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Anime/Manga Fan Fiction >> Tenchi Muyo

The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

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Tenchi Muyo: Red Barchetta
By Karmin St. Jean

 

Pre-TMiL Songfic:
Red Barchetta
------------------
TMiL is property of Pioneer/AIC
The song "Red Barchetta" is property of "Rush" and can
be found on the albums "Chronicles" and "Moving Pictures"
(words in 's are the actual lyrics of the song)




The Sunday morning mist slowly dissipated from the
tips of the blades of grass as the Kazakan sunlight rose above
the horizon. In the distance, a rundown old building could be seen.
In the past forty or so Kazakan years, which were the equivalent
of about twenty Earth years, the building had slowly deteriorated.
But for the ten years prior to that, a migrant family of Thurnians
had worked there to make themselves a home.

Things hadn't been all that bad on the Thurnian homeworld.
They simply had wanted to live closer to the Galactic Federation
Capitol.

Inside the building, the eldest remaining member of the family
(most of the others had returned to their homeworld over the course of
years, some to be with elderly relatives who were ill, others simply out
of homesickness) put a kettle on the stove to boil and then set the table
for his breakfast.

A smile crept over his face as he looked at the calendar. The
smile always appeared on his old leonine features on Sundays. That was
the day his nephew, a daredevil Draalthi his brother Saarnd had adopted
about fifty Kazakan years earlier, always visitted. The boy was the physical
equivalent of seventeen years old, Ratala IV being that much further from the
sun (it was, in fact, barely close enough to support life). The old man had
never married and his adopted nephew was the closest thing to a son he had
ever or would ever have.




Behind the dark lenses of the protective sunglasses (Draalthi eyes
are not meant to handle daylight), silver-gold eyes watched the approaching
air-train as it made its weekly run, carrying those who were permitted beyond
the electric border to their places of work. The border, which had long ago been
erected as a protection, was now a prison, used by paranoid government
officials to keep people from leaving.
The Draalthi loved his uncle, however, and had absolutely no intentions
of permitting something as stupidly mundane as Government Paranoia interfere
with visitting him.
He could've requested a Transit Pass, but that would've been against
his own personal belief that such a thing reduced a person to being nothing but
cargo.
His father didn't exactly approve of his methods and scolded him on
several occasions (actually every Monday morning). However, he knew that the
man had actually been secretly pleased at his skill in eluding the electronic
surveillance system that patrolled the border.
He watched the electronic sensor, studied the pattern of its scan, then
made his move as the air-train passed him. As the last car passed, he leaped
onto the rear platform. For a dangerous moment, he thought he would fall, but
he quickly pulled himself up, ducking into the car just in time to avoid being
spotted by another sensor that had been passing overhead.



Nearly thirty minutes later, the air-train slowed as it neared the
the electric border. The Draalthi waited until the patrol androids were
occupied with the driver who was giving them the usual list of passengers
and cargo, then quietly climbed leaped from the rear platform and ran for
the flaw he'd discovered in the electronic barrier when he'd been, in the
reckoning of his own people, nine years old.
Even when he'd gotten across he kept running, not stopping until he
reached his uncle's place.

The elderly Thurnian handed the Draalthi teenager a cup of tea and
offered him a bit of breakfast, knowing that he'd left home early and hadn't
eaten.

"Were you spotted, Trakal?" The old Thurnian asked his grandson.
"I almost was." Trakal replied as he winced in pain.
"Trakal?" His uncle asked in concern.
Trakal held out his hand. The palm had been cut somehow, probably
when he'd almost fallen he realized. His uncle bandaged his hand with a
white cloth, tying it in place as Trakal explained how it had happened.
"You should be more careful." The old Thurnian told the young Draalthi.
Trakal nodded and then looked hopefully in the direction of the barn.
"May I...?" he asked, hopefully.
"Of course." The old man laughed. "It's out there waiting for you. But first, I
need you to help me with a few things..."

 

The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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