Things Change

Written by Bunny/Sailor Bellassa

It was always hot in the Gleaming Months. Of course, Bellassa's temperature was always pretty warm as far as planets go. Some planets were lush and green, constantly full of rain -- like Bakura. Others were desolate and nothing but sandy wastelands -- like Tatooine. Bellassa was content to be a nice mixture of both, even though the climate always tended to lean a little bit more towards the "rainy with abundant foliage" type. Lakes and rivers and mountains and meadows had always been part of the landscape, but it was the balance of nature that kept the scenery pristine, so it was fairly difficult to complain when the Gleaming rolled around. Still, Fancy was grateful to finally be under the welcoming tents of the marketplace.

Francine Isabel Merryweather, so nicknamed "Fancy" by her mother, smiled as she was greeted by the shade while she unfolded the large canvas bag she'd brought along. The marketplace opened every morning and didn't close until the first stars could be seen in the sky, yet everyone always seemed to congregate at the exact same time. It was easy to get lost in the crowd, which is precisely what Fancy wanted. There were too many people, mostly women, dotting in and out, hunched over the fruit stands, picking at the handmade rugs and conveniently gossiping near the entrance and exit. And although she had come there with the intention of buying the week's groceries, Fancy also had another agenda planned out for the day and getting lost in the crowd of consumers was just the cover she needed.

She knew she'd been followed. She knew, not by sight, but rather an innate sense of someone's watchful gaze -- it burned into her back like hot coal, but she didn't turn around to search for the offender because that would make her look guilty of a crime she hadn't yet committed. No, Fancy's crime was due to be committed somewhere between the stacks of fresh nanna fruit and the baskets full of ripe, red berries. The crime was simple enough, just discretely pass a certain piece of paper a certain person, an ordinary scrap of paper no bigger than the palm of a hand. Only, this paper was scrawled with names, locations, times and security codes.

Fancy stopped to say 'hello' to the women at the pottery stand, each of them carrying newly created vases, decorated personally by members of the Queen's Court. Well, at least, that was the story. It was shame all of the pottery was really painted by prisoners being held at the King's bequest, probably in a dungeon somewhere, just waiting to 'disappear' like so many had before. But, the vases were pretty and the idea of owning an item that had once been in the presence of royalty proved to be very exciting for many people. The pottery was always sold out by the end of the day.

"Why, Mrs. Merryweather, how are you this morning?" asked Mrs. Aleck Mazir, 68 years old and an unlucky widow (thrice over).

"Oh," said Fancy, "I'm just lovely, thank you for asking. Too bad the weather is so disagreeable today."

"My, yes! It is something to be pitied. My poor flowers always begin to wilt this time of the year. Say, dear, how is that attractive husband of yours?"

Fancy marveled at the devious sparkle suddenly found in Mrs. Mazir's eyes, because, for a 68 year old woman, Aleck had the sexual stamina of a young and extremely hormonal man... or so the gossip goes. In any case, Fancy smiled and said, "Sam is just fine. He's actually home today, resting. He had a busy day yesterday."

"Yes! The life of a doctor isn`t trivial, is it? You are a lucky thing to have caught such a prize!"

From the corner of her eye, Fancy spotted just that certain someone she'd been waiting for, so she said her goodbyes to Mrs. Mazir and quietly made her way over to the fruit stalls, weaving her way in and out of the foot traffic as she went, until she reached the berries. Picking over them, she waited for the 'someone' to casually find herself also in the vicinity of the berries before slipping the paper into one of the baskets and walking away, leaving the 'someone' ample time to retrieve it. With that out of the way, Fancy set about to the second reason she'd gone out -- food.

Bellassan fruits and vegetables were the best in the Outer Rim, according to Fancy's father, but, unfortunately, she wasn't much of a cook, that's why she and Sam ate mostly fresh foods that required no culinary talent to prepare.

Speaking of Sam, what Fancy said about his hard day was true. Sam was a doctor, young and attractive, and had developed quite a following. He performed mostly house calls, and the occasional emergency at the hospital when they were short-staffed. Unfortunately, women on Bellassa were forbidden to work, so Fancy was relegated to being a housewife. Not that she minded; her husband meant the world to her, but Fancy had secrets, dangerous ones, and keeping a low profile was vital to her survival. But, this isn't to say that Fancy didn't have a job, she had a very important one.

"Mrs. Merryweather?"

Fancy turned around at the sound of her name and came face to face with a member of the Royal Authority Service. Agents of the RAS patrolled the streets with regularity but rarely stopped anyone. Crime was so low that the agents didn't even carry any weapons, but where there was one agent, there were twenty and Fancy couldn't afford to be captured by them, not now, not ever. So she smiled and stared gently at the agent, not saying a word.

"Mrs. Merryweather, my name is Derek Tudor, I just wanted to tell your husband thank you. He recently helped my mother when she was sick and we couldn't afford the Royal Hospital visits."

Fancy felt the pride grow in her chest and her smile widened. "I'm sure Dr. Merryweather was more than happy to help. How is your mother?"

"She's fine now, thanks to your husband."

A few more RAS guards accumulated near the north exit and Fancy's nerves jumped. She couldn't exactly run off but the longer she hung around the more anxious she became, she needed to get out of there. "Tell your mother," she told Derek, "any time she needs help, you come to us. Okay?" Derek Tudor, who couldn't have been more than 19 years old, nodded then smiled, and with that, Fancy lifted the hem of her brick red dress and made her way out of the marketplace and back into town. With the guards safely behind her, she felt her shoulders ease a little and her gait slowed. When she finally arrived home, she couldn't help but laugh a little at her stealth and skill. She'd been followed back home by someone unseen but that was okay, her job was done for that day.

Sam was still asleep when she checked on him so Fancy slumped down next to him and dozed off. Her dreams lately had been filled with horrible images and feelings -- shadows that seemed to stalk her around corners, demonic men in military coats, and a shocking feeling of pain and loss -- the dreams always left her with a huge sense of real-life dread, and as she opened her eyes, a few minutes later, she found her arms were wrapped around her slightly swollen belly, protecting the child growing inside of her.

"Nightmares?" asked Sam. Fancy looked up and noticed that he was no longer beside her, instead, he had been in the small kitchen area of their little apartment, he was cutting vegetables. He was tall, with strong shoulders and dark, shaggy hair.

"I'm tired of the nightmares, Sam. Lucky thinks it's hormonal... because of the baby."

Sam smiled, "That's exactly what it is. You shouldn't worry yourself, stress is bad for you and the baby and I don't want anything happening to my two favorite ladies."

It was Fancy's turn to smile. "Ladies? What makes you think we're having a daughter?"

"I just know. Maybe some of your magic powers rubbed off on me," he said with a wink. He brought plates of fresh vegetables and breads to the little dining table that sat under one of the two windows in their apartment.

"It's not magic... it's..."

"Magic?"

She wrinkled her nose, "Magic," she said.

"I thought so. Now, eat your veggies!"

As she ate, Fancy glanced over and saw blinking light emitting from the small comm device sitting on the bed. It was the signal she'd been waiting for. She slowly ate her bread while the message decoded and when the light changed from red to green, Fancy hopped up and grabbed the device, no bigger than a deck of playing cards. Propping her feet up in an empty chair, she pushed a button and the face of one of her sisters appeared.

Farrah "Folly" Laveau was short and brunette and, as Sam would say, 'tough as a bantha's hide.' She was the certain someone Fancy had slipped a note to in the market earlier in the day.

"Fancy, we did it! The coordinates were right and so were the passwords, we were in and out. I sent Lucky out to give you the details, she should be there any time. Talk to you later."

The screen went black and Sam let out a happy 'woo' and slapped his hand on the table. "I knew it!" he said. "It won't be long and we'll have the evidence we need! Can you imagine it, Fancy? No more monarchy, no more of this corrupt government! It's all going to be over soon."

She tried to smile, but she couldn't. It didn't feel real... it didn't feel right. She couldn't shake the feeling that everything was going to change for the worse and it was going to change very soon.

When Lucky arrived, Fancy was washing the dishes and Sam was reading medical journals. Lucky was the opposite of Folly. Lucky was tall and blonde with a bubbly, care-free personality, and the minute she walked in the door, she tossed a folder full of classified information over to Sam and thrust a newspaper into Fancy's hands.

"I'm on the cover of The Unknown Observer!" Lucky squealed. The Unknown Observer was the underground paper published by members of the Resistance of Free Souls -- a political group, of which Fancy was a high-ranking member, who was dedicated to overthrowing the corrupt Bellassan government. Fancy glanced at Sam who was busy leafing through the material Folly and her team had recovered before looking at the Observer.

"Hey! You're not on the cover, I'm on the cover!" The picture was, technically, of Lucky. Except she was obviously in a long, black wig, minus her eyeglasses and wearing a very interesting outfit. It was the outfit that made the picture so important. The headline read, "The Soldier: Myth, Hoax or Savior?"

Lucky folded her arms, "Well, it's still me." The picture showed 'The Soldier' running down an alley, people staring after her. The article was more of the same, just speculation as to her identity. No one believed she was real anyway, the public all thought she was just some lunatic in a crazy costume, running around, spreading 'lies' about the government and handing out subversive political literature. The Crown did all they could to assure everyone that 'The Soldier' was a hoax, including the annual murder of the Twelve.

Every year, twelve people who had questionable genetics were arrested on suspicion of being the mythological soldier, Sailor Bellassa. It was simple to find them as the government made sure to catalogue the genetic material of every child born on the planet. No one was sure was made their blood suspect but never-the-less, the Twelve were made into scapegoats and they were executed to appease a society kept ignorant and afraid by a government they trusted.

"The only reason," Fancy said, "that it's you is because we agreed that you would pretend to be Sailor Bellassa while I'm pregnant."

Lucky grinned. "I know, and I keep the fake suit with me all the time! It's here, in my bag. I bet your round belly wouldn't even fit into the real costume anymore."

"Oh?" Fancy smiled and tossed the newspaper onto the bed, she held her hand in front of her heart, willing the crystal to come and when it materialized, floating just centimeters above her palm, Fancy closed her eyes and focused.

And just like that, Fancy had been transformed into the mythical Soldier -- Sailor Bellassa. And the costume did fit, the white, lace-up boots stopped where they were supposed to above her knees, the tight black pants, hugged her thighs the same as before except this time, they followed the curve of her protruding belly just perfectly. The white, short-sleeved corset top flowed over her curves just right, even the fringe of the gold epaulettes looked perfect.

Lucky grimaced. "Show-off."

The real Sailor Bellassa sat down on the bed next to her unfazed husband. Sam had known that Fancy was the Soldier for years. But Fancy didn't actually show him the transformation until their wedding night two years before. He was used to the legends anyway, they all were.

Religion had been outlawed on Bellassa for a millennium but the deep-seeded human need to believe in a loving, protective power had led many to idolize the monarchy. Which, of course, is exactly what the Royalty wanted. However, there were those who still believed in the "Old Ways," and the stories and legends that accompanied them. The King at the time had twisted the stories of the Soldier into something vile and wicked, something that had to be stopped. And so it was. For a long time, the King's men had succeeded in capturing and executing the chosen one, but those of the Old Ways had their oracle and the oracle, Fancy's grandmother, had predicted the identity of the Soldier. It wasn't easy, but those of the Old Ways had successfully hidden Fancy from the government's army for all of her 25 years.

"So," said Sailor Bellassa, "What do those papers say?"

Sam frowned and flipped through a few of them quickly before shaking his head. "This can't be right," he looked up at Lucky, "And these were in the briefcase, right? The one being transported by the RAS?"

"Yeah," she answered, somberly. "Why?"

"Well, look," he said spreading the papers out on the bed. "These appear to be encrypted messages from the King's Court to..."

"To...?" Fancy asked.

"To a seedy nightclub on Coruscant. And these," he pointed to a picture of a marked map, "Are troop placements, illegal troop placements."

Lucky flopped into a chair. "Great. What does our army have to do with a club on Coruscant and why are they moving around illegally? Sam, you were in the Navy, what does that mean?"

Sam shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? I wasn't an officer, I was just the medical doctor."

A chill settled down Sailor Bellassa's spine as she allowed herself to transform back to normal. "I have a bad feeling about this," she said.

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