Act 5

Mnhei'sahe

"Blood of my blood, you have done honour by me," the ragged, whispering voice hissed in the dark. The rain splattered across both of them. They rushed on. Moss grew on the buildings around them.

"I have served my Empress," the masculine voice following her replied. They reached the step, and she paused.

He brushed past her, with a brief tenderness, and ascended the steps. Around them the primitive town, a legacy of the Triangle world on which they had found refuge, wound down for the night, quiet away from the chaotic spacers' bars at which they had first arrived. The woman paused for a moment, and regarded the clouds overhead. Waiting for a sign, she squinted until in a brief gap, she could see shimmering stars overhead. They reassured her that her course was the right one.

The man paused, and looked back down toward her. "We shouldn't stay outdoors, until we are settled, and have local clothes," he said. Then he inserted the key-chip and unlocked the door to the apartment which sat above a dingy restaurant with the block-stroke characters of some Human sub-group intermixed with the English.

Ahead of them in the shadows, a smooth sound of oiled metal ratcheting back interrupted the night. "Elements, we are undone!" The woman's voice hissed in despair.

Her cousin reached for her arm and levelled his pistol, but in the light of the moon she knew it was already too late.

Then he realised something about the figure before him-those distinctive lilac eyes he had never seen on another Human, save the first. It was…

"Zambezi," the voice growled, feminine tones given over to a grutteral cracking.

"Never say die," he answered in his accented english. At his side, his cousin's own hands had not been idle. Though death be upon them, she had gone for her old holdout as well.

The woman rose, and then bowed perfectly and correctly after slinging her rifle back over her shoulder.

"Madame Corday?" Neither cousin would holster their guns just yet, but it was the woman who now stepped forward, an iron in her spine.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the hooded figure acknowledged. "That is what I am known as, for this purpose."

"Know that when I am Empress on my great-grandmother's throne, Human though you be, I will give you the honours of a Rihannsu, and you will sit among us."

Her cousin twisted his face into the faintest of a grimace, for his sister was of a generous heart and spirit, worthy of their ancestresses. But it was not one that would win a throne, by such inadvisable things as bringing forth foreigners into their company and allowing the Regime to cast aspersions against them accordingly.

The woman turned aside with another bow, and turned on the dim lights, revealing blanketed windows and the high and comfortable loft, filled with Rihannsu art and a smart but sparse kitchen, an elevated sleeping area, the fresher and the baths off to the back. She averted her gaze. "No, you will know, alas, know me there. I must walk the path I have always walked. I fight for you, Your Majesty, because you are the Bloodroyal of the Rihannsu, and you deserve your throne."

"I am an Empress, not quite T'Rehu, may the Elements keep me from such a temptation…"

"I would have fought for T'Rehu also, and I have fought for many unworthy of the effort, but I do not count you as one, not like it would stop me. Your Majesty does not need Human allies, Your Majesty needs Rihannsu allies. You are young, and your chances for the throne will be many. Here." She extended two chits. "One is for credits, and one is for the information on the first allies you will have. More will follow. This is not the kind of cause that dies quickly, particularly not under the mismanagement of your Empire."

"You give me so much, and let me give you nothing," the Young Pretender half-wailed and half-raged. "And if I gain my throne, it should be a thousand times worse. I am Lial t'Rllaillieu and I am in your debt, Human. You have saved myself and my cousin and the crews of our loyal ships from the long arm of the Tal Shiar. What do you want?"

The woman looked away. Her voice rasped. "Teach your daughters to remember my name, and to never tell another soul beyond your line what it is."

Arterus tr'Rllaillieu watched his cousin relax in an almost spasmodic sense of relief. He watched her step forward to the woman, brush against her in an embrace like an intimate, this alien stranger she had never met before.

"Whisper it to me, and it is done, by all the daughters I have and their daughters after them, for as long as the Elements let them be born."

The hardened woman, a killer by dint of the scars and features which seemed locked in a rictus created across the ages, bent her head. Perhaps there was a trace of tears from her eyes. She whispered into the Young Pretender's ear, and his cousin whispered the name back once to be sure of the pronunciation.

The two separated, and "Corday" bowed again. "By Your Majesty's leave?"

"Elements keep you, Lone Blade."

"That's a beautiful epithet," the woman said, pausing and turning back for a moment. She was carrying a sword under her cloak, a hand-and-a-half whose hilt glimmered, inset with silver. It was very old. "When the battle is raging, be in the front rank, Your Majesty. Like the last Prince of Yemen you shall at least live, then. You will be alive. There are many ways to die in soul and remain alive in body. Do not walk those roads, in soul or in body. Live in both, until your ending. That is an old woman's wisdom for you." She bowed again, and then stepped out. The faint lyrics of a Human song lingered on the air as the door closed:

"It was all for our rightful King…"

Pensively, the cousins moved to sit. "We were in the presence of a great soul, Arterus," Lial spoke softly. "Wiser than any years a Human should have, and possessed of an indefatigable spirit. Now I must win, so we can long speak her name."

"When I reached out to her, I was told she was the fighting lady of lost causes. She organised everything."

"Then I was right in every respect. Ah well, I… Now we must get up and move on. I am a rent-payer, in some merchant's estate…"

"Not for long, Lial," Arterus shook his head. "Not for long."

"I will show him honour, as long as we are here. But you are right, we will find our way out. First the Triangle, and then the Empire. I must follow these contacts, cousin, I must play the game. But you…"

"I lost my rank before I had the chance to be blooded in war," Arterus finished softly. "I am an untried blade. Useless to an Empress starting from nothing in the struggle to regain her throne. What would you have me do, my liege?" He switched to the more formal style, to emphasize the point, even as his cousin had been speaking informally.

"Go, son of my Aunt. Find a battle, find a cause. Find experience. Make your name as a soldier and a sailor. Accrue to our name honour and fame, in whatever service will sign you."

"A mercenary…" His face coiled in disgust.

"No, a soldier, a warrior, true to your soul, true to Mnhei'sahe. I have heard vague stories, of a great war in the Multiverse, in the other universes the Humans trod, of time and space. I think your Corday came from them, though I cannot be sure, but her mettle seems different than that of the Humans of our universe. Go, find the course of your fate, my cousin. Follow it back to me when it wills you. You know we cannot stay together, they will find me if we do and we will both die. And you deserve it."

He looked up. "Is that the advice of my cousin, or the command of my Liege?"

"Be it either one, cousin, it would not change."

"As you command, Your Majesty. I will go in three days' time."

Lial lowered her head. "Then let us enjoy our three days. We will read everything the Tal Shiar banned, and see if we can eat Human food without meeting the purger. They will be memorable, to keep fast our bond, in these adventures to come!" The government which had deposed her uncle seven years before had tried to kill her, but they had not killed her. The story of hope was not over yet.

The Wanderer

Sometimes life was so hard to understand. Sometimes it carried you into places you could not possibly expect. In Daria's case, she had gone from an engineer on a merchant to a security officer on two different Alliance starships. The first, the MacArthur, had been lost fighting the Nazi Reich with most of the crew killed (Abebech Imra had survived and led SERE successfully with the two hundred survivors, Daria wasn't really surprised about that on hearing the news).

She had been serving on the second when she had heard the news of the first. And then the second ship, the Aurora herself, the Mother-Ship of the entire Alliance, had been taken under attack by enemies more powerful and ruthless than could be imagined. The final and definitive manifestation of her powers had saved Commander Jarod's life, and spun her own certainty away from herself.

She knew that she always been fated to wander, but the risk of falling to dark songs was a kind of wandering that her spirit quailed at. She had gone home, to seek training, only to find herself wandering back again. Daria had taken the vows of a Priestess, only to realise that with the War on, her first duty was to help her nation again, to assist in ending the killing which had destroyed the lives of her comrades on the MacArthur.

The Will of the Goddess was a complicated affair to understand. Her teachers knew it, and so did she. She filed for reinstatement for active duty, and finished up the necessary training to control herself, took the vows to avoid temptation. She would have to find her training where she could, for all that she had learned so much in six months time, there was much more to learn.

And so it was that she was back in fleet colours, back on a massive transfer station in the ever-lovely D3R1, in the heart of the Sol Republic with all of its rules and regulations. She had her PCS orders loaded on omnitool with her TO's, and was staring an assignment in the face that had a familiar name. Scout ship commander - Abebech Imra. And another. Chief Helm Officer - Violeta Arterria. Poniatowska was there, too. This was a ship getting some truly excellent officers, and almost more memories than she could stomach.

Particularly Imra, simultaneously one of the best and quietly trying to be around. Daria remembered her as being a stickler, a disciplinarian, but a true professional who knew her operational art backwards and forwards, and who used that discipline to keep people alive, not to make them suffer for trivial things. She had been exactly the person she would have expected to have saved lives from the wreck of the MacArthur, but she was ambivalent about serving with the woman even so. Looking back into her memories now, knowing what she did, there was something off about her, something so hard to pin down, as slippery as the gathering night.

Better yet, her PCS file set out her route reservations. Though she'd traveled civilian liners this far, to get to the Huáscar, she'd have to ride on the Heermann, with her name and crest from an old Earth naval destroyer. Imra's command. She stepped forward to the personnel routing office, handing her identicard over to the woman behind the desk and the chit containing the copies of her PCS and TO's.

"The Heermann isn't leaving until tomorrow morning, ma'am, and she's a small ship. I can put you in the Navy Inn for tonight. Small ships like that don't have extra berths, and we've got three female bunkage shared junior officer suites left."

Daria idly wondered who had decided it was a good idea to run the visiting officers' housing like a hotel. "Of course. Thank you," she said nonetheless, six months in the Temple having made her much less likely to complain about rack time with some random other lieutenant.

The woman handed over her keys and folio, and with a little yawn, Daria went to settle in before heading down to the O-Club. Alliance Holo News was on by the bar, showing images from the latest liberation of a planet in the territories of the former Nazi Reich. The other options were mostly league sports, and one universe had the humans' Olympics being held.

Modesty in comportment was important, namely in drink, for a Priestess of the Goddess, and she abstained in favour of seared ala', and on hearing there was an area for human games at the transfer station's O-Club (it was very busy), decided to try one of them. It was called a Bowling Alley. She was rather more surprised to see that Abebech Imra was already there, standing in bowling shoes on the wood of one of the small ball lanes.

Perfectly composed with her shades on as ever, holding the little ball cupped in her hands, she looked as graceful as a statue of the Goddess. She stepped forward, holding her body carefully rigid, and unleashed a straight rolling shot that demolished all ten pins. She hadn't even ruffed up the Red Sea Rig she was wearing with her two high medals for valor. Now that was pure Abebech, wander over to play games after some formal function without even changing uniform. To be wearing Red Sea Rig she must have been on the surface of the blazingly hot San Salvadore, the world the station orbited (nevermind that it was also part of a pushback to get more formal and 'military' uniforms in the UAS armed forces).

"Commander, you're better at this game than anyone should be," a voice at the seats in front of the lane protested.

Daria shot a look there and saw a Dilgar. One of two, actually, shorter and certainly slighter than the bigger, but still female, figure at her side, who was squinting so hard at Abebech as if she could figure out how to play simply by watching the movements of her muscles.

"Ah, Surgeon-Commander Nah'dur," Abebech replied calmly as she turned about. "I dare say that it's just a matter of an old friend who loved every kind of 'bar game' that ever existed-and she was a teetotaler, in those days. In our old shared fleet days, when we were young comrades, we spent countless long evenings playing these sports."

"It couldn't have been that long ago," Nah'dur protested. "You're not that old for a human female."

"Well, I do imagine my old friend and I shall meet again soon enough. Ghada and I… Sometimes keep in touch. Ah." Abebech turned toward Daria after her insouciant reply to Nah'dur. "L'tenant-Commander."

"Commander," Daria smiled, though there was a gnawing sense of uncertainty inside. There was something off about Abebech, she had not been misremembering it. It was the same old game it had always been with her, she code-switched in her language from place to place in life like a chameleon, but she was the best, and her intentions always seemed pure despite the murk that followed her.

"You might be interested at one of our companions tonight," Abebech offered after a moment. "Our new ship's science officer, L'tenant-Commander Fera'xero," she gestured grandly.

Daria's eyes widened in surprise. "Fera'xero nar Latrya. I must say, I had…"

"Expected me to return to the fleet, Lieutenant Commander Seldayiv? Well, such was tempting, but there was a war on… And I had seen much I was uncomfortable to share with other Quarians," he replied, vocoder flashing. "I must honour the people of MacArthur. So now we are all Huáscar, thanks to Commander Imra of Heermann." He nodded in her direction.

Daria felt bad for mistrusting Abebech, realising that she had been following and promoting a career for a slave they had freed. She just has such an uncomfortable feeling to her. Daria shoved it out of her mind. "I'm incredibly glad to have you aboard, Fera'xero. What you did to escape-and you engineered your own escape, make no mistake about it-was absolutely brilliant."

"A Dance of Necessity, no more, Daria'Seldayiv."

Daria wanted to continue the conversation, but there was an animated Dilgar standing up. "Okay, okay, I respect you're all friends, and I'd like to be your friend too, but can I please bowl my frame?" She looked like she had too much energy and was too young to be a Doctor, but her rank markings were unmistakable.

"Here," Abebech laughed gently. "L'tenant-Commander, take over my game. I need to… go check on someone."

"...Oh, okay, I .." Daria found herself holding the bowling ball, watching Commander Imra wander off.

Nah'dur promptly started forward for her own frame.

"Looking forward to the Huáscar?" Daria asked Fera'xero as she stepped over to the seats and sat to start putting on her 'bowling shoes'.

"Very much so, Daria'Seldayiv. Since she is the first ship I have been assigned to on merit, after a tour at the Stellar Communications Laboratory, and since I believe my liberation from the Batarians served to end my pilgrimage, I have decided to take the name vas Huáscar. The name is very honourable, very famous, among humans. It is a good omen. And those who say I must return to the fleet … Are not wise. I have found a cause here. I will help Quarians by serving it."

"You mean the relocation scheme?"

"Yes, I can only pray that your politicians are brave enough to carry forward with it. Nothing could be greater for our people."

"I'm sure they will be. The Alliance has always come out on the side of truth and justice, we are living our ideals. I would think that someday the Quarian people might even be an Alliance member."

Fera'xero raised a sealed canister with a straw. "I would drink to that."

"Here," the large, quiet Dilgar who was watching Nah'dur get more and more consternated as she tried to avoid guttering balls, offered her drink without another word to Daria.

For the sake of the toast, she took a sip. Her mouth puckered from one end to the other. The smell almost knocked her over in her chair. "Oh Goddessssss…"

"Isn't it marvelous? I am Battle Captain Fei'nur," the woman said pleasantly, taking the glass back. "A man in a pilot's uniform at the bar recommended it to me. He said it was called the…"

"...No need to go further, you got it from a pilot? Goddesss, that means you're drinking an entire cup of Jeremiah Weed straight!?" She made retching sounds. "Is your liver made of tritanium?"

"Actually, yes. Are you our new tactical officer?"

"Yes."

"Brilliant. I'm the commander of the Marines and the Security Detachment, since both myself and Captain Zhen'var can't particularly see why the roles are separated."

"I HAD THREE TRIES AND I ONLY KNOCKED OVER NINE PINS. THIS GAME IS OUTRAGEOUS."

Fei'nur looked from Nah'dur to Daria, back to Nah'dur, then back to Daria, and then whispered softly, "I don't know about you, but I like the fact the Surgeon-Commander is a perfectionist."

Daria thought that was a good warning that she was in for one heck of a strange ride.

Annie's Bar

Violeta Arterria had chosen her career. At some level, she was perfectly okay with that. Being a naval officer had always been her dream in life. She was a good shiphandler, who came from a society that was fully accepting of who she was, what she had done, where she was going in life. In a rough and tough Multiverse, there was very little more to ask of a life and a living.

Now, she was preparing to report to her new ship. She had been in pre-commissioning shakedown with a mixture of civilian yard employees and the plank-owning crew, and now the rest of the crew was coming about for her commissioning and trials. Annie's was at the big Georgetown Station orbiting Tau Ceti in L4R2 and was a very common crew transfer point. She'd been meeting up with a few friends before heading to the bar, her entire life packed into the hotel dutifully reserved with a copy of her TOs and her government charge code.

It was a pretty typical night. The Sol Republic Armed Forces Holonet was playing on the tri-dee, showing a public service announcement to soldiers about the importance of wearing reflective belts when walking after dark on base before switching to a blurb on the reporting options for sexual harassment and then going on to a reminder to change the password on your government computer. They had it on because they were waiting for some special announcement from the Defense Minister, and it showed by how unpopular the feed was.

There was a group of fighter pilots, drinking whisky at the bar and catcalling the waitresses. Some chiefs talking the shit at tables. It was a very long way from her home, where even among the military a lot of the behaviour would still be totally unacceptable. There was still something 'homey' about the food when all alone, about being surrounded by other officers. So she was here. Really, thinking of not being with Cat, she was tempted to join the pilots doing shots at the bar.

The menu had a special feature of the Zoon Burger, licensed from Arterial Blockage, the authentic chain of E5B1. Violeta ignored that in favour of a bacon ranch lettuce wedge, which was hardly that much healthier but would make her feel somewhat better about it. After she ordered, still nursing her beer and idly wondering if she'd ever continue her RPG, she saw a group of officers step in.

Well, mostly officers. A couple had the slick uniforms-somewhat more formal-of the new Warrant Officer service that had been created to address the chronic shortage of trained technical personnel that the war had caused. Most of the group headed straight to the bar to hit up some drinks. One of them, a tallish, thin woman whose uniform hung a bit awkwardly, shoved her hands in her pockets and glanced around, uncomfortably.

A young, rather short Dilgar male stepped up at her side, and put a hand on her shoulder for a moment. The woman smiled wryly, and they both moved away from the bar. Violeta could tell immediately that neither of them was particularly interested in the boozing. Impulsively, she waved them over to her empty table.

The woman stepped forward first. "Ma'am, thank you…"

"Shh. In Annie's it's Violeta," she smiled. "Come on and sit."

"Chief Warrant Anastasia Héen," she offered, smiling fully now, and her confidence like a light switch. "I'm the new Air Boss for the Huáscar. They decided the Enterprise-class had too cluttered of a small craft group to deconflict without one, and it went to the Warrants, since we follow the Federation model and have commissioned helm officers." She winked at Violeta's tabs, and the woman couldn't help but grin.

"Anyway, I've been totally remiss," Stasia continued. "This is Major Lar'shan, he's the flight commander for the Huáscar. We were traveling together with another group for our ship…"

"My pleasure," Lar'shan grinned, showing fangs as he did, which wasn't quite so friendly as intended, but Violeta got the point.

"Lieutenant Violeta Arterria, actually, I'm headed for Huáscar, too," she offered with a smile. "C'mon, have a seat."

"Oh, look, we're starting to find more Huáscareños," Stasia grinned as she sat.

"I'm still tripping over that word," Lar'shan admitted.

"What's it mean?" Violeta asked Stasia.

"Oh, it's Spanish for 'people of Huáscar', more or less," Stasia explained. "The senior officers are fond of it in the couple of briefings I got. What ship are you from, Violeta?"

"I was just transferred off the Aurora," she admitted with a sheepish grin. "Yourself?"

"Oh, I've been an instructor at officer familiarization training. I actually briefly served as the Master Chief Petty Officer of the Aurora before that, I guess before you transferred aboard-by which I mean I'm a plankowner. I'm one of the old Facility Hands, though decidedly third rate: I ended up there because Beth Rankin figured I needed a job. I was never in the military before that, just a Mate on some ferries up in Alaska, and running trawlers."

"Honestly, with that kind of experience," Violeta remarked, "I'm surprised you didn't end up a senior officer. It's a lot more than most of the actual senior officers on the Aurora had."

"Well, you might say I had some spiritual reservations to the whole neural learning thing," Stasia replied hesitantly. "And anyway, I'm not really about putting on airs. Being a CWO is fine enough. Though I do find it funny that we've got officers at helm and Warrants for an Air Boss. It's very much the reverse, assuming it isn't just enlisted personnel at the helm, back in a wet Navy on Old Earth."

"Same for the Dilgar Imperium, actually," Lar'shan chimed in. "And the Union of Tira and Rohric for that matter. But the diversity of backgrounds helps."

"I think it's because of Captain Farmer's influence from the Federation," Violeta explained. "And when you link navigation with the helm and heavily automate the ship, it sort of makes sense. There's no need for a rating following-the-pointer to keep the rudder angle correct."

Stasia laughed. "True enough. So. I don't drink, and I don't think you drink much, or as much as these party boys Lar'shan will blow out of the water, anyway. Otherwise I wouldn't look so much like a fish out of water, but..."

"Oh, surely, Anastasia Héen, some of them are perfectly excellent pilots, I am sure," Lar'shan answered. "No need to cast aspersions."

Violeta sighed. "Well, I'm not adverse to drinking, but I'm going through what you might call a… divergence of interests with my girlfriend, and there's really no good reason to get started with the booze over it."

"My father taught me some of the virtues of comportment," Lar'shan replied modestly.

"Pfft, he taught you how to be a good man," Stasia bantered easily, but her look turned much more serious. "I don't drink because my people get lost in it. It's the white man's poison, and screw 'em for it."

"...White man's poison?" Violeta blinked in utter incomprehension.

"I'm Tlingit. A native Alaskan indigenous people," Stasia elaborated. "I don't know the history of your universe, God, it might be nice if it had none of this in it, but poisoning indigenous Americans with cheap booze was a favoured tactic of the arriving Caucasian settlers to displace us from our land." She waved her hand. "Don't worry, I don't mind explaining to people from other universes, it's kind of refreshing to think they legitimately know nothing about it."

"I feel a remarkable kinship in certain ways to the American peoples," Lar'shan offered.

Violeta frowned a little. "I don't think it's quite comparable, respectfully, Major. Your people brought a lot of it on themselves."

Stasia smiled tightly. "Frontier war wasn't pretty either, on both sides. I'll be the first to admit it. And…"

"The destruction of Omelos was not a natural event," Lar'shan said softly, with his eyes downcast. "Our people were not innocent, by any means. My father was one of the few who could claim clean hands when it was done. But there is a quiet consensus, among both Dilgar and now your scientists as well, that Omelos' sun was poisoned by some kind of artificial action."

"Motivation enough to serve," Stasia added tautly. "And I've got mine: I've heard stories about the Roma Zoos on the Reich's Earth."

"Roma… Zoos?" Violeta blanched. She wasn't sure she even wanted to hear about another Reich atrocity, particularly in the context of a Zoo. Hadn't she heard of enough? Why was there always another one...

"Some of the nonwhite minorities of Earth didn't get exterminated, instead they were reduced to stone age living on controlled, fenced wildlife parks for 'amusement' and 'education' on the 'degenerate' races. I had been thinking of leaving the service to get my own Independent Trader, but I re-upped after reading about that," Stasia explained. "Enough said, right?"

"Hell yes," Violeta replied, and wondered if she could actually finish her salad now. The other two ordering food, the fish burger for Stasia and a plate of chicken wings for Lar'shan, finally revived her appetite. "Though there isn't enough Hell to give to those Nazi bastards," she added after a moment, shaking her head.

It wasn't really a point that anyone wanted to end a conversation on. Violeta thought for a moment. "So, have you heard anything about our new Captain? Huáscar's, I mean."

"I've met her," Lar'shan offered a moment, strangely reticent. "She is a very good and noble woman."

"You've met her?" Violeta blinked. "You certainly get around, Major... Weren't you from the Human Dilgar colony?"

"New Eden, yes. And yes, it's only been a few months. But Captain Zhen'var is something of a relative."

"Oh." Violeta swallowed and flushed. "I'd heard this ridiculous rumour about her."

"It's true," Stasia said flatly. "But she's fine. A good Captain. Give her the chance we all deserve, my comrade. She's been the Hell of the Line, and I don't think any of us except Lar'shan's dad can really understand that. If this was what it took to find peace, it's what it took."

"You're right, of course. Look at my home. Gene-modding's normal there, she just took it a few more steps. I hope the crew doesn't cause too many problems over it…"

"Well, we'll all be her defenders, all together," Stasia leaned in to the table. "But with half our ranks Dilgar, I don't think we'll have much problem."

"They don't have the same cultural problems some Human groups do?"

"Most things have both a blessing and a curse," Lar'shan explained. "People would innately trust that someone is Dilgar on having been told so. And, to be honest, Zhen'var speaks our language better than some of my friends growing up, has the heart and soul of one of our people. You'll be proud to serve under her, I assure you."

"Thank you, Major. Remembering what happened at Tira… I don't have much doubt." She curled a finger through her purple hair, and laughed wryly, glancing to the latest mind-numbing programming on the tri-dee. "So. Next question. Where the heck do they come up with this crap, anyway?"

The shared laughter carried them into lighter banter. Stasia was far more hesitant than Lar'shan when things turned to talking about family, but Violeta figured that was from her legacy in the Facility days. Something had probably gone down. Lar'shan made up for it, telling his stories of the absurd way he went from flying a Sopwith Camel to a police helicopter to his command with little seniority after a tour in the last campaigns toward the Reich Earth. In the end, they all beat a retreat back to their station hotels around 2300. The shuttle for the Huáscar left early.

Thumbing idly through a profusion of e-mails on her government computer, she rapidly grew bored and gave up. They were all irrelevant, or some shoe clerk causing trouble to make themselves feel important.

On her persocomp, there were pictures of Cat. She looked at them for a while. Cat in front of readouts of stellar cartography. Cat at the Vulcan Science Academy. Cat getting promoted. Cat in an RPG… The last made her sigh. Their passions had carried them apart from passion. She turned the persocomp off. Sometimes, even one beer felt like too many. She had a life, a future, and a career. And so did Cat.

They would walk their separate roads, and that was fate. Huáscareños. It had a pretty nice ring to it, really. She looked up the history of the name, and started to read.

Tag

The Shadow

Babylon 5, May 2258

Commander Sinclair had found himself going nowhere with Jha'dur. In the end, he decided to send the only woman on the station who spoke the Dilgar language, and might have more success with her. His fellow Line veteran, the quiet and committed Lieutenant Zhengli Varma, second in command on the night-shift watch.

Zhengli, half-shivering, had approached the job like she was being assigned to dig up a tomb. "Warmaster Jha'dur, I am Lieutenant Zhengli Varma. Commander Sinclair asked me to speak with you," she began, in Dilgar, as she entered the cell, fearless but clammy. Jha'dur would probably cut her off in the first minute, and to no surprise on her part, did.

The eyes of the greatest killer in history turned sharply toward her, and the voice answered in Dilgar, sharp and short. "You're related to Kaveri Varma, aren't you?"

"Yes, Warmaster." She used the title, as Sinclair hadn't, and remained polite, at least, even talking to Deathwalker. "How do you know my mother's name?" She'd felt a chill cross her at the words.

"Since you know Dilgar, I can assume you know some details of your mother's habits, Lieutenant. I know more," Jha'dur answered with an amused leer.

"She did not hide the truth from me, Warmaster. She sobbed when she," Zhengli made an articulation of utter helplessness, "heard."

Jha'dur's eyes never failed to track her. "Then there was one being who shed tears for Omelos."

"You were backed into a corner. You lashed out to survive. There... should be more than..." She paused, and looked. "You did not cry, Warmaster? I suppose the tears were long gone." She was silent for a moment, before almost sliding back to conversation. "The world was ill, but she stole down to the surface to see, to know..." She clamped her lips shut. "You aren't going to tell me anything you do not wish to, I know that. They say that perhaps they'll send you to Earth, to give this strange gift you offer."

"I will make sure I give it to you and your mother before the troubles start," she said, her teeth curling into a sneer, and refusing to answer the question about whether or not she had cried. "If nothing else that will guarantee that I may hear the Dilgar tongue in my hour of vindication! Shai'jhur was loyal 'till the end, you may tell your mother that if you wish. I pardoned her of her perversion and permitted her to resume her station in the fleet. The last I heard of her she was bravely in command of her Pentacon at Third Balos, and fighting harder than most."

"She took command of what was left, and led it back to Omelos, after the Nemesis disabled your ship," Zhengli answered. "They gave her some of the new ships... and then I am given to understand she was promoted to Warmaster, then vanished. She was not at the final battle over Omelos. With the transports that were jumping out, mother believes she was sent to find a new home for your people. I, at least, hope she succeeded." Zhengli tilted her head, a fraction, and continued. "I believe you tell the truth with your offer, but I also believe you have deeper motives than that. You are not a woman to do what others wish unless it is also your own will, I think." Hisses and growls... she had her mother's accent, but she still spoke the Dilgar tongue fluently.

For a moment, Jha'dur had frozen at the description of Shai'jhur's later actions. Then she shrugged, not answering to the details given, but clearly having filed it away. "You will see. I harbour remarkably little ill-will toward Humans, girl. I hope you triumph in days to come. You proved yourselves better than us." A laugh. "I have one complaint. You are hypocrites... And that I cannot stand."

"Hypocrites?" She looked confused. "I don't understand what you mean by that, Warmaster? Do you mean the condemnation of your people...? If our sun had been going to explode, and we'd had no colonies, we'd have taken what we needed to live and justified it later. Or died in the attempt. The Minbari War proved that."

Jha'dur smiled. "Thank you, Lieutenant Varma. Thank you. That means a very great deal to me, in a way I doubt you understand. I perhaps see-intellectually-some of why Shai'jhur was so easily led astray!" The smile was not a pleasant thing. This was a woman driven mad.

"It's... easy to define evil when you're not facing impossible choices, Warmaster. When I went up over Earth... to try and buy a little more time, just like those Dilgar who went up to buy a little more time for Omelos... I understood. And if you'd given me a button that would have wiped out the Minbari in that moment..." She trailed off. "I hope the Divine will some-day allow you to find peace in yourself, Warmaster Jha'dur. Or, I suppose, Supreme Warmaster Jha'dur." She flashed back to a story her mother had told her once, of horrible bloodshed brought to perfection in the strange remnants of the Russian Empire, centuries before, of religion and killing blended together. Von Ungern-Shternberg. "You were shaped into a bodhisattva of war by misfortune, and piled the scales of karma with adharma, but perhaps that was your role, your destiny. I have meditated upon this, and I do not know the truth of it."

"Well it was certainly our destiny to die, Zhengli Varma. We fought the Gods themselves and gladly, too, but in the end... We were not enough. Here, young Varma. I..." Her eyes narrowed. "Yes, I would be pleased if you are right about Shai'jhur. But for now, I can't but see in your words what I want from all Humans, and that is enough, even if Shai'jhur's flight is merely a fancy of your mother's. Have your Commander Sinclair come in here and repeat them, and I shall gladly go to Earth. How does that sound?"

"Commander Sinclair hates the Dilgar, like as not for his father, Warmaster. He stood on the Line as well, but... emotion makes it hard to see unpleasant truths. Even I somehow succeeded, and if you agreed, I am not sure, now that people know you are here, that such emotion would allow you to survive the journey. We could have been you... but yet again, fate somehow gave us a gift we did not deserve, as it took all hope from yours." She paused. "I may be a rare Human able to recognize such things, but it does not make them less true. Would there be anything you wish you to know? I... would know of Warmaster Shai'jhur, if you would tell me. My mother told me all that Shai'jhur told her, but of what came next, we know nothing."

Jha'dur looked away, as if boredom was returning, or madness. "I will tell you, if you bring me some brivari when you get the chance," she answered after a moment. "You are what I wish all the Humans to be," Jha'dur finally allowed.

Zhengli quietly left to buy some brivari from a vendor in the zocalo, and on her return and presenting the bottle to Jha'dur, the woman perked up in her cups, and obligingly started to talk. The service of Shai'jhur in First Strike Fleet was quite the story for Jha'dur to tell, from her perspective. She was emphatically one of the bravest people imaginable... She had been in Jha'dur's power, and calmly told the entire truth, and then explained she had done it because she trusted Jha'dur's decision to be just, so there was no point in hiding from it. The story spun out the hours, in the ante-chamber to hell which they both found themselves on whilst aboard Babylon 5, while outside every nation in the galaxy screamed and fought over one of the women within.

Zhengli listened like she was finally hearing the story of her second mother. "I can see why my mother so greatly remembers such a soul. Please forgive the quality of the Brivari, I do not have access to anything like the best of stocks." She'd listened, utterly fascinated all the while... And offered, gently; "The Minbari made you speak of things to them, didn't they? Especially when we proved stubborn during the war?"

"I told them the story." She said, and then she laughed, and laughed, and laughed. "They asked for my help. Child, do you realize what that meant?"

"I realise that there is much you could have done. That they likely thought they could use you, in their arrogance. Most of them are so arrogant as to be blind, even the ones who attempt to be kind. Perhaps not the workers, but I have rarely seen any of them. Warmaster... One does not use a bodhisattava. They did not realize that, did they?" She bit her lip, in a hint of nervousness. Jha'dur was mad... Yet she could still see flashes of brilliance. The brilliance, the charisma, that had made even good people like Shai'jhur willingly follow this woman to the utmost as their commander. "It worries me that EarthGov seems to be making that same mistake."

"They did not realise it. They paid for it. I gave them bad advice," Jha'dur grinned. It was a dangerous look. "Yes, it's unwise to use me, smart lass. Of course, you know, perhaps I want this."

"Perhaps." She shifted. "Is there anything else you would wish to know? Or do you wish me to stay so Commander Sinclair doesn't come charging back in?"

"Tell me about your family life: your mother, yourself, how you were raised. I did not realise Humans cared for orphans so much, until I heard Shai'jhur's story of your family."

"Not all of them do. My mother...tried her best. I was orphaned by war." She'd openly speak, not seeing it to be dangerous, about the good and the ill of life as an orphan who didn't fit in. Sometimes she was resentful for it, but mostly thankful, in the accented, rolling Dilgar she spoke, sharing with the monster in the mother-tongue Jha'dur had not heard in years. Going onwards and telling stories of the boarding schools, and all it had left her... She didn't edit, either, and went into excruciating detail. Her mother had said this woman preferred it, now she knew it had saved Shai'jhur's life, and so she spared nothing.

"And so your nation gained a loyal officer who stood the line." Jha'dur shook her head. It seemed one thing that still Humanized her, brought her in. Talking about orphans, of all things.

"Did you... lose your parents as well, Warmaster...?" She asked as gently as she dared. She didn't have pity, she had sympathy, but that might itself still be Too much. She was too kind hearted to say anything else.

The woman snapped a look at her, piercing her with a sharply fixed gaze. "I'd kill anyone who asked me that if I did not already know you to be an orphan yourself, Zhengli Varma. Because of that, I'll answer you instead. Yes, I did. Don't speak more of it."

"Yes, Warmaster." She did flinch. That gaze... Well. She stopped the subject like a hot iron in hand.

"...Would you ... Like it?" She offered, clearly indicating the serum. Zhengli's quick compliance had been valued... But the madwoman before her was already musing.

"I do not know, Warmaster. The thought of breaking the cycle, of living as it was in the olden ages... it is tempting, yes, but... there would be a price I do not know. I am a dead woman walking - I should have died at the Line."

"And I am not? As I said, this I will offer to your mother and yourself first. I will make sure you have it, if that for nothing else, I can hear the Dilgar language spoken to me at the hour of my triumph. That is what matters to me, it is a wonderful vision."

She inclined her head in agreement. "If my mother accepts, so would I, Warmaster." She didn't quite... trust the offer, but... she wasn't greedy for it, just accepting of it.

"Good." Jha'dur closed her eyes, then. "If only all the Humans could be like you... If only."

"Dilgar are regarded as better than Minbari in EarthForce, these days, Warmaster. They say at least you had a reason... and I fear I am something of a rare one."

"You at least show your species has the potential I always was certain it did, as a point in fact. Better than the Minbari? Good, you are not total fools. Your Commander makes a strong competition for the title, though."

"He is a man with a strong moral code... and a fool he may be, but he shot down dozens of Minbari fighters in the war with just a circle painted on his cockpit glass, Warmaster. The Minbari demanded he command the station, even."

"Well, we'll see about that. Ari'shan was a bit of a fool, too... But a very good pilot. And once I thought he was the future. And now he's..." She shrugged. "Everything is gone. Except for me."

There was... a freezing of Zhengli's face, just a fraction of it. A flash that came, passed, as she remembered something her mother had said... and Zhengli tried to pick her words, carefully. "That... may not be the case?"

"I'll..." She looked dully at Zhengli. "I'll need more brivari." She knew, she understood, and she wasn't pressing. Or at least she was suspicious. That, then was Zhengli Varma's encounter with Jha'dur Deathwalker.

"Yes, Warmaster." She did flinch. That gaze... Well. It made her drop the subject instantly, as if she'd grabbed a red-hot fire poker. And that was the end of her encounter with Death Herself. A shivering feeling lingered past Jha'dur's death at the hands of the Vorlons, for a fortnight or more.

A more vague sense of discomfort stayed with her on into later years, when in loneliness and desperation she walked the road that she did, and sometimes, she wondered if those mad, malevolent eyes were somewhere watching her, if the demise of Deathwalker was as overstated as it always had been, or that presence remained, following her beyond the grave. Most of all, as she made her decisions in life and followed her course, she feared that those eyes might just register their approval.

Shorn of the look of desperate, hopeless madness, the look of her eyes was altogether identical to Surgeon-Commander Nah'dur's.