexagonal array of ten spheres, connected by rods. The boy 
stared at it intently as he walked towards the table. It was arcane and 
esoteric, whatever was represented upon the ceiling, yet he felt quite 
sure he had seen the diagram before.

Lining the floor of the room were shoes, adult's shoes in various 
conditions of wear. Though they were arranged in pairs, some were 
unlaced, some pointed backwards--there was a definite element of 
personality to each one. Shinji felt a renewed thrill of horror. Why 
would so many people arrange their shoes in a board room? One that must 
have been far, far underground?

Notes in hand, Ikari Shinji took a seat at one end of the table. The 
instant he sat, the overhead light flashed on, spilling brilliant rays 
of white light down onto him. By the time that he had recovered his 
vision, Shinji could make out a group of five figures walking to where 
he sat. The five took seats almost silently at the opposite end of the 
table and looked at him with amusement, disgust and disdain.

"All who will be present are present," said the man opposite Shinji. He 
was a very old man, a gaijin, who wore stiff clothes and dark glasses. 
His gray hair and crow's feet testified to his age, yet his body was 
massive. There was a dynamism in the arms and face that a man four times 
Shinji's own age would be fortunate to possess. The boy thought of the 
engine of a steam train, of a volcano rising from a seaboard.

The Chairman, or whatever his title, was flanked by four men--gaijin 
all, Shinji saw with some surprise. Could it be that the Board was 
formed only from immigrants? Or was it that this was an effect of the 
recruiting policies Fuyutsuki had mentioned so many days ago?

"Ikari Shinji," the Chairman spoke again. "You have been sent to this 
Board of Directors meeting on the recommendation of Fuyutsuki Kouzou. To 
be frank--and I ask you to be honest with us, you have nothing to hide--
do you appreciate what an honor it is to be sent here by Fuyutsuki-
sensei?"

"No," Shinji admitted, "I guess I don't."

"Fuyutsuki-sensei is a very wise man," said one of the other Board 
members. "Several of us have known him for the entirety of our adult 
lives. We value his views greatly."

Another chimed in. "So when Fuyutsuki-sensei, in the eleventh hour, asks 
that a student be allowed to speak at our meeting, we respect his views. 
Even if we do not agree or completely trust them."

The Chair spoke once again. "Do you know why we have summoned you here, 
in this fashion, to this meeting?"

_Why they have_ summoned _me?_ Shinji thought. "I don't, no."

"Then that is how it is to remain. In lieu of a full debriefing, I will 
give you, Ikari Shinji, the facts which you need to know."

The tone of the Board members was at once more familiar and more hostile 
than that of his peers. Shinji, it seemed, still wore a mantle of 
notoriety. But so much had transpired since his arrival at Feuervogel 
that it was impossible to identify the particular source, if one there 
was, of his fame to the Board.

The Chairman opened. "We've been told that you are now aware of the 
disaster that befell the campus, and the world at large, roughly 
coincident with your first meeting with Student Ayanami. That is all 
well and good. It saves us the difficulty of explaining it to you 
ourselves. But what perhaps you are unaware of is that this entire 
campus has been 100% efficient ever since. Meat is thawed and eaten, but 
as soon as the bones are thrown away it appears again in our freezer. 
Power flows through the campus' circuit board without any apparent 
source." He shifted in his seat and added, "I'm sure you realize that 
this is both theoretically impossible and completely absurd. There it 
is, though. As near as we can tell, Feuervogel Academy has the ability 
to function as an isolated entity into eternity.

"This raises the question of what it is we are to tell the student body. 
Before, for reasons that are not your concern, we relied quite heavily 
on the Student Council to maintain order. That is no longer possible."

"I can see why," said the third of the four other members, "why it was 
Fuyutsuki sent you! You're quite intimately related to all of this 
disaster!"

"That remark is out of order," put in the Chair. Still, the comment had 
hit Shinji out of thin air. There was no denying his intimate 
relationship to the disaster. Nor was there denying the difficulty of 
acceptance. Ruefully, his glance fell to the sheaf of notes before him. 
At the top, written in Kaworu's hand, was the word "Victory".

"Ikari Shinji!" the Chairman snapped, breaking in on Shinji's thoughts. 
"Fuyutsuki-sensei's reasons are in the realm of conjecture, but he has 
stated that a student's perspective on the state of Feuervogel is 
necessary for us to properly address the issue before us. And he has 
asked that this student be you. Speak to us about what life is like for 
the student body in this day."

Shinji rose from his seat and spoke of eternity.

"Well, I want to say, first of all, that I appreciate your asking me to 
come and speak today. I am deeply honored, and I hope I'll be able to be 
of some help." He paused for breath. "You said that Fuyutsuki-sensei had 
recommended me, and I'd guess that's because of a conversation we had 
yesterday. What I told him, what sparked the conversation, the visit, I 
mean, was that the student body is afraid. It's been several days now 
since the...murders...of which I was a material witness. During this 
time, there's been nothing from the faculty. No statements, not even a 
word of condolence.

"Things cannot go on like this. I imagine that most of the students here 
have never been this close to tragedy. The...there's a kind of 
separation that goes on in a boarding school, between the campus and the 
world all around us. The outside world really is an outside world. I 
imagine that this separation was what kept panic from breaking out in 
the aftermath of...the end of the world, if you want to call it that.

"There was also the role that the student council played, which you 
mentioned just a minute ago. I don't know anything about exactly what 
they did to keep the peace around here, but from what you say it must 
have been important. Now, most of them are dead. I mean, they've been 
killed and their bodies burned. There's nothing left but ashes. The 
students can't be in denial about corpses. A dead body is something 
real, something that they can touch.

"So as I see it," continued Shinji, "the murders were the second blow to 
the school's collective psyche. Coincident with this is the dissolution 
of the Student Council, a third blow that kind of harmonizes with the 
second. There is now no infrastructure, no trellis, to support the 
present order or to build a new order upon. And the students are 
becoming scared and losing hope.

"My recommendation is that the faculty and administration act to fill 
the void. I don't believe that it's too late to bring the school 
together again. What I recommend is that we return to the purpose of a 
school--the education of the youth. I am only 16 years old, and I'm just 
now learning what it is that I don't know about life. You, each one of 
you," he pointed to the members of the Board, "have something you could 
teach me."

"Your recommendations are noted," said the Chair, "but not called for at 
this time. If we want you for anything more, we will contact you. Good 
morning."

Shinji was stung. He watched in mute shock as the members of the Board 
rose and began to move away from the table. When he finally found his 
tongue, he shouted, "Hey, wait! Wait! You can't...just dismiss me like 
this!"

"We can," said one of the members, the only one who had not yet spoken, 
"and we are. You were summoned to give a student's perspective, and a 
thorough perspective you have given. One that was not unworthy of our 
time and attention."

"If we find we need further data and analysis," the Chair concluded, 
"have no doubt that we will be in touch. Farewell, Ikari Shinji. You may 
go out by the same way you came in."

The five Board members turned away without another word. Soon they were 
gone, shadows lost into shadow, like grains of sand scattered onto a 
beach. In their wake, Shinji was left to sort out his emotions, unaware 
that all the cast-off shoes in the room were in perfect order.

"What's the matter with me?" he asked himself. "I should be happy. I got 
to speak with the board of directors. And they even offered me 
congratulations, and a chance to let me speak again in the future. They 
weren't just being polite. They meant it, I can feel it. So what's the 
matter? I shouldn't have spoken more than was necessary, was that it? 
They didn't have to cut me off, but then I didn't apologize to them, 
either. I made a mistake, but they didn't hold it against me..."

He sat down in his seat again and said, "Maybe it's that I don't feel 
victorious right now. There is no sort of finality in being cut off in 
the middle. Victory without eternity? Or just not my vision of victory? 
I'll have another chance some day, and I have the notes I drew from the 
past, but I wasn't able to bring it all together. Not then and there. I 
guess I'll have to achieve my victory some other day.

"What more could I do?"

Frustrated, Ikari Shinji growled and walked to the elevator. "This is a 
lot of work," he decided, and stepped inside. To his great astonishment, 
the elevator cab lurched to the left and then stopped.

The doors opened. Shinji peeked out into a corridor only as wide as the 
elevator itself, terminating at a glass-paned door leading out into the 
daylight. He walked outside to find himself on the east side of Nemuro 
Hall. The door clicked shut behind him, locking him out. Peering through 
the window, the boy was unable to discern anything of where he had been 
a moment before.

"Oh! Ikari!"

He turned to see Ohtori Kanae walking towards him. An even step 
camouflaged her dilated pupils and rapid, shallow breathing: dignity hid 
nervousness.

"Ah, Ohtori-sempai," Shinji said, bowing. "What brings you across 
campus?"

"I was just meeting with a friend," she replied, "and I was going to 
walk through the garden before I went home. What are you doing here?"

"I was meeting with the Board. At Fuyutsuki-sensei's request."

Kanae nodded thoughtfully and crossed her arms. "Why did he send you, I 
wonder?" she inquired.

With his reply, Shinji made every effort to be both diplomatic and 
honest. "You'll have to ask him yourself. I thought I understood, but 
having met them I'm not so sure. Yesterday, I visited Fuyutsuki-sensei 
and told him that the student body was frightened by the events that 
have been going on. He recommended that I come to the Board meeting 
today and give them my opinions...but I don't know what he told the 
Board. I got a rather chilly reception."

The girl accepted the answer. A victory. "Who all was there?"

"There were five men, all Westerners. There was one man there who I 
suppose was the chair..."

"A large man? Like an old bear?"

"Yes!"

"That's Grandpapa Lorenz," Kanae explained. "I don't see much of him 
because we're both so busy, but we are blood relatives."

"You're the granddaughter...of the Chairman of the Board?"

"Yes. Pardon my surprise, Ikari, but I thought that common knowledge." 
Kanae half turned. "I was going to walk back to Kazarashi," she said 
politely, "would you like to walk with me?"

Along the northern edge of Feuervogel Academy was a garden of about 
three acres. In between the titanic trees that cast shadows in the late 
morning, paths ran to and fro, each one leading to the main walkway in 
front of the church of all faiths. It was on one of these subsidiary 
pathways that Ikari Shinji and Ohtori Kanae walked. Each one kept to one 
side of the path. Their eyes followed the sinuous wave of the branches 
in the breeze and the way the lilies held their slim blossoms up to the 
sky.

Shinji broke the silence that had descended in the garden. "When we met 
just now, Kanae-sempai, you seemed startled for a moment. Is it that I 
was at the Board meeting?"

"No, not at all," she replied. "Grandpapa has invited others before. 
It's just something from yesterday."

Shinji drew to a halt as Kanae explained. "Yesterday, there were a lot 
of us on the Quad early in the morning. Force of habit, you know, even 
though we had the day off. About 9:30, Shigeru-kun came out of one of 
the school buildings screaming that he'd seen you spontaneously combust. 
Or something. He wasn't making any sense, so Kensuke brought him home to 
the dorm. We all blew it off, but..." She kicked a pebble off of the 
walkway and said, "Sometimes, an idea's so strange you can't get it out 
of your head. No smoke without fire."

>From across the pathway, Shinji said, "That would be one more thing, 
wouldn't it? We've had enough plagues of troubles come our way, one more 
would be enough to drive you over the edge."

"Yes, I suppose," Kanae smiled. Her smile brought sunshine to her face, 
not fire. It was the kind of beauty to capture for the ages in oils. She 
turned back to the path and Shinji walked closer to her, as close as 
familiarity would permit. "I guess I was scared, Ikari-kun. We don't 
need any more trials here at Feuervogel."

"Then let's not have any."

Kanae looked up at the boy's bold words. The gleam of eternity was in 
his eyes, and it was amazing to behold. "Kanae-san, it's the perfect 
opportunity to bring the students together. There's no leadership at the 
school--the teachers aren't doing anything, the board isn't doing 
anything, and there's student council elections in two weeks' time. Why 
don't we run for government? We put together a platform based on 
bringing the students together--that'll be our goal, the well-being of 
the students. Everything else will be based on that principle. If we can 
unite the student body, and get them excited about being part of 
something greater, a community, then they won't be afraid. There'll be 
no more pain."

"That sounds like a great idea, Ikari-kun," Kanae said.

"So are you going to run?"

"Of course not," she replied. "I have a conflict of interest with my 
grandfather's position on the Board. Besides, what's to stop you from 
running?"

Shinji fell silent. He considered the question: what _was_ stopping him 
from running?
--
Flowers and music compliment each other in a most sublime fashion. Piano 
music drifted out of the window. Beneath the leafy boughs of an ancient 
elm, rich green grass trembled in awe of the late afternoon sun. 
Clusters of forget-me-nots stood modestly in a row. A four-leaf clover 
kept its secrets to itself. Primroses and an herbaceous border were 
planted at the base of the building known only as the Music Hall. Ivy 
reached up the side, clinging, dangling, spreading out like memory and 
traditions.

The window was open to let in the air and let free the music. Piano in a 
sad, soft, sentimental minor key. Two chords, two chords, an arching 
melody that spoke of your childhood friend fallen asleep in the 
sunlight, two chords, two chords.

At the piano was a shy young man of 16 years. His salamander body did 
little to fill out his uniform, but he touched the keyboard like a 
farmer spends his life under the sun. The handsome face and short blue 
hair looked perfectly at home and content in the airy wood-paneled room. 
The boy's name was Kaoru Miki.

"Chopin?" Shinji asked as the piece faded away.

Miki shook his head. "My own composition, variations on Debussy. Even 
though Chopin was the better pianist and composer, I admire Debussy's 
creativity. He blazed a trail towards the atonal compositions of the 
early 20th Century that are so technically astounding."

"I don't play much of the 19th Century composers," Shinji confessed, 
"apart from Wagner. I play mostly Baroque, and some Modernists. 
Listening to you right now was a real treat."

"What instruments do you play?"

"Cello. Just cello."

Miki closed the keyboard's cover to prop his head up on one arm. "We 
should play a duet sometime."

"I'd like that," Shinji said. Then his tone came down to Earth. "If 
you're taking a break, I'd like to talk to you about something. I'm 
Ikari Shinji."

"Oh." Miki slowly rose and bowed. "How do you do...what's the reason 
you're here?"

"I want to talk to you," he explained. "There was a rumor you were 
running for student government?"

"Yes, but I'm not running any longer," Miki said quickly. "I've decided 
I don't want the position."

"But you were popular. People are still hoping you'll run."

"They'll have to do without," he replied, and sat down again at the 
keyboard. "I don't want the position."

"But you were also the last person to drop out."

"It doesn't matter." Miki scowled at the floor by Shinji's feet. "I 
don't want the responsibility."

Shinji took a measured step towards the pianist. He was smiling, almost 
like how Kaworu smiled. "There's more than one position," he observed 
gently. "You can be elected and serve, and still help others at large. 
In fact, it would be better to cooperate with other members of the 
council and help us all do a better job.

"I have a vision. I want you to join in this vision, to make it the best 
it can be. We'll form a new Student Council, a coalition and not a 
conspiracy. Touji will be Executive Vice President, and Maya will return 
to Housing. She's talked Juri-san into being Treasurer. Shiori-san has 
agreed to be the Social Vice President. I'm asking you to be Secretary."

Miki said nothing. He shifted his feet a little.

"Let me share my vision with you." Shinji's voice resonated with the 
piano's sounding board, creating a perfect harmony with the strings. 
"Look to the future. If things stay as they are, come a time we will be 
raising our own families here at Feuervogel. The teachers will age and 
fade from view. Who can say what the world will be like then? But people 
will look to their past for guidance. Look to your own parents, your 
sister, friends, teachers, everyone who has ever made you think has 
helped to make you what you are today. Not one day goes by that you do 
not draw upon your past and your foundation.

"Now look at how things are. There is a need within Feuervogel, not just 
for guidance, but for identity. Who are we? What do we stand for? Why do 
we go on? These are the days people will look to for guidance. Even now, 
before the election, people will be looking to united leaders for a 
purpose."

"Yes," said Kaoru Miki. He was drawn to Shiji's words as if they were a 
dark-skinned girl.

"Tomorrow at three," the visionary said, "in front of Akumafune 
Dormitory, will be the first meeting of the Liberation Party. We will 
build a platform of issues that will benefit all students and bring them 
together for the common good of communication. Once we have people 
communicating, identity, accord, and joy will follow. Will you be there? 
Will you help us?"

"I will!" Miki stood up from his seat and bowed. "I promise you, Ikari, 
I'll be there. I'll help you as Secretary, or however you need me."

"Thank you."
--
"So that's that," Shinji told the night sky, the western wind, Akumafune 
Dormitory and the girl Ayanami Rei who sat beside him on the roof top. 
"The die is cast. Tomorrow we'll meet as a political party and decide 
the fate of the future here."

"Should I come?" Rei asked.

"Only if you want," Shinji said. "If you're curious."

"I am not curious. I accept it with equanimity, but I do not 
understand."

They were quiet. Above them, starlight of unknown origin came through 
the void to spangle the skies above.

"Rei," he said to her, "I'm anxious. I'm going crazy over everything 
that's happened these past few days. It's all going so fast. It's hard 
for me to keep up, because...if I just let go and let the strings come 
together into a cord, everything's fine. And when I force it, it all 
gets snarled. But it's so hard for me to have faith."

"Shinji," Rei said to her sibling, "when you ride the wave, I can feel 
it. That is the truth. The sacrifice you make by your obedience I feel 
in my life."

She turned to look at him and went on. "It is the only way. You love. 
Your love of the world takes me higher. I've always known it, but these 
days I feel it. I support you in your hard work, because you give your 
heart to it."

"'Takes you higher'?"

"When you take pride in the world around you and infuse it with your 
love, it makes me more than ever I was before. I am filled with the 
foundation. I draw closer to the Holy One."

Shinji looked at her quizzically. "But you don't say it like Kaworu 
does, Rei. You don't say 'the Holy One, blessed be He'. Why not?"

"Tabris knows the Holy One. Tabris is at one with the Holy One, and I am 
not. I shall be. I know that I shall be. I have faith in you." She gave 
Shinji a small kiss on his cheek, then bade him goodnight.

Shinji's vision came in screaming lucidity that night. The Living Rose 
had been given material form, squirming in serpentine form around, about 
and through every inch of Feuervogel Academy. In senses made acute by 
the fear within the dream, he rode upon the Living Rose, caught and 
tossed about by the thorny tendrils and battered by the pale blossoms. 
At once, he was smashed back up against the column in the center of 
campus. Though his limbs were embedded into the wall, his back broken 
and his occipitals smashed; though blood, brain and viscera leaked from 
him, he did not fall. An awful force, pressing like gravity itself, kept 
him in place on the tower.

A fraction of a second later, when he had become aware of his plight on 
an instinctive level, Shinji felt his body pulling apart. Underneath 
him, the tower was growing; and it was pulling his body with it. Digits 
separated from carpals and tarsals, limbs separated from the trunk. Each 
one of Shinji's cervical vertebrae went their own way, and his skull 
naturally rolled upwards. He saw the sun in the sky overhead, titanic 
and fiery. The tower moved and swelled, and the sun came closer and 
closer to him. The boy tried to scream, but his jaw was tearing away 
from behind his ears, and his teeth were shattering...

Ikari Shinji woke from his nightmares knowing that Rei was in love with 
Kaworu.