My Object All Sublime


        Koenma, son of Enma Daioh, Lord of the Dead in the wake of the 
deposition of his father, was whistling as he proceeded down one of the 
endless hallways of the Shimpan no Mon. (Proceeded was really one of the 
few words to describe his method of locomotion; the toddler was floating 
upright in midair so that his eye-level was a little over five feet off 
the ground, and moving forward at the same time.) The tune, after some 
initial confusion about what the heck it thought it was, settled into a 
slightly flat rendition of "Haisai Ojisan."

        Normally, he'd be stuck at his desk approving routings of souls, 
whether they were going to one of the heavens, one of the hells, slated 
for rebirth in one of the Three Worlds, or being detained in various 
sections of the Reikai for some task or merely as a bonus reward -- like 
that nice Frank, confirmed in his position as Royal Historian of Oz.

        But this was a special case; one that his subordinates 
had agonized over, brainstormed for, and finally passed on to their 
superiors until it arrived on his desk (with certain special notes from 
various friends of his attached).

        Some things just needed a personal touch.

        He pushed the door of the small waiting room open and went in.


        The lone occupant of the waiting room was sitting in one of the 
chairs, and apparently hadn't moved since Botan had left; elbows still on 
thighs, hands still dangling between the knees, long golden hair still 
hanging forward to rest on the purple-clad legs and obscure the seated 
figure's face.

        "I presume Botan's already welcomed you to the afterlife?" Koenma 
asked, floating to a stop in the middle of the room.

        "Go away," the dead person said in a dull, drained voice.

        "Sorry, that is a thing I absolutely cannot do. I'm here to 
evaluate your record."

        "Bureaucrats." The word might possibly have been disgusted if 
there had been a bit more emotion to it. "Even in the other world."

        "We *invented* bureaucracy," Koenma declared proudly.

        "Figures."

        "Anyway," Koenma said firmly (as firmly as his squeaky voice 
could manage, that is), "you are a special case, you know. I had to give 
a great deal of my personal time and attention to deciding what was to 
become of you."

        This did elicit something more like a response; the spirit of the 
dead laughed bitterly, raising its head as it did so. "Yeah, I don't 
suppose you get too many destroyers of worlds in here."

        "You might be surprised," Koenma said absently. "Anyway, I wanted 
to talk to you a little before we sent you on."

        "On to what? Hell?" The raw laugh again. "I killed everything I 
knew, everything I cared about, almost everyone I loved -- the two people 
who knew something of what I was and cared for me anyway -- and was 
played for a fool and a tool and a summer's kitten by the one I'd loved 
longest -- and you know what? I'd do it again if only HE'd tell me he 
loved me, even if it were a lie. I doubt there's any torment out there 
worse than the inside of my head now. I *know* there is not one being out 
there who despises me more than I now do myself." The voice turned 
somber, all spirit vanishing. "I'll go, though. When do I start?"

        "I didn't say 'one of the hells,'" Koenma corrected. "Oh no, that 
wouldn't be suitable at all. There's nothing you'd learn THERE. I was 
thinking of reincarnation."

        "On another planet?" The dull voice remained disinterested.

        "On Chikyuu, in the past."

        "The PAST?"

        "In this world, there is no time except in this place alone. 
Humans! Just because you can only experience time in one way doesn't mean 
WE are bound by your limitations."

        "I'm not human."

        "Don't be ridiculous. *I* am not human. The oni who work for me 
are not human. The toushin and youko and jaganshi who were detectives for 
me a while back are not human; the youko is not even a *hominid*! All 
members of the genus Homo are human. You are a member of that genus. You 
are therefore human -- at least in this incarnation. Deal with it."

        Blue eyes glared.

        Koenma's hazel eyes glared back.

        "So," the dead person finally said. "I get to experience my acts 
from another angle. Is that it?"

        Koenma clapped. "Very good, Murasaki-kun!"

        "Don't. Call. Me. That."

        "Very well, then, neko-chan."

        "That's even worse."

        "Who's the lord of the dead here, you or me?"

        "Sorry," 'Neko-chan' said, reacting to the mild reproof as if it 
had been the blow of a hickory rod.

        "Anyway," Koenma said, quickly shifting to a more soothing voice, 
"we took into consideration the fact that due to your... background, you 
didn't know precisely what you were doing." All trace of emotion drained 
away. "Now, you will."

        "Yes, ah... Koenma-sama."

        "You've never really had a strong core, as far back as we have 
files on you," Koenma said reflectively. "If you did have a little more 
strength of purpose, you'd have made a perfect intelligence agent; you 
become whatever is required of you. Your foster-mother wanted a daughter 
who reminded her of herself, and so you became a take-charge person with 
a sharp wit and a cool head for those summers. For your commanders, a 
perfect soldier. For your soldiers, a flamboyant commander. For that 
alien, a monster.

        "And for those few select people -- "

        The purple-clad figure made an odd gulp.

        "Well, never mind that. I'll just call Botan to deliver you to 
the Reincarnation Offices of that year. You might even remember some 
things in your next life; not that they'll be clear or anything -- you'll 
forget in the womb -- but the concepts stay with you sometimes. Or they 
don't. In which case we'll be having this conversation over again in a 
while, but oh well."

        "Anoh... Koenma-sama?"

        "Yes?" Koenma puffed his chest out proudly. Unlike *certain* 
Reikai detectives, this person at least addressed him with the politeness 
which was his due without being asked.

        "May I.. see them? Before I leave? Or have they already been 
processed?"

        "Who... ah. No, you may not."

        "Oh."

        "Nothing personal, I hope you understand. It's just Reikai policy 
that we can't let all and sundry see the data gathered from other worlds. 
There are no exceptions for non-employees."

        "So they have already gone on."

        "What? No, no, of course... wait a moment. Let me guess. Nobody 
told you."

        The dead person, hands on the chair's arms preparatory to 
standing, looked at him quizzically.

        "It jammed."

        The look this time was of total incomprehension, as the movement 
of rising was completed.

        "You dodged one of those sharp feather things, and it fell into 
the machinery somewhere. Your Destructatron or whatever it was called 
went on for a while, and then the part with the feather came up. The same 
sort of thing happened about a hundred and fifty years ago with some 
ninja and a thing like a sharp marble and a Gatling gun -- couldn't have 
happened to a nicer person, either, considering what a creep the merchant 
guy turned out to be and what a sweet boy the Hitokiri Battousai was -- 
anyway, the feather thingamajig jammed the machine and stopped it with two 
seconds to spare.

        "You didn't blow up the world. It's still there. They're still 
alive."

        And after one incredulous stare, the Head of Galactor, Leader of 
the Devil Star's squadron, and most famous mutant in the world began to 
cry, in great, horrible, sobbing gulps, as Katse had never done in life.

        Koenma quietly slipped out of the room, went a couple of meters 
down the hall, and hit Botan's quick-dial.

        "Moshi-moshi. Botan-chan desu!"

        "It's Koenma. Pick Katse up in about five minutes for delivery to 
Reincarnation. You *do* have the paperwork for final destination, 
correct?"

        "It's just arriving over the fax now."

        There was a pause.

        "Koenma-sama?"

        "Yes?"

        "You have a very strange sense of humor."

        "There is no such thing as perfect justice in the Ningenkai, 
Botan," Koenma said. "But at this gate, there is no *other* thing. In the 
end, all will be repaid, precisely as is deserved."

        He started back to his office, whistling a tune from his favorite 
Gilbert and Sullivan operetta.

        /My object all sublime, I shall achieve in time.../

*************

        The baby, as newborns do, looked small and somewhat wrinkled, 
blue eyes blinking now and then as he drifted into sleep.

        This did not particularly matter to his father, who was on the 
other side of the glass window of the maternity ward, proudly pointing 
his son out to his best friend.

        "Look at my son! He's looking at his surroundings already. I 
think he's going to have my nose."

        "He seems to have your good lady's ears, however," his best 
friend said mildly. "Speaking of whom, how is she?"

        "Oh, she's just fine. She did point out that it might not be the 
best idea to name him after me -- it might get confusing when, say, you 
come over to visit us or something -- so we're considering replacing the 
'-tarou' part with '-ichirou' or something." He grinned. "As long as it
sounds good and strong, a name for a boy to grow into, that's what I say. 
Just look at him! Already knowing when to catch forty winks. I bet he's 
going to be a pilot just like his dad."

        "Washio Kentarou, you're acting as if no man had ever been 
presented with a son before."

        /To let the punishment.../