I have a message from another time... Eyrie Productions, Unlimited presents UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT - SYMPHONY OF THE SWORD - Seventh Movement: Reflections in Transition Benjamin D. Hutchins Kris Overstreet with Anne Cross Theme from "Battlecruiser Vengeance" by John M. Ford (c) 2001 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited TUESDAY, MAY 3, 2405 8:44 AM CFMF CHARLEMAGNE, ON STATION AT BABYLON 5 EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM One of the plagues of an admiral's rank is paperwork. Reports must be read, acknowledged, and responded to. Pay chits must be authorized. The discipline of the ship, or fleet, must be attended to, which means review of every ship's Captain's Mast and, occasionally, the empaneling of courts-martial. Reports, in turn, must be written for those higher up the command chain, detailing operations, endorsing promotions or demotions, and requesting resupply or refit. Aya Nakajima attacked paperwork with the same sort of mentality she applied to any other attack; she cut straight to what she felt was important and did it so thoroughly that the slap-dash handling of the minor details was overlooked. In this system, Aya handled military-action reports, court-martial level discipline, and absolutely nothing else, throwing all the maintenance responsibilities back onto the captains and rubber-stamping the results. In the past year, she had applied the same system to reports coming up to her as 2Div commander from the Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth Task Forces. The system might not have been the best in the galaxy, but it did work. For any combat reports from the other task forces in the Second Division, Aya would usually endorse: "I wasn't there, this guy was. He's probably right." Only if her orders were directly and flagrantly violated in a nonproductive way did Aya take a personal (and usually vindictive) interest. Within the task force she personally commanded, she gave her captains her full support, having had ten years to weed out the incompetent and unmotivated officers. With her detailed attention to their combat reports and the loose but firm discipline she mandated, her aides were easily able to catch anything she missed. It is for this reason that, having begun the morning briefing and paperwork session at 0800 hours Fleet time (also B5's time), Aya had either cleared through what could be cleared or set aside those items which couldn't by 0837, stood on the Charlemagne's main transporter pads by 0844, and found herself on the bridge of IPS Challenger, the command deck of Babylon 5, and finally the Babylon 5 extension of the CFA New Orleans' Bazaar - nicknamed the Zocalo by the Bajoran workers - at 0846, 0847, and 0849 hours respectively. The Zocalo was by no means as impressive a sight as the Bazaar (or Bazaars) on the New Orleans; for one thing, you could see its beginning and end without straining the eyes across half a kilometer or more of broad corridor. For another thing, all the stands were obviously of a temporary nature, easily taken down and moved, nothing really heavy or bulky which wasn't equipped with a repulsorlift. However, despite the fading Freespacer work presence on the station, the Zocalo showed no signs of going away, and in fact some Bajorans and other local inhabitants had begun setting up their own stores nearby. After a couple of minutes of searching, Aya found Gryphon at one of the several Freespacer-owned construction roach-coaches on the inner edge of the Zocalo. The first of the station's restaurants would open for business in a couple of weeks, at which point the caterers would move on to some other space-habitat job. For now, however, they continued providing cheap, hot food to the shrinking construction crew and growing station staff. Gryphon was juggling his usual breakfast when on-station (tangberry danish, hash browns, black tea) when Aya snatched away his paper cup of tea with one hand, grabbed the empty hand in the other, and pumped it firmly up and down. "Way to go, Gryphon! Banzai!" she exclaimed. Aya was at her most chipper this morning, her smiling face and perky expression almost more than Captain Benjamin Hutchins could handle. He'd spent the prior evening making certain that Earthforce really was standing down from any possible intention of storming Babylon 5, and had collapsed into his seldom-used bunk in Blue Sector when Ruri had finally threatened him with phaser stun if he didn't get some rest. As a result, his brain was either in that Blue Sector bed or in his bunk on Challenger or, sweet thought of thoughts, luxuriating on the pillow of his soft, cozy bed in New Avalon... and not at all in the Zocalo, certainly not looking slightly down at Aya Nakajima's cute, maniacal smile and victory pose. (For a moment, just a moment, the "I'm in bed" image and the "oh, it's Aya" image blended into something quite interesting, but his "no, that can't be right" filter caught and purged it almost immediately, more was the pity.) "Aya," he gasped, buying time while his brain made the commute back to his skull, "bwa? Wha? My arm?" "Oh!" Aya released his hand at last, belatedly restoring his beverage to him as he added, "I watched the whole escape! I couldn't believe how you dodged all those minesats! And then BAZORK!! you blew up the interdiction satellite! You squeezed a Reflex cannon into that little ship! I can't believe it! Can I have one?" Gryphon's brain had finally arrived, but in metaphorical terms its tie was askew and its briefcase spilled all over the office floor. "Aya, Aya," he said, waving her down, "slow up just a bit and start at the beginning. I don't have the first idea what you're talking about." "Your -rescue-," Aya said, coming off like nothing so much as an overexcited child. "You folded out of nowhere in Daggerdisc and swooped down and - " "OH!" Gryphon said, comprehension dawning. He took a bite of his danish, chewed, swallowed, and then said, "Sorry, but that wasn't me." Aya's jaw dropped slightly. "You mean you -didn't- put a Reflex cannon in Daggerdisc?" Gryphon couldn't help chuckling. "Get your mind out of your big-gun fixation, Aya. Yes I did, no you can't have one, and I wasn't the one at the controls. I was right here in this system, wondering why the Earthforce tactical band had suddenly gone all noisy. The one doing the hotshot driving was my son." "Leonard?" Aya scratched her head, looking very puzzled. "I didn't think he was interested in ships. Destroids, yes, but not ships." "No, not Len." "Not -Guy-? He's only, what, ten?" "Almost twelve, but no - it was Corwin, actually." Aya's jaw dropped again, still further. "Little Corwin? Skuld's son? I haven't seen him in years!!" "He's grown," Gryphon said, shrugging. "He's the same age as Len, you know." Aya took a moment to absorb this information, then smiled again. "Well," she declared, "I promised to shake the hand of the man who pulled off that escape, and I am going to do just that!" Grabbing Gryphon's arm, Aya pulled him away from the catering booth, saying, "Now, c'mon! It's nearly 0900 and I'm running late!" Shrugging, Gryphon scarfed down his breakfast as she hauled him through the corridors of the station, much to the amusement of various passing station personnel. They wound up in the docking bay where Daggerdisc was berthed. From outside, there didn't seem to be anyone around. Someone had been there - the wreckage of the comm dish was almost completely removed from the upper hull, and several of the nastier scorch marks were gone - but no one was in evidence now. Gryphon went to the base of the ramp, looked up inside, and yelled, "CORWIN?" From inside came the sounds of feet on deck plates, and then Corwin appeared, dressed in a slightly dirty gray technician's coverall and carrying what looked like about half of a deflector shield emitter head. "Yeah?" he said as he came down the ramp. Gryphon started to say, "I've got someone here who'd like to - " Aya, eyes going wide, gasped, then seized Corwin's free hand (heedless of the fact that it was rather dirty) and pumped it vigorously. "Oh my goodness, -look- at you!" she said. "The boy who put the Solo twins to shame! How -are- you? I haven't seen you since you were thiiiiiis high!" she added with the appropriate gesture. "Wow! I'm going to get a crick in my neck if you grow any more!" As Corwin attempted to formulate a response to this onslaught, there came the sound of more footsteps from behind him, and then Utena Tenjou rounded the corner from the aft engine compartment. She wore one of her Ohtori Academy uniform jackets over Martian Army fatigue pants, and had somehow contrived to keep it relatively clean, though she had managed to acquire a smear of grease on one cheek from somewhere. "Oh! You must be Corwin's girlfriend!" said Aya with a broad smile, which caused both of them to blush furiously. "Um, well - " said Corwin. At the same time, Utena offered, "That's not - " But Aya wasn't listening. She grabbed Utena's hands too, wrung them, and looked her up and down with undisguised admiration. "You're so CUTE! I like that shade of pink, and the uniform is so COOL!" She leaned nearer as if imparting a confidence and said, "I looked ridiculous in -my- school uniform, and it was worse when I got out - Starfleet was still using the bootie PJs until my second year out of the Academy." "Um," said Utena. Aya blinked, then smacked herself in the forehead. "Oh, I'm sorry, how rude of me." She squared herself up and saluted smartly. "Vice Admiral Ayami Nakajima, Confederate Freespacers Mercenary Fleet." "Nice to meet you, Admiral. I'm Utena Tenjou." Aya dropped the military pose effortlessly, grinned, and said, "Oh, I've known Corwin since he was knee high - I think it's OK if his girlfriend calls me Aya." "Well - " "Corwin," said Gryphon diplomatically, "did you have breakfast?" "Not yet," Corwin replied. "I wanted to get the comm-dish housing cleared before - " "No breakfast? That's no way for a growing boy to start the day," Aya insisted. "C'mon, we'll go up to the New Orleans and get something at the Corellian House of Hotcakes, my treat. It's the least I can do for that show you gave me yesterday." Corwin glanced at Utena, who grinned and said, "I'll go wash up." "OK, cool. C'mon aboard," said Corwin, and the four of them went into Daggerdisc's wardroom. Corwin put the piece of shield generator down on the dining-booth table, and while Utena disappeared into one of the staterooms, Corwin chatted with Aya and his father as he washed his face and hands in the galley sink. Utena returned presently, having cleaned the grease from her face and hands. She entered the wardroom belting on the Thorn of the Rose, which, being an unusual accessory for a teenage girl to have, caught Aya's attention immediately. "Wow," the Freespacer said after examining the intricate basket hilt for a moment. "That is a -nice- sword." "Hm? Oh, thank you." "Where'd you get it?" asked Aya. "Corwin made it for my birthday," Utena told her. Aya blinked, impressed. "Really? Corwin, you're so -talented-! Know how to use it?" she asked Utena with a speculative smile. "Gryphon-sensei thinks I do all right," Utena replied with a private sort of grin. "Is that so?" Aya asked Gryphon, looking intrigued. Gryphon nodded. "She's beaten me, on a good day," he confirmed. Aya Nakajima was in a position to know what that meant; she'd seen him in action several times, once against pretty long odds. Her eyes sparkled at the implications as she looked Utena over again in this new light. "Oh ho! Well, looks like plenty of room here," said Aya, gesturing to the mostly-empty docking bay. "Let's try it out." "Aya, c'mon," said Gryphon. "You just met the girl, she hasn't had breakfast yet or anything." "Yeah, you're right," said Aya, pouting. Then she shook it off and said brightly, "OK, c'mon, let's get some breakfast." "Did you know," said Aya to Corwin after the waitress brought their pancakes, "you probably prevented a civil war?" Corwin looked faintly confused. "Pardon?" he asked. "Not an Earth civil war," Aya clarified, "a Federation one. I was ready to commit a full carrier task force to rescuing your friends, especially the Princess and Kate. We would have lost ships in that rescue... Earthforce would have lost more... Starfleet might have gotten involved... and with that start, you have Corellia and Salusia at each other's throats, the WDF against Starfleet, the Klingons trying to choose a side, GENOM doing Buddha only knows what, and the Romulans and Cardassians swooping in to pick the bones." Corwin blinked. "Surprised?" asked Aya. "I -do- consider these things. I think about 'em a lot, especially at two in the morning on a night without a party. But I was prepared to start that war, because the alternative - at that moment - was to let the Psi Corps get away with murder. "Ben probably told you this already; if not, he should have," she went on, gesturing with her fork. "We're looking at a war sometime in the next, oh, maybe ten years. I think yesterday pushed that war back a bit. Earthforce had to back down. They've just realized their support isn't nearly as strong as they thought, and their personal defense force isn't strong enough yet to stand against the rest of the galaxy. Earthforce, the Psi Corps, even the Dome, they're going to back off for a while, until this incident is yesterday's news. "But they aren't going to forget, or forgive, or change their goals. The Earth Alliance is back on its heels today, but it's still twenty-five percent of the entire Federation. Once the heat is off, they are going to -arm-. They're going to build a fleet big enough to challenge Salusia, or us, or the WDF even. They're going to keep eating away at the Federation Starfleet until it becomes nothing more than a branch of Earthforce. They're going to find allies like the Corellians among the Federation, and run off minor powers, until the Psi Act becomes law throughout the Federation. Or maybe worse." Aya paused, looking uncharacteristically grave, then put her hand on Corwin's shoulder and went on seriously, "And when the war -does- come, Earth is gonna -remember- us, Corwin. Right now there's a bunch of Psi Corps officers very very interested in you and your friends, and a bunch of Earth Alliance generals who want me on a barbecue spit, and a bunch of politicians who agree with all of them. They are gonna remember... so you need to be ready for when they try again." Gryphon looked across the table at Utena and, despite the gravity of what Aya was telling his son, smiled a private little smile, which she returned. Corwin, unnoticing, asked the Freespacer admiral, a trifle defensively, "What are you saying we should do? Hide?" Aya snorted. "Hide? You? Hell no! -Fight-! I know your mother, kid. I know she's training you. Your father says that Utena here is good enough to beat him, and I trust his judgment. Both of you, keep learning! Keep practicing! Teach your friends! And when the time comes, when you have the chance to stop injustice and protect those you love... then the hell with the consequences, -do what is right-." Corwin smiled, as if to counterbalance Aya's unwonted solemnity, and said, "My track record's pretty good." Aya grinned, her somber mood shattering, and she whomped Corwin on the shoulder in a man-to-man sort of way, rocking him sideways in his seat. "So I've seen," she said. "You just keep right on doing what you're doing. Keep your chin up and your eyes open, don't be afraid, and you'll be fine." Aya slugged back the rest of her Singapore sling (with -breakfast-?! Utena had thought when she ordered it), put down the glass, and stood up, smoothing her uniform. "Well." She hauled Corwin out of his seat and into a very snug embrace, shook Utena's hand with a wink, mussed up Gryphon's hair, and said, "I gotta go run my fleet, or T'Pall will show up and drag me off by the ear." "I doubt T'Pall would do that," said Gryphon with a lazy grin. "Oh?" said Aya. "And why's that?" "Because," Gryphon replied calmly, "that's Homare's job. Right, Homare?" Aya's eyes widened as her twin brother's thumb and forefinger closed on her left ear. "OW!" she cried, drawing only a few glances from the staff and patrons of the restaurant. Everyone there was too used to her to react any more than that. "C'mon, Sis," said Homare Nakajima resignedly. "There's a task force conference in five minutes. Captain. Kids," he said with a cordial nod to Aya's tablemates. "Ow, quit it, OK! I'm coming already, leggo!" Aya waved wildly as she was dragged away, shouting after her, "See ya at Redneck's barbecue! If ya want a tour of my ships, set it up with Claire! Ja ne! OW, Homare, dammit!" Corwin sat down, shaking his head. Only then did he notice that, though it seemed in retrospect as if she'd spent the entire time talking, Aya had nevertheless managed to put away no fewer than six pancakes, plus hashbrowns and sausage. Only crumbs and syrup traces remained on her plate. "Remarkable woman," Gryphon observed, having just noticed the same thing. "Did she just stick us with the check?" Utena wondered. "Of course not, miss," said their waiter jovially, pausing on his way to deliver a tray of food to another table in his zone. "Don't worry about a thing. Admiral Nakajima's tab at this House of Hotcakes is legendary throughout the chain." "Oh," said Utena. "Why, some years ago," the Bolian went on, his eyes misting up nostalgically, "when the Fleet was at Zardon, she treated the entire crew of a visiting WDF cruiser to breakfast here. 450 beings!" The waiter sighed wistfully. "That was a good tip... " "Those waffles aren't going to serve themselves, Dremp," an irritable voice growled from the serving counter. Dremp sighed again, more annoyed than wistful this time. "One has so little time for pleasant conversation in this job," he observed as he bustled away. "Good day, all... " Juri Arisugawa had just emerged from the shower when she heard the merry little song of the door chime. Glancing down the short hallway from the bathroom, she saw that the door to the suite's master bedroom was still shut; either there was no one in there, or whoever was left (-someone- had used the shower before Juri) was still asleep. Sighing, she pulled on her bathrobe, wrapped her thick orange hair in a towel to keep it from dripping all over everything, and went to answer the door. The person standing there was a young man with slightly tousled brown hair, dressed in the black and gray duty uniform of the International Police Organization Space Force. Juri didn't recognize him, but she knew the uniform on sight, though she wasn't adept enough just yet to be able to tell the newcomer's rank from the single gold hash mark on his turtleneck collar. Apparently the uniformed boy (for he was only a boy - Juri knew looks could be deceiving, especially in this world, but he looked no older than Miki) was of the opinion that Juri outranked him. He came to attention and saluted, not visibly concerned that he was addressing a somewhat-less-than-elegant late-teenage girl in a towel turban and a rather damp white terrycloth bathrobe. "The Captain's compliments, ma'am," said the uniformed young man briskly. "He wonders if you and your companions would care to lunch with him and his officers aboard Challenger this afternoon." Juri looked at the young officer with a straight face, though inside she was more amused than she'd been since this whole adventure had begun. It's a good thing I answered the door, and not Utena, she thought. She might laugh in his face; she wouldn't mean any harm by it, but still, it would bruise his ego. "My compliments to the Captain," she replied smoothly, "and please tell him that we would be delighted, assuming I can wake the others." "Thank you, ma'am," said the young officer gravely. "If you will report to Transporter Room Two at as near to noon as is convenient, you will be conveyed aboard promptly." He saluted again, pivoted smartly on his heel, and moved briskly off down the corridor. Juri watched him go, small smile hovering around the corners of her mouth, then went back inside and let the bulkhead door close behind her before chuckling softly. "Something f-funny?" inquired Kaitlyn Hutchins as she emerged from the master bedroom, looking slightly owlish without her glasses, hair mussed, tiger pajamas rumpled. "We've been invited to lunch with your father aboard his starship," she said. "The young man they sent to convey the invitation... " Juri shook her head, chuckling again. The young man's earnestness had been almost painful - he'd reminded her of Miki, before he'd learned to take things easier. "Let's say he took his work very seriously." In a small but comfortably appointed two-room suite in Red Sector, Elizabeth Broadbank sat at the bedroom desk and stared hard at the face of her father's robotic secretary as if willing the machine's head to explode. "If you'll just tell him it's -me- calling," she began, but 709 cut her off flatly, "Mr. Broadbank is in an important meeting and has left instructions that he is not to be disturbed. Your message will be conveyed. I can do no more." Liza felt herself starting to boil over and clamped a lid down over it. She was in enough trouble without pitching a tantrum at a stupid answerbot that didn't know better. "Fine," she said with an effort. "You have my number here?" "Yes," 709 replied. "Thank you for calling Aztechnology." Liza stared at the BabCom logo for a few moments, then sighed and threw herself down on the bed. "Suit yourself," she said to no one. "It's not like I'm going anywhere." The hostelries of the CFA New Orleans are located close to the four main docking bays of the ship, especially in the forward quarter of the vessel, next to the vast Docking Bay One and the two-dozen-odd privately owned repair bays there. In this forward area, near the broad, kilometer-long main corridor linking DB1 and the Processional at the center of the ship, were the Hilton Freespace, the Barony Arms New Orleans, the Hutt-owned Zlato-Zlato, all the Freespacer nation's high-class hotels - except for the rooms at Calrissian's on the Processional. When the refugees from the Worcester Preparatory Institute arrived on the New Orleans, the Powers that Be decided not to board underage school children in a casino hotel. So it was that, on the morning after arrival, Mia Ausa found herself waking in one of the Hilton's luxury suites' single bedrooms. Unaccustomed to sleeping human-style, she had a disagreeable crick in her neck and a persistent, irrational feeling that she had somehow courted ill fortune by spending a night in the room's enormous bed, but both faded during her morning ablutions. By the time she emerged from the bathroom and dressed, she felt pretty much normal. Like the others, she'd escaped with minimal packing. She had a single valise, a black leather one like a portable computer case, and had brought only one set of clothes, her Anla'shok battle uniform. This was a good choice for the possibility of a protracted lack of resources - sturdy and made of highly resistant fabrics, it would stay clean considerably longer than normal clothing. As she sat down to brush her long black hair, she switched on the small dataterm built into the bedroom desk and set it to Network 23, her father's network. A moment later, her hairbrush clattered to the floor as she saw his face, and behind it the wreckage of the Wedge back on the WPI campus. "It's all over here now but the administrative screaming," John Trussell's face said, but Mia didn't hear him. She was too busy trying to get her heart started again. "In Valen's name," she murmured. "They sent -him-?! Are they -mad-?" Then she gathered her wits, shaking her head. Of course, she reminded herself. They don't know how dangerous it is, and he wouldn't refuse the assignment. She felt a little better when she noticed the blinking red "REBROADCAST" icon flashing in the corner of the screen. If anything had happened to him, they wouldn't be rerunning his earlier report, would they? That depended on the ratings. Mia fumbled with the terminal controls, deactivating its TV function and punching in a communications code instead. The Hilton "Please Wait" graphic appeared, cycled a few times, and then the face of a receptionist appeared. "Good morning, Network 23," said the receptionist. "News department, please," said Mia, sounding considerably more collected than she felt. "I must speak with John Trussell." "Who is calling, please?" "My name is Mia Ausa. I'm his daughter." "One moment, please." The screen switched to a Network 23 version of the same standard "Please Wait" screen, then back to the receptionist. "I'm sorry, Mr. Trussell is in the field at this time. Would you like to leave him vidmail?" "No," said Mia, feeling herself edge toward desperation. "What about his producer?" "One moment, please," said the receptionist in the same blandly pleasant tone. The screen went to the "Please Wait" image a third time, then blipped to a different face. Mia felt herself partly relax, for this face was a friendly one, one she recognized. "Theora," said Mia. "Where's Murph?" "Catching some sleep in the break room," replied Network 23 news director Theora Carter. "We're on hour twenty-five of the Worcester crisis, if you start counting from the first reports of the WPI campus lockdown." Theora smiled. "Worried about your dad?" "I just saw the rerun - him standing in front of the Wedge. Is he all right?" "He's fine." Theora looked mildly surprised. "Why wouldn't he be? Your own involvement aside, it's just another story." Just another story. Right. Mia forced an unaggressive look of relief onto her face. "Can you link me through to him? I'd really like to talk to him." "Sure. Hold on." Again with the "Please Wait" graphic, and then Mia had to make herself not recoil in horror from what she saw next. Al, John Trussell's cybernetic Controller, had a fondness for rendering himself in what he considered to be the cutting edge of human fashions. Unfortunately, no one had ever been able to determine just where Al had acquired his notions of what was and was not fashionable, and so his virtual wardrobe tended to be rather eye-bending. Today he was sporting something in alternating verdigris and Romulan-ale-blue iridescent diagonal stripes which, at the "distance" he was from the "camera", interfered with the Galactic Video Communications Encoding Standard quite remarkably. "Heyyy!" said Al delightedly. "Mia! How are you, honey? You and your friends have this place in quite an uproar." "I'm fine, Al. Is Dad there?" "He's sacked out in the back. We're on our way back to Sydney - not much more to see in Worcester now that Tremayne's out of a job." "Director Tremayne was... fired?" "Ohhh yeah. They sent him to the Moon. He's gonna be chasing dust bunnies for the next couple years. That's what happens when you nearly get the Earth destroyed. You want me to wake up your old man for you?" "Please." "No problem. Hey! Hey! One of you bucketheads wake up the boss, his daughter's on the phone for him." "Mr. Trussell has had only two hours of sleep," a single-sideband vocoder voice intoned from somewhere off screen. Another, similar voice pitched slightly lower added, "Humans require six to eight for - " "Did I ask for a biology report?" Al demanded. "No! Wake him up! Stupid machines." He looked apologetically at Mia. "Sorry. It's so hard to find good help these days." A second later, the screen changed again, this time to a view of a rather disheveled, puffy-eyed John Trussell. His sleep-blurred face brightened considerably when he saw his daughter. "Mia," he said, smiling. "I was going to try calling you when I woke up. Where are you?" "The Freespacer Home Fleet at Bajor," said Mia. "Dad, what the hell were you thinking?!" Truss raised an eyebrow. "'Scuse me?" he asked. "There was a story to cover, I covered it. That's my job." "Stop it," Mia replied. "You know what I mean. What in the world possessed you to walk right up to a Psi Cop and stick a camera in his face?" "What was I supposed to do? Hide out in Sydney and tell Murph to send somebody else? You were involved, Mia. I couldn't just stay home. Besides, I'm fine. Tremayne was too preoccupied to suspect a thing." "I suppose... but it's so -dangerous-. Why can't you get out of there? Ask for a transfer to one of the offworld bureaus. Get away from Earth before they tighten the restrictions or issue a blanket re-screening." "Most of the network's offworld bureaus are still within the Earth Alliance," said Truss. "They must be planning to open one on Babylon 5," Mia pointed out. "I imagine so, but I haven't heard anything definite." "Ask for that. Please? Edison will give it to you, I know he will. You... you could tell him why if you had to." Truss looked like he wanted to chuckle, but he didn't, because he knew his daughter was taking this all very seriously. Instead he considered for a few moments, then sighed and said, "All right, Mia. I'll ask about it as soon as I get back to Headquarters. Where are you headed next?" "I'm not sure. There's been talk of Zeta Cygni giving us asylum until everything can be sorted out. I think Kate's father is working on it." Truss nodded. "OK. That's all in good hands, then. Can you keep me posted? I'll let you know as soon as I find anything out on this end." "All right." Mia paused, then went on, "Thank you... for looking into it. When I saw that you had gone there... I don't think I've ever been so scared." Truss smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't even think of it at the time. I'll let you know what happens. OK?" "OK." "Love you." "I love you too, Dad. Bye for now." Mia broke the connection, then sighed. Aunt Delenn was right about her father, she decided; he could be so -difficult- sometimes. Not long afterward, a properly uniformed Harcourt McKenzie rousted his fellow refugees from their Hilton luxury suites and, wielding a credit chit from the CFMF Home Fleet, stated that the Fleet was rescuing them from the horrors of Room Service, or worse yet the Complimentary Continental Breakfast. After breakfast - if the brand-new communicator on his belt didn't beep, anyway - a leisurely sightseeing trip would be possible, anything from the grand shops of the central Processional to the grubby but colorful booths and pavillions of the Bazaar. The others, although unresponsive to the prospect of shopping with the minor amount of cash available among them, greeted the prospect of a truly gourmet breakfast with approval. A few morning abolutions, changes of clothing for those who brought them, and a prolonged assembly of the group later, Mac led his fellow students to a turbolift which deposited them within short walking distance of the Imperial Centauri Diner ("Anything You Desire, By Your Command"). Despite the vast disparity of human, Hoffmanite, Narn, t'skrang, Dantrovian, and Minbari palates, the short-order cook didn't bat an eye as Mac ordered his favorite breakfast (pigs in a blanket, Bantha bacon and two eggs scrambled with toast and bluapple jam) and encouraged his companions to do likewise. Conversation was muted over the loud and enthusiastic clattering of the other patrons' plates and cutlery, and muted still more as the orders came up, done to the perfection of a cook with a gift for knowing what every culture's version of a 'greasy spoon' is and how to mimic it. The food was not what any of the diners would call haute cuisine. It was, more importantly, -good food-, prepared in such a way as to remind one not of a chef but of family and home, of the little cafe just down the block. Although G'Kron complained as a matter of form, having had nothing but a glass of hyng juice, everyone else was quite satisfied with both service and food. Mac had to wave off a couple of attempts to tip; not only would the Centauri staff be offended, but they would add an extra charge to the Fleet's bill anyway. Thus far undisturbed by Mac's communicator, the group adjourned to the corridors of the New Orleans, fortified by a hearty meal, for some serious rubbernecking. On this day, they discovered, there was rather more to ogle than usual. As the shops and bazaar stalls opened for business, black and gold banners rose across the high ceilings of the corridors. Video displays everywhere replayed, again and again, the arrival of the Sixth Carrier Task Force, footage of the kids immediately after beaming onto the New Orleans, even footage from the Daggerdisc's narrow escape from Earth's defense grid. Placards razzing the Psi Corps, the Earth Ministry of Peace, and various other causes rose from every corner, including not a few sales racks. The Freespacer nation, it seemed, was suffering an acute attack of patriotism, and for some peculiar reason the WPI students stood at the core of it all. Mac's attempts to encourage store browsing proved an embarrassing failure. Every store owner greeted them at the door and practially -piled- free merchandise onto the victim of choice. Mia, for instance, who'd had very few possessions at WPI, found her material wealth doubled in five minutes when a Corellian free trader loaded her down with one of every Minbari import in his shop. Invariably afterwards came a photograph, a pose, and a handshake (with business card slipped in hand for future business). When a bookstore attempted to offer G'Kron a spokesperson contract, Mac finally broke off the entire thing and hustled the group back to the hotel before someone began sewing corporate logos on their clothing. "I really -am- sorry," Mac sighed as the turbolift rushed them back to the hotel district. "Usually the word -free- isn't in the Freespacer vocabulary." G'Kron looked confused. "Yes it is," he observed. "It's in your very -name-." Mac sighed. "You know what I mean." "I do?" said G'Kron, looking still -more- puzzled. "It's all right," said Azalynn, who had made the error of walking into two stores - a candle shop and a bladesmith - and now bore two votive candles, a foot-long aromatic candle, and a complete set of ceremonial Colonial Warrior blades, plus a coupon for half-off a blaster to complete the armament. "I've got a terrific head start on my Christmas shopping... " "Things should calm down in a few days," Mac continued. "Another time, when our faces aren't on FNS every thirty minutes, there's a lot I'd like to show you." "I, for one, wouldn't mind a second trip," said Moose. He had been targeted by a music shop owner. After repeated statements that he neither played nor desired to learn the Sousaphone, the bak'rakh and dayyv'd, or the pandemonium, he had accepted the gift of a contrabass violin which the shop owner insisted had "just sat around there since forever." Moose strongly doubted that, considering the "NEW ITEM! ONLY Mk3,500" tag on the case. One look at the electrocardial schnootz taking up one entire wall of the shop, though, had convinced him that it -could- be worse. He could at least -carry- the bass fiddle, and he was intrigued by the miniature set of tuned Hoffmanite orchestral anvils in the discount section... for future purchase, perhaps. Along with the bass fiddle, Moose carried the overflow of G'Kron's load. G'Kron had become the subject of a bizarre bidding war in reverse, with a group of shopkeepers competing to see who could pile more free merchandise onto the stunned Narn. The eventual winner had been the book store owner, a Cardassian expatriate who proved himself a faster and more verbose talker than even G'Kron, and by the time Mac pulled the paper contract out of the dazed Narn's hands G'Kron's entire wardrobe had been replaced, he owned a copy of every book by every prophet Narn revered, a golf bag had been slung over his shoulders, and a plateful of the highest quality gourmet spoo had been stuck into his mouth. (Not the spoo, the plate. G'Kron had been forced to hold it in his teeth until Azalynn removed it.) Everyone knew that when G'Kron's brain completed the inevitable rant on -this- subject, it would be a doozy. Mac found himself rather looking forward to it. The group staggered into the Hilton lobby, laden with the products of a very strange generosity. The procession stopped cold as Mac froze, stood to attention, and saluted a stern middle-aged man wearing dingy ship's coveralls. Of average height and stocky build, and bald as a cue ball, the older man returned the salute and muttered, "At ease, Cord." As the group eased around Mac into the lobby, they noticed that the man wasn't alone. A brunette in a plain, no-nonsense dress, hair done up in a bun, stepped over to join the long-faced man beside Mac. Behind her was a woman fighting and losing the battle of the bulge, hand in hand with a tall swarthy man possessed of a perpetual smile and pencil-thin mustache. Behind them all stood a young woman with raven-black hair and a stately old woman of at least a century's age, hair solid white from scalp to shoulder. The stocky man to whom Mac had saluted began looking him up and down, inspecting with a cool, analytical gaze. He walked halfway around Mac, noted idly the immense mass of MacEchearn blocking his path, and returned to the front. "You look fairly well, Cord," he said at last. "I trust you have been giving proper attention to your studies, despite this... -lamentable- state of affairs." "Aye, Captain," Mac said. "I'd never expected you to take after your grandfather," the stocky man continued. "Risks. Danger. Excitement. I thought you didn't like those things." "It was necessary, sir," Mac replied simply. The stocky man accepted this, nodding approval. "Just don't make a habit of it. There is a surplus of adventure-seeking fools and a severe lack of serious-minded people today." Looking around the other students, he added, "I hope you and your friends didn't sign any endorsements this morning." "I don't think so, sir," Mac said. "A few holograms, nothing more." "Good, good," the stocky man said. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am Cyrano McKenzie, captain of the private freighter Aurochs. You are well acquainted with my son Cord." He gestured to Mac, who still stood at an aggressive parade rest. "This is the rest of our family: my wife Shirley," nodding to the woman in the bun, "my sister Jasper and her husband, Fredrigo dos Santos," and the pair bowed deeply, Jasper following her tall husband's lead, "their daughter Caspia, and my mother, Emerald McKenzie." The young lady smiled as Emerald stepped forward and hugged Mac, then shook hands with the rest of the WPI students. Mac, in turn, introduced the various WPI students, barely getting through the group before a startled female squeal from across the lobby drew attention to the occupant of a hoverchair, who had just goosed a maid in passing. "Oh, -blast,-" Cyrano grumbled. "Mom, I thought you were keeping an -eye- on him." The hoverchair's occupant, giggling madly, made a beeline for the large group. The occupant was -ancient-, two hundred years old if a day, skin and bones, one very lonely lock of silver hair in the center of his scalp. A black patch covered one eye socket, and a walking cane with a silver skull head on top poked from the blanket covering his lap. "Emerald's grandfather," Cyrano sighed, gesturing introduction, "the dread pirate of Corellia, Commodore Coros bel Bendi." Bel Bendi waved cheerfully at the group. "Well, if it isn't little Harry! And how is my little space marine doing, hmm?" "I apologize," Cyrano muttered to the others. "He's quite senile. We had to take him in four years ago when we found him on Obroa-skai trying to recruit a crew." "Is he... " Azalynn reconsidered her question. "Was he really a space pirate?" "Over a hundred years ago, yes," Cyrano muttered. "He was defeated twice by Wedge Defense Force ships -before- the collapse. He sold out his operations to the CFMF almost ninety years ago in exchange for amnesty, but these days..." He gestured to the old man, who was describing sword battles and blaster shootouts that Mac doubtless had led to victory, while Mac smiled and nodded pleasantly through. "Cord," Cyrano said, breaking through bel Bendi's random chatter, "I came here to offer you transport from here to the Republic of Zeta Cygni. The Home Fleet will relocate there after the christening ceremonies for the station are complete, but Captain Hutchins has expressed his hope that you'll reside in New Avalon as his guest until things quieten down again. Your friends are welcome to join you, of course, but it will take us a few days to reach Zeta Cygni, so they may wish to use faster transportation." Before anyone could reply, Mac's communicator beeped for his attention. Looking faintly surprised, he took it from his belt, flipped it open, and said, "McKenzie here." "Midshipsman McKenzie," came the clipped voice of Commander Typhon, the second officer of the New Orleans. "Orders from Home Fleet. You are to escort your charges to Transporter Room 1 at 1200 hours sharp for transport to Babylon 5. Have all personal effects either present or tagged for transport from the hotel." Mac's brow furrowed. "But - " he said. "Upon receiving quarters assignments," Typhon continued as if he hadn't heard the midshipsman's objection (which was likely), "you will then proceed to IPS Challenger no later than 1300 for lunch at the Captain's table." "Sir, I - " "That gives you eighty-seven minutes, Midshipsman," said Typhon pointedly. "Better get moving. Any questions?" he added, in a tone that made it perfectly clear that there had better not be. "... No, Commander. Orders acknowledged. McKenzie out." Mac closed the communicator, put it back on his belt, and gave his father a chagrined look. "Bah," Coros bel Bendi spat. "Stinkin' rear-echelon motherf - " "GRANDFATHER!" said Emerald primly. For his part, Cyrano McKenzie didn't bat an eye. "Well, that's settled," he said with a firm nod. "If you'll excuse us," he added to the others, "I wish to debrief Midshipsman McKenzie in private before he has to leave. Cord, follow me... " A few brief farewells later, the McKenzie clan and the WPI students parted, the students for their hotel rooms and the McKenzies to return to their ship. Mac followed his father down the corridor to one of the Hilton's smaller meeting rooms, which lay empty at the moment. Cyrano opened the door, gestured Mac inside, and followed, closing the door behind him. Father and son faced each other for a long, uncomfortable moment. Finally, Cyrano stepped forward, dropping all formality, and hugged Mac tightly, rocking on his feet with emotions he hadn't allowed himself to show in public. "Thank God you're home, son," Cyrano whispered, "thank God you're home." The Duelists and their friends (less Amanda and Devlin, who were still confined to Medlab on Babylon 5) entered the starship Challenger's officers' mess with some trepidation. Few of them had ever been aboard a military starship before, and none, except Kate, Utena and Mac, quite knew what would be expected of them. Mac had acquired a new dress uniform and was looking his absolute sharpest. None of the rest were quite so formal - they couldn't be, having no clothes but what they'd brought with them and little money with which to buy new ones. Most of them still wore somewhat rumpled WPI uniforms. G'Kron's sudden wealth of clothing from the New Orleans was all casual-wear, unsuited for any formal occasion. Since arriving from Earth, only Utena and Corwin had been able to change - one of her Ohtori uniforms had still been in her duffel bag after her trip to the Moon, and he'd had a couple of changes stored aboard Daggerdisc for emergencies. What they found was an unintimidating room one level below and just aft of the bridge, rather intimate, really, considering the size of the ship. It had a nice view of the rear half of the main hull's dorsal surface and the warp nacelles; if there were any activity in either of the ship's two shuttlebays, it would have been observable from here. That was, in fact, the room's primary purpose; Gryphon had transformed it into a dining room for the command staff as kind of an afterthought, when no one in the virtual-reality simulation prototype of the ship ever used the place for its intended purpose. The room's main feature was a long rectangular table which could seat twenty. Gryphon, who had been standing near one of the big windows, turned at the sound of the door and smiled. "Thank you, Jantzen," he said. "Sir," said the crewman who had conducted the guests up from the transporter room, and he excused himself. Mac stepped forward, came stiffly to attention, saluted sharply, and declared, "Midshipsman Harcourt M. McKenzie, CFMF, reporting as ordered, Captain!" Gryphon gave him an odd look, then returned the salute as a matter of form. "At ease, Midshipsman. It wasn't an order, just an invitation." Mac "relaxed" into that aggressive parade-rest again and said, "That wasn't the way I heard it, Captain." "That's true," Azalynn observed. "They were pretty sharp about it." She screwed up her face and did a surprisingly good impression of Commander Typhon's dry voice: "'Upon receiving quarters assignments, you will then proceed to IPS Challenger no later than 1300 for lunch at the Captain's table.'" "Sounds like a real party animal, that one," Nall remarked from Corwin's shoulder. Gryphon chuckled. "It appears somebody in Home Fleet Command got a little overzealous. I'm sorry about that, Mr. McKenzie. I only intended to offer you and the rest of Kate's friends lodgings aboard B5 and lunch up here if you -wanted- them. I hope the misunderstanding didn't drag you away from something important." "It's taken care of for now, sir," said Mac. "Good," responded Gryphon with a nod. "Anyway, will you -please- relax? You're giving me a tension headache. I haven't seen anybody stand like that since I was at Starfleet Academy." "-Gladly-," Mac muttered, reaching up and rubbing his neck a bit. "Sorry about the martinet bit, but my father taught me to -act- respectful to authority figures." A familiar, wry smirk appeared on his face as he added, "He never did manage to teach me to -be- respectful, though." Gryphon chuckled, gesturing Mac and his group into the dining room. "I've always had problems with that myself," he said. "Something about feeling that respect ought to be earned." Mac nodded agreement, then looked genuinely confused as his brain did a quick rewind on Gryphon's words. "I wasn't aware you'd been in Starfleet, Captain," he said. "Different universe," said Gryphon, grinning. "Have a seat and I'll tell you all about it over lunch. I apologize for the absence of some of my officers," the captain went on as he showed the kids to their seats, "but we don't have enough crew for full shift rotation yet, and somebody's got to watch the store." The partial command staff of the starship Challenger proceeded to treat their guests to the best lunch any of them had had in some time. Indeed, since coming to Babylon 5, the former WPI students had been eyeing the food processors with a slightly dubious air, not because they disliked the units' output, but because, after a year of WPI food, they couldn't quite believe that it was -possible- to feed large groups of people that well. Here in the Challenger officers' mess, though, the food was an order better than -that-, prepared by hand and served by uniformed crewmen with towels over their arms and perfect manners. "We're kind of an informal force," Gryphon informed them with a grin, "but for special occasions, we know how to turn ourselves out." He raised his glass. "To the Institute Duelists' Society!" "Kai DuSaQ Hay'wI'nugh!" blared Science Officer Klaang. "Kai!" replied his cousin Kraalgh, late of the WPI Languages Department, and Utena Tenjou, his favorite student. "Now," said Gryphon once they'd all drunk to that and dug into their meals, "here's the program for today. I have a million things to chase this afternoon, so I won't be able to spend much time with you - but it's all for a good cause, trust me. Lieutenant T'Vek and Sub-Commander Klaang here will take good care of you, though; while I'm hiding in my office taking care of business, they're going to take you out and show you one of the coolest things in the sector, the Denorios Belt. After that we'll head back here; Earthforce should be delivering your stuff about then." "What kind of business?" Wakaba Shinohara asked with a there's-more-to-this-I-just-know-it kind of look. Gryphon grinned at her. "You'll find out," he said, and wouldn't be budged on the subject for the rest of the meal. He told them about some of his experiences in an alternate-universe Starfleet instead - such as the first time he'd commanded a ship named Challenger. At two o'clock that afternoon, Susan Ivanova - bored out of her mind on the command deck of the station - was surprised to see the metaspace jumpgate open. There were no more materials shipments scheduled; the station was physically complete. The full staff wasn't due for another two days, the diplomatic corps for two weeks. There was a Starfleet ship expected later in the day, but it wouldn't be here yet, and anyway it wouldn't be coming by metaspace. She was doubly surprised when the metapoint disgorged a single ship, small and angular but nasty-looking, her snubbed weapons emplacements and sharply angled armor making it clear that she was built for a fight. Ivanova recognized the markings immediately, but before she could say anything, the Starfleet ensign on the sensor board was already reporting. "Gamilon destroyer, K'tayyl class. She's hailing." "On screen," said Ivanova. She got up from the deck officer's chair and tugged down on her uniform tunic. The things were comfortable, and a whole lot better-looking than the Starfleet uniforms of her early career, but the jackets did have an annoying tendency to ride up a bit if you sat down. "This is Lieutenant Commander Susan Ivanova of the IPO space station Babylon 5," she announced. "Please identify yourself." The screen beeped and showed Ivanova a lean-faced young Gamilon man with hair so black it was nearly blue and glowing red eyes. "Hullo, there," he said, sounding slightly distracted. "This is His Gamilon Majesty's destroyer Vengeance, Commander Garon Dessler commanding. Ah, that would be me, by the way - Garon Dessler." Ivanova frowned thoughtfully. Garon Dessler? As in Prince Garon, the black sheep of the Gamilon royal family? She wondered if he'd become a black sheep by having bad comm presence, or if he was really as inept as he sounded. What a weird world it was. Yesterday, the Gamilon Navy had come within about a minute of wiping out all life on Ivanova's home planet; today she was welcoming a Gamilon prince as an ally and telling him it would be her pleasure to give him a mooring location and receive him aboard. When he was gone from the screen, she touched the call button on the Mark Two communicator stuck to the back of her hand - she preferred them to the commbadges - and said, "Ivanova to Kira." "Go ahead," replied the slightly tinny voice of Major Kira Nerys, the station's chief of security. "Major, a Gamilon destroyer has just pulled up alongside. It seems Prince Garon is anxious to visit his sister." "Wonderful," replied Kira sourly, and Ivanova reflected with a wry smile that at least she and the Bajoran were in agreement about something for once. "I'd like you to post someone to keep an eye on him and his party while they're aboard. Not that I don't trust them, you understand, but... " "Understood," the security chief replied. "I'll put one of my best men on it. Kira out." Ivanova tabbed her communicator off, sat down in the deck officer's chair, and sighed. "Problem?" came Commander Johnson's voice from the door to his office. Ivanova swiveled to face him. "Oh, no, sir," she said, shaking her head with exaggerated assurance. "There's a Gamilon destroyer parked outside, a Starfleet ship due in from Earth in two hours, and Challenger's out giving a group of schoolchildren a tour of the Denorios Belt. Noooo problem." Jer nodded as if completely oblivious to his deputy's sarcasm, which, Ivanova had come to realize, was a higher grade of sarcasm all its own. The commander replied absently, "Good, good," before turning and going back into his office. Ivanova sighed a little deeper and muttered something darkly in Russian. "Good afternoon, Your Highness," said the trimly jumpsuited IPO Security officer who met Garon and his party in Transporter Room C after the Gamilons had finished materializing. "Commander," said Garon. "Er, no, sir, I'm a lieutenant," said the officer. He had an English accent, which made him pronounce it "leftenant". "Oh," said Garon. "Well, work hard, eat right, and you'll be promoted one day," he added absently. "-I'm- a commander. You should call me that. I gave up being a prince," he added with a broad wink. "Too much work." "... Ah," said the security officer. "Well... uh, Commander... I'm Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, and on behalf of the International Police Organization, I'd like to welcome you to Babylon 5." Garon looked around, nodded. "Very fine, very fine," he said. "I'm Commander Garon Dessler, destroyer Vengeance, you know. This is my executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Corimel Dragonaar." The taller and slimmer of the two similar-looking redheaded Gamilon women who had accompanied the prince nodded to Reed and smiled an elegant smile. "Ma'am," said Reed, nodding. "And Flight Officer Kitarina Dragonaar," Garon went on, indicating the shorter, more... well, the only word Reed could come up with was 'voluptuous'... of the two. Sisters, the security officer thought, well well, but he kept his face neutral and his voice polite as he greeted her as well. "Lieutenant, we don't wish to keep you from your duties," said Corimel. "If you could please direct us to wherever it is Commander Dessler's sister is staying, we won't take up any more of your time." "Well, Lieutenant Commander," said Reed with a smile, "as it happens, you -are- my duties at present. So if you'll follow me... " Julian Bashir, MD, considered himself to be among the happiest men in Starfleet. Which was pretty funny, really, since Admiral Tordek had seemed positively apologetic when he gave Bashir the assignment. The poor man hadn't known what to do when the young doctor had thanked him, then informed the flag officer that he, Bashir, had in fact -requested- the assignment. The competition hadn't been stiff; nobody else in Starfleet Medical wanted anything to do with this place. The Epsilon Eridani system was a backwater. If not for the Babylon project, it wouldn't have received a metaspace gate for years, if ever. Add to that the inevitable problems with the station's joint administration and the fool's errand that most of Starfleet thought the whole idea was in the first place, and you didn't have a lot of officers scrambling for the posting. Dr. Bashir, however, was extremely pleased and felt very lucky to have won it. Whether the station's function - providing a meeting place for the nations of the known galaxy to prepare defenses against possible extragalactic threats - was a fool's errand or not, he neither knew nor cared. Bashir had no interest in politics, which was often as much a gift as a hindrance. He didn't care one bit whether the place's diplomatic corps achieved marvels of historic note or simply bickered - the important thing was, they were coming, and so was everybody else. As soon as it went online, Babylon 5 would become a crossroads in the galaxy, bringing together people from hundreds, -thousands- of species and cultures, and he, Doctor Julian Bashir, would be right in the thick of it. Where else in Starfleet could a young physician (even one as handsome and brilliant as he was) find himself in command of a staff so large, so competent, so broad in scope? Where else could he be assured of a clientele as varied, vibrant and exotic? Nowhere. No sir, -this- was where the -action- was going to be. Still, right now, with the station only partially staffed and none of the diplomatic corps on site as yet, things were a bit... slow. There were journals to read and bulletins from Starfleet Medical to keep up with, of course, but Bashir was a fast reader, so he spent a lot of his time hanging around on the Zocalo talking with the Freespacers and that fascinating Cardassian fellow who claimed to be a tailor. He'd tried to chat up Lieutenant Commander Ivanova once, but after she'd asked him with bright-eyed interest whether he thought he could set his -own- broken arm or would need an orderly to help him with it, he'd tabled that project for the moment. Which had left him right back where he'd started. As such, though he certainly deplored the circumstances which had led to their injuries, he found himself rather glad to have customers now. Anyway, there wasn't anything seriously wrong with any of them; just contusions, cuts, some neural shock. The young man had a nasty gash on his face, but it had been clean and responded very well to the protoplaser. So, despite the fact that they were still here for observation, none of his current patients really needed anything from their doctor at the present time. How fortunate for him, then, that someone had brought another to his door - a truly wretched individual, suffering from chronic malnourishment, three different kinds of parasitic infestation, a nasty skin condition, and fairly severe displacement shock. Yes, indeed, putting this fellow right had been a challenge worthy of Julian Bashir! Why, it had taken him very nearly all morning, but now, after a heroic struggle... "I think he'll be just fine," said a smiling Bashir as he delivered the gray cat back into the arms of his owner. "He's had a systemic flush and a bath, I've given him something for that skin irritation, and he's up to date on all his immunizations. A little good food and attention, and I should think he'll do just fine. For your information, he seems to be about a year old, and he'd already been fixed. Fine-tempered fellow," Bashir added conversationally, scratching the cat's ears and listening to him purr. "I can't imagine what could have possessed his previous owners to abandon him like that. What's his name again?" "Peril," replied Dorothy Wayneright as she adjusted the cat in her arms. When he'd come in, the animal had been dirty, skinny, patchy and shaky. Now he was clean and glossy - still skinny and a bit patchy, but quite content-looking. "Thank you, Doctor. I apologize for asking you to work outside your field, but the station doesn't have a veterinarian." "Not at all," said Bashir. "As a xenophysician, I have to be ready to work on -anything-. Just because it's not sentient doesn't mean it's beneath me." He petted the cat's head as if to prove that there were no hard feelings. "And how are you feeling today? I understand you all had a very traumatic experience yesterday. No aches, pains, shock symptoms... ?" "I'm a robot, Doctor," Dorothy replied, the corner of her mouth cocking just the tiniest bit in the smile direction as she read his startled reaction. "But thank you for your concern," she added after pausing for a beat in order to enjoy it. "Ah, well," said Bashir; then he smiled gamely and said, "In that case, if you've any physical complaints, you'd best find Chief O'Brien! The man's a wizard with mechanical systems and whatnot." Dorothy humored the young doctor by thanking him for the tip, rather than informing him that, had she any physical repair needs, they could be most efficiently met by her owner. She would have gone on to thank him once more for his care of Peril, but just then the doors opened and four people came in. Dorothy recognized one of them - Rina Dragonaar, Amanda Dessler's friend who had dropped in on one of the Art of Noise's trips to Toronto a few weeks earlier - and could extrapolate from resemblances and anecdotal evidence the identities of two others - Amanda's elder brother and Rina's elder sister. The fourth was a human in an IPO Security uniform. Dorothy nodded in greeting to Rina, who seemed a bit preoccupied, and made her way out. Bashir put on his winningest smile and went to introduce himself to his guests. They were a preoccupied lot, and didn't pay Bashir a lot of attention. He recognized their lack of interest for what it was, showed them to the isolation areas they wanted, and excused himself. Reed accompanied him, leaving the visitors to have some privacy. As soon as the door closed behind the young doctor and the security man, Garon Dessler abandoned his pretense of amiable idiocy and strode to his sister's bedside, taking her hand in his as Rina Dragonaar took the other. "Amanda," said Garon. "How are you feeling?" "I'm fine, Garon," Amanda replied, sounding a bit irritable. "I was fine yesterday and I'm fine today. That idiot doctor insisted on keeping me here for 'observation', though as far as I know he's 'observed' very little." She made a frustrated noise. "Every minute I waste here is another minute for Xenia to find a better hiding place... but there is nowhere in this universe that she can hide from me." Garon arched an eyebrow. "You're so certain she was responsible?" Amanda nodded. "The fool she used as her instrument identified her. I will have to ask her why she was so careless as to make direct contact... before I kill her." "Father won't be happy about that," said Garon ruefully. "He wasn't happy when I nearly disintegrated him yesterday, either, but he got over that and he'll get over this." Garon blinked. So did Rina, opposite him. So, for that matter, did Corimel behind him, which brought a small smile to Amanda's hard-set, angry face. Rarely was Cora Dragonaar fazed by anything. "Well," said Garon. "The things I miss, patrolling the Romulan frontier." Squeezing Amanda's hand, he turned to the other bed, where Devlin Carter lay sleeping. The bruises on the young man's face had faded; Bashir's skilled hand with the protoplaser had reduced the gash on his cheek to a thin red line. It would leave a narrow scar, but only because Devlin had insisted on it, much to Bashir's chagrin. The young surgeon was a bit of a perfectionist, and hated leaving things unfinished that way. Garon turned back to Amanda, his expression one of surprised interest. "You marked him?" "I thought they might leave him alone if I did," said Amanda. "How much have you heard?" "Not much," said Cora. "Only that a group of WPI students were involved in an altercation with the Psi Corps yesterday and had been evacuated to Babylon 5. We knew, of course, that you had to be involved." Amanda smiled. "A logical assumption," she said. Then she seemed to realize that something was amiss to her right, turned, and said in astonishment, "Kit, are you -crying-?" "Of -course- I'm crying, you stupid bitch," bawled Rina Dragonaar, burying her tear-streaked face in the bedclothes on Amanda's chest. "You and Carter nearly got killed, AGAIN, and where was I? WHERE WAS I? What GOOD am I?" Amanda sighed and stroked her oldest friend's thick, disorderly red hair. "It's not your fault, Kit. I ordered you to go away." "I know," Rina replied miserably. "Why? What did I do?" Amanda blinked. "You didn't do anything! It wasn't a -punishment-; I didn't want to interfere with your career." "To HELL with my career!" Rina replied. "YOU are my career, Amanda." She raised herself, looked Amanda in the eye, and said, "I went into the Navy because you did, not because I care a damn about it. Dammit, Amanda! You're more than my best friend, more than my lover. You're a Dessler, I'm a Dragonaar. Sometimes I think you've never understood what that really means." Amanda stared at her friend in open astonishment, then looked from her to her elder sister, then to Garon, who stood with his arms folded, impassive. Then her gaze shifted back to Rina again, and she nodded, solemn. "Perhaps I haven't," she said. "I'm... I'm sorry, Kitarina. I've mistreated you, thoughtlessly." Rina looked back at her, smiled wanly, and said in a small voice, "So... you won't send me away again?" "No," Amanda said. Rina's smile broadened; she leaned forward and kissed Amanda with considerable fire, leaving the princess slightly breathless when they separated. "OK then," she said brightly. Amanda smiled and sat up straighter, bunching the covers in her lap and crossing her legs to lean forward. "If you really want to prove your worth as a retainer," she said teasingly, "get me out of this place." Rina touched her shoulder briefly, then walked around Garon and stood surveying Devlin. "Is he... all right?" she asked hesitantly. "He will be," Amanda replied. "He took a tremendous neural shock - telepathic combat with a Psi Cop - and quite a beating, but he's been resting comfortably since last night." "Huh." Rina touched the mostly-healed slash on his face. "You did mark him." "I didn't think the Corps would be foolish enough to meddle with a Gamilon princess's battle prize. More fool I," said Amanda with wry bitterness. "They phasered us both. Father nearly destroyed their world for it." She sighed, then went on, "At any rate, we've escaped them, and they've escaped the fate their folly entitled them to... " "What's to stop them from coming after him again?" Cora wondered. "Me," Amanda replied flatly. "And me," Rina insisted. "You promised - " Amanda smiled. "Of course, Kit, but that's not what I meant." She looked around for Bashir, didn't see him, and climbed down from the bed, crossing to look down at Devlin. Then she turned to Garon, met his eyes, and said, "With your permission, brother, I intend to marry him." Garon looked back at her for a moment, then at Devlin, then back to Amanda, his long face expressionless. Then it broke into his Rather Stupid Smile and he brayed cheerily, "Oh, jolly good! Any excuse for a party, eh?" "Garon," said Amanda, "please. Be serious." Like a switch had been thrown, Garon reverted to his true self. "Sorry," he said, "habit." He placed his hands on Amanda's shoulders and looked her in the face. "You know I'll support you, Amanda, in any endeavor. Carter is a good man. I count him among my very few real friends - you know that, too. For what little it's worth in the public eye, you have my support in this as well." Without a word, Amanda embraced her brother, laying her head on his shoulder. In this room, in front of these four people as with almost no others she knew, she could permit herself the luxury of breaking down, just a little, after the rigors of the last two days. "Hey," said Devlin's voice, quiet and wry. "You bastard, you've made her cry." Garon grinned and shook Devlin by the hand before Rina swooped in and tested the mending telepath's lips for a few seconds. "That," Devlin remarked, "is quite a thing to wake up to." "Devlin," said Amanda, gathering back her composure slightly, "Garon has just given us his permission to marry." "Oh. Well, that's sporting of you, m'lud," said Devlin. "Not a bit of it, old son," Garon replied. "Happy to help." "Have you given any thought," asked Cora with a mischievous look, "as to when?" "Not particularly," Amanda replied. "We've several things to do first. To start... " She drew herself up into a more military bearing and said briskly, "Commander Dessler, you have orders from the Crown Princess. You will place yourself, your ship and your crew at her disposal until further notice, for the purpose of hunting down the fugitive Xenia Laila Dessler and delivering her up to Imperial justice." "So am I commanded," Garon replied stiffly, "so must I obey." "Then notify Command as to your Imperial orders and prepare your vessel for departure. We leave tomorrow - " She dropped the military stance and added in a wry mutter, " - if Bashir will let us out of here... " Challenger returned from the Denorios Belt at three-thirty. At four, another starship entered the system. On the bridge of the Challenger, Gryphon smiled a rather wry smile at the sight of the newcomer as she dropped out of warp and approached. He'd never liked the design of the Federation Starfleet's Galaxy-class starships. In recent years, one of the most evident symptoms of the cooling of relations between the Wedge Defense Force and Starfleet was the fact that Starfleet had been moving away from common-platform operations with the WDF and designing their own, competing vessels. From what Gryphon had seen of them, their people hadn't quite got the hang of it yet. Every recent Federation ship vaguely resembled an updated version of some classic WDF design - the Galaxy was built along the same basic plan as the Constitution class, the Nebula class roughly mimicked the Miranda class, and so on - but they all had one unifying, defining feature: in Gryphon's eyes they were all extremely ugly. As the designer of the ships they were mimicking, Gryphon couldn't help but find that vaguely insulting, on some deep-seated, irrational, personal level. He was especially irked by the Galaxy class because, in addition to being ugly, it had been created specifically because the Earth Alliance elements in Starfleet Command wanted the fleet to have a ship more powerful than the WDF's front-line battlecruiser, the Iowa class. Gryphon took some satisfaction in knowing that Starfleet's design bureau hadn't quite achieved that goal. Oh, the Galaxy class was a remarkable shipbuilding achievement, no doubt about that. It was by far the most massive of the conventional warp-driven starships; Gryphon's own Challenger was longer, but nowhere near as wide or as heavily built. It was a sturdy, highly survivable ship with an interesting modular construction concept and a lot of good ideas underlying it. Shame it was so ugly. As the IFF signals came in and Challenger's main screen display painted in identifying information, Gryphon noted that this particular Galaxy-class was one to which he took particular exception, not because of anything about the ship herself, so much as her name and number: USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-A. Here, then, was -another- symptom of the new coolness between Starfleet and the WDF. Why else would Starfleet have deliberately assigned a new-construction ship the name and incremented hull number of a former Starfleet ship still in active service with the Wedge Defense Force? The convention of appending a letter to the hull number of a ship intended as a replacement for one lost in battle was an old one, but in that respect this ship's number was a lie. WDF (nee USS) Enterprise, NCC-1701, a Constitution-class vessel, was still alive and kicking, the flagship of the WDF Tactical Fleet. "They sent a Starfleet ship," mused Klaang thoughtfully. Gryphon nodded. "I figured they would," he said. "Things are too tense around here right now to risk sending an Earthforce vessel into the construction area. I imagine the Dome asked Starfleet to handle it as a courtesy, since Starfleet has joint management of the station." "Enterprise is hailing," reported comm officer Hoshi Sato. "On screen," said Gryphon, and he mentally prepared himself for a boring exchange of insincere pleasantries with some Starfleet stuffed shirt. "Quite a facility," said Starfleet Captain Jean-Luc Picard as he looked around the station's central arboretum. "A most unique design for a modern space habitat." Above Picard's bald head, the central chamber soared up and away, wrapping completely around. High overhead, the twin tracks of the station's core shuttle, a dual monorail train system, ran through the exact center of the gigantic cylindrical room, from the huge bulkhead some hundred yards or so behind Picard to the other huge bulkhead almost a mile ahead of him. The same distance again above the shuttle tracks, rather than the blue sky that the openness of this room suggested -should- be there, there was... more ground. The whole thing was like a square mile or so of pleasant countryside had been rolled up into a tube. "Why did the designers go with rotational gravity?" wondered Picard. "I haven't seen a spin-grav station in... oh, well, since I was a cadet." "Tell you the truth, I don't really know," Gryphon replied. "Losing the first four stations was certainly a financial drain, but gravity generators are so cheap these days... " He shrugged. "I blame Zoner. Actually, I wasn't very much involved with the design process of the station. I was too busy on Project Sovereign." "Indeed," said Picard, nodding. The two men walked in silence across the grassy area for a few minutes, heading back toward the bulkhead door that would take them back into the more conventional part of the station. After a few moments, Picard inquired with just a hint of dry humor, "So. How long do you -think- it would take your ship to disable a Galaxy-class?" Without missing a beat, Gryphon replied, "Our record is thirty-six seconds, but the simulated enemy captain is nowhere near your caliber, Jean-Luc." "Ah, well, I'm gratified to hear that," said Picard with mock modesty. "T'Vek thinks it would take us at -least- a -minute- to cripple Enterprise," Gryphon went on, his face guilelessly earnest. Picard stopped walking and looked hard at him for a moment; then the elder-looking man's face crinkled in a laugh and he slapped Gryphon on the shoulder. "Don't let Commander Riker hear you say that," Picard said as they passed through the big, heavy door and into a gray-painted metal corridor. Gryphon opened his mouth to reply, but just then, a voice from Picard's Starfleet commbadge interrupted them: "Riker to Picard." "Speak of the devil," Picard observed; then, tapping the badge, he said crisply, "Go ahead, Number One." "You wanted to be notified when the cargo was offloaded, sir. We've just secured the last of the containers aboard Challenger." "Ah, excellent. Captain Hutchins and I will be there shortly. Picard out." Gryphon smiled as the two captains headed for the nearest transporter room. "He's so -brisk-," mused the former Wedge Defender. "Will? Oh, yes. When he's a job to do, he's the consummate professional," Picard replied, nodding. "You know, when I first brought him on board, I was afraid for a while that he had no sense of humor. As it turned out, he was just trying too hard to make his best impression." Gryphon grinned. "Reminds me of a punk Starfleet captain who was my liaison officer to the Federation for a while, back when I was getting the WDF back together," he said nostalgically. "What a stiff that kid was. He knew starships and wine, but that was about -all- he knew. Still... I tried to teach him a few things, here and there. Sometimes I find myself wondering how he turned out." He sighed in frustration, snapping his fingers. "I wish I could remember his -name-." Picard smiled dryly. "I'm sure he's done just fine." "I hope so," said Gryphon, grinning. Then, sobering, he mused as they entered the transporter room, "What the hell's happened to Starfleet lately, Jean-Luc?" "I'm not sure what you mean," Picard replied. "Challenger," said Gryphon to the transporter operator, who nodded and started setting the controls while the two officers mounted the platform and took up positions on adjacent pads. Without waiting to be transported, Gryphon then turned to Picard and went on, "You know what I mean. The hostility that's developed in Starfleet's corporate culture toward the Wedge Defense Force, the Experts, Zeta Cygni - we used to be allies. More than allies, -friends-." They were engulfed by the beam then, and as they emerged from it aboard the Challenger, Gryphon was continuing, "Nowadays... hell, we're chummier with the Klingons than we are with Starfleet. You've even stopped sharing class-C codes with us." Picard looked as if he might be getting ready to stand on his dignity, but then he shook his head and sighed. "I don't know, Ben," he said as they stepped down from the platform and moved out into the corridor. "There are those who believe that the WDF has grown too powerful since the War of Corporate Occupation, and the IPO... well, the Earth Alliance opposed the adoption of the IPO charter, you know that." "Since when did the Earth Alliance speak for Starfleet?" Gryphon inquired, his tone betraying anger. Picard held up a conciliatory hand. "I'm not your enemy," he said. "I... I wouldn't say this to many others, but I have my doubts about the current situation in the Federation Council, to say nothing of Starfleet Command." "Then why do you stay? If you went to Noriko, she'd put you to work. Or, hell, I'd give you a job in a heartbeat. You say the word and I'll lay down another Sovereign for you." Picard cocked an eyebrow. "I understood that you'd only built the one because of the difficulties a growing organization like the Experts of Justice had in staffing a ship of this size." "For you, I'd -find- 500 crewmen somewhere," Gryphon replied. "Hell, I'd buy your current ship from the Fleet like I did for Jim Kirk if I thought they'd sell her." Picard half-smiled, most of his thoughts elsewhere. "You could be one of us so easily," Gryphon persisted. "The galaxy's best and brightest, stood up in line to face the darkness?" Picard asked, sounding amused, but not unkindly so. "Exactly," Gryphon replied, undaunted. "Let me ask Skuld to give you the Test. I know you'd pass. After fifteen years, my instincts for this kind of thing are almost as good as hers." Picard shook his head. "No, thank you," he said. "You asked me why I stay in Starfleet? It's because I believe in it. I still believe in the ideals the United Federation of Planets and its Starfleet represent." "I can respect that," Gryphon replied. "It's just too bad that the Federation doesn't believe in them any more." "I'm not as pessimistic as you are," said Picard. "You're not as experienced as I am," Gryphon said. "If everyone who does believe abandons the Federation, then it truly -will- have forgotten its own most sacred principles," Picard insisted. "I can contribute most from within. I don't think it's too late. This is only a downturn, Ben. These things happen in cycles. Give me, and people like me, time, and we can turn the Federation around, with or without the Earth Alliance's approval." "I hope so, Jean-Luc," Gryphon replied, but from the tone of his voice, that hope was a dim one. "I'd hate to have to find out for real who would win that fight between your ship and mine." "So would I," Picard said, and they walked in a rather glum silence the rest of the way to Cargo Bay 1. There, Gryphon brightened somewhat at the sight of the various possessions of his daughter and her friends, hastily abandoned on Earth in their flight from the Psi Corps and delivered by Gryphon's demand. There was a large silver standard cargo module for each of them, neatly labeled, containing each student's possessions - gathered from dorm rooms and common areas, sorted and packed. Secured to the deck nearby were three vehicles - a black and silver antique automobile, a battered former school bus, and a sidecar motorcycle. Gryphon went to the cargo module with his daughter's name on it and keyed open the access panel to look inside. His demeanor brightened further as he saw what lay within. "Everything seems to be here," he said, "and in good order. Even the piano." He turned to Picard. "That's rather surprising. I'd resigned myself to breaking the news of at least a 10% loss to Earthforce's grudging care." Captain Picard smiled. "My people did all the gathering and packing," he said. "Number One wanted to make it plain to the children that not all Earthpeople are vindictive. My security chief was particularly zealous about running down items that the Psi Corps enforcement teams securing the campus had helped themselves to. He believes we got everything, and Mr. Worf is nothing if not thorough." At 1700 hours station time, Captain Picard issued an invitation for the command staff of the starship Challenger and the Earth escapees to dine aboard the Enterprise that evening at 1800 hours. It was a goodwill gesture, intended to show that, while Earthforce might hold a grudge, Starfleet did not intend to. The Duelists gathered in Devlin and Amanda's Medlab room to discuss the matter. They concluded, after some debate, that it was doubtful Picard was up to anything shady. Kaitlyn knew the man, had known him for years - he was an old friend of the family, from before her own birth. She insisted that he was a man of solid principles, old-line Starfleet, from back in the days when the Fleet and the WDF were closely allied, and that she couldn't imagine any change in Starfleet's internal climate turning him against his principles. Amanda's first inclination was to pass, especially when she viewed the part of Picard's invitation in which he mentioned, for the sake of having everything aboveboard, that his ship's counselor was a Psi Corps officer and that he would appreciate it if, as a valued member of his command staff, she were allowed to attend. Devlin, though, said that after the previous day (and with the Challenger and the Vengeance on station), he feared no telepath. When he announced he was going, Amanda immediately reversed her decision, and Rina Dragonaar, though not specifically invited, insisted on accompanying them. G'Kron, already tiring of his brush with notoriety, passed. So too did Mac, who in any event had too much paperwork to catch up on from his commission's brief activation. He'd enjoyed lunch aboard the Challenger, once the misunderstanding about his presence having been ordered had been cleared up; even so, he didn't particularly feel like having -another- formal dinner, and so, given the option this time, he respectfully declined. Of the others, only T'skaia declined the captain's invitation. This surprised his friends, who would have thought that such an occasion would be right up his alley - he'd certainly enjoyed lunch aboard the Challenger, and that hadn't been a formal affair. He replied that he would have liked to have gone, and asked that they convey his sincere regrets to Captain Picard, but that he had important business to attend to that simply couldn't wait. His former Galaxy Housemates assumed that he'd been bitten by the muse and had to go paint something, possibly relating to the escape from Earth, and so they didn't hassle him. With that settled, Amanda negotiated her and Devlin's release from Medlab, and the Duelists adjourned to their rooms to go through their recovered things and prepare for Captain Picard's table. "You aren't going to wear that again, are you?" Juri inquired half an hour later, as Kate laid out her black and orange dress on the bed in the master bedroom. "It's the only f-formal d-d-dress I h-have," said Kaitlyn. "W-what else am I s-sup-posed to w-wear?" Juri shook her head and tsked. "No, no, it won't do." "I th-thought you liked this d-dress," Kate protested. "I do, but you can't wear the same thing -every time- you dress up. Come along, put on something simple and let's go. We've half an hour, that should be enough time to get you something decent." Kate protested, but it was no use. In five minutes, she found herself in one of the few non-Freespacer Zocalo shops that wasn't newly opened. It was a small but nicely appointed establishment run by an extremely friendly Cardassian by the name of Garak, who just so happened to be a tailor. "Twenty minutes is a bit more tight than I generally like my deadlines," Garak informed the two women with some trepidation; then he brightened and added, "But I love a challenge. Onto the laser plate with you, my dear; let's get your measurements and I'll see what we can do." Kate complied and was scanned. "Now then," Garak said as the scanning lasers did their work, "I couldn't help but recognize you. Is this an outfit for some specific occasion, or will an evening gown do?" Juri watched as Kaitlyn turned in front of the fitting lasers. "She's just attained mastery in her family's martial art. I believe part of the dinner party is to celebrate that." "It's n-not off-ficial yet," Kate admonished Juri, blushing slightly. "Ah," Garak said, as Kaitlyn stepped off the plate. "Well, then. What style?" Kaitlyn gave Juri an imploring look, that you-do-the-talking look the redhead had often seen her give Utena, and Juri smiled. "Asagiri Katsujinkenryuu," she said. "It's a Japanese variant." Garak had a look of inspired concentration on his face. "Hmm, yes. Should I think of any particular theme?" "T-t-tigers," Kaitlyn put in. When Juri gave her a glance, she shrugged helplessly. "Mm," Garak said. "Tigers. Large cats, native to Earth? Yes. Just the thing. Well, you -are- an autumn, my dear. Hmm... I believe I have something that will work..." he trailed off as he vanished into his storeroom, and called back, "This will take me a bit, have a seat." Kaitlyn sat down and began people-watching, always a favorite activity in crowded places like the Zocalo. She made a mental note to ask Dad about looking into the possibilities of getting a Marche movenpick franchise into the station. Juri joined her for a few moments, scanning the Zocalo with her cool green eyes as if looking for something in particular; then she paused. "I'll be right back," she said, and glided off down the Zocalo storefronts. Kaitlyn watched her go into one of the stores, and then emerge five minutes later with a small dark box, of the size usually containing jewelry. She came back, smiling her secretive, pleased smile, and when Kaitlyn looked a question at her, the elegant girl's smile widened slightly. "One must have the proper accessories," she said. "You'll see." Precisely fourteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, Garak came back out into the front of his shop and solemnly handed Kaitlyn a stack of folded fabric. "There's a changing area right there," he said, gesturing with one hand at a standing screen. "I don't think they'll need any alterations, but one never knows," he added with a smile. Kaitlyn stood up slowly, and just before she walked behind the screen, Juri put the small velvet box on top of the folded fabric. Five minutes later, she and Juri walked in to the Enterprise's Ten-Forward Lounge (elegantly converted into a formal dining room, the ship positioned to give a very good view of Babylon 5 through the massive windows), precisely on time. The conversation suffered a brief lull as everyone appreciated this new transformation of the usually subdued Duelist leader's wardrobe. The style of the clothing was obviously inspired by Japanese culture: her blouse was cut in a wrap style, reminiscent of a gi top, with tiger stripes textured in the sheer black silk. The blouse tucked into straight heather grey slacks, and over it all she wore a modified loose kimono of burnt-orange rough silk, hand printed with black wood-cut tigers. The black silk of her gi top provided the only necessary accents in color contrast at the neck and wrists. The whole affair was held together by a bright orange obi, narrow like a man's rather than broad and elaborate, knotted on the side in a complicated bow that left two trailing streamers down to her knee. Through this obi she had thrust her zatoichi. Around her throat, she wore a black satin ribbon choker with a small golden tiger head dangling from the ribbon and glaring out at all comers with tiny polished tiger-eye chips. In her earlobes were the little silver maple leaves her father had given her for her birthday. The only aspect of Kate's appearance Juri was dissatisfied with was her hairstyle; Juri had lacked the time to put it into a properly involved and pinned Japanese bun, and so had settled for gathering it back into a loose ponytail with a length of orange ribbon (graciously provided by Garak). Gryphon, with a wide smile on his face, walked over to his blushing daughter and kissed her on the forehead. "You look lovely," he said quietly, and offered her an arm. Juri allowed herself one tiny, smug smile, and took her own seat while Gryphon led his daughter to the head of the table. "Captain Picard," he said formally, "may I present my daughter Kaitlyn, aspirant master of the Asagiri Katsujinkenyuu." Picard rose to his feet, tugged down on the hem of his dress uniform's gold-trimmed white jacket with the unconscious grace of long habit, and bowed formally. "Miss Kaitlyn," he said in his surprisingly rich, powerful voice. "It's an honor to have you aboard. Welcome to the Enterprise." Kate smiled shyly. "Th-thank you for inv-viting us," she said. Juri noted with interest that her friend's stutter was fairly mild with this man, indicating a pretty high level of familiarity with him - but then Kate had said he was a friend of the family. Picard offered Kate his arm and took her down the side of the table, introducing his command staff: Commander Will Riker, a tall, broad, bearded man with a rather nautical air and a hint of mischief in his eyes, who kissed Kate's hand and made her blush; Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge, a friendly-faced, cheerful black man; Lieutenant Commander Data Soong, a pleasant-looking man who was a curious shade of yellow. Upon this officer's introduction, Dorothy said, "Soong," in an I-know-that-name tone. Data cocked his head inquisitively. "You recognize the name?" he asked. "You're a robot," said Dorothy flatly. "I prefer the term 'android'," Data replied, but Dorothy shook her head. "Androids have organic components," she said. "I feel the use of the word in that sense has become somewhat archaic," Data replied in a tone which indicated that he found the disagreement very interesting and not at all irritating. "If you accept as a given that the purpose of language is to facilitate the communication of ideas, I submit that it would be more efficient for 'robot' to be used in reference to obviously mechanical constructs such as Transformers. 'Android' would then be applied to constructs, like myself, which are intended to convincingly mimic humanoid life forms." Dorothy considered this. "What are now classified by the Turing Institute as biomimetic mechano-humanoids," she said. "(Oh, my God, there's two of them,)" Geordi La Forge murmured behind his hand. Will Riker's eyes twinkled as he tried not to laugh. Data nodded, ignoring the byplay completely. "Precisely. That term is needlessly cumbersome, in my opinion. I take it you are familiar with the work of my creator?" "My name is R. Dorothy Wayneright," Dorothy replied, as though that explained everything. Apparently to Data it did. He looked impressed as he replied, "Intriguing! Wayneright. That would make us... second cousins, then." "Of a sort." "Excuse me for seeming dense," said Wakaba, "but, huh?" "My creator, Doctor Noonian Soong, had an assistant at the peak of his career, in the 2330s," Data explained in his usual friendly, didactic way. "His name was Timothy Wayneright. When Dr. Soong's lab was destroyed in 2335, Dr. Wayneright disappeared, along with most of Dr. Soong's notes." "He created me in 2400," Dorothy said. "He once claimed that it took him that long to decipher Dr. Soong's handwriting." "I am pleased to meet you, R. Dorothy," said Data. "I have often wondered what became of Dr. Wayneright and the notes he took. My brother Lore will be gratified to learn of your existence as well." "Lore's my executive officer," Gryphon put in. "He's off on a long-range patrol with Krontep this week - should be back Friday." With that little digression over with, Picard went on to introduce the rest of his staff: Lieutenant Worf, a Klingon officer who had a rather severe mien but was gracious enough; Dr. Beverly Crusher, a handsome redhead with a calm, confident manner; and the ship's counselor, Deanna Troi. Troi was a lovely woman with a lot of curly dark hair and big black eyes. The only other person Juri could remember having seen with really black eyes was R. Dorothy Wayneright, who had once told her roommate that her irises were black to disguise the fact that the pupils of her eyes were not quite as perfectly biomimetic as the rest of her construction. They made her look a little mysterious, and they had the same effect on Deanna Troi. But though the counselor's eyes may have lent her an air of mystery, the rest of her basically just looked nervous. That was to be expected; after all, she was the only one of the Enterprise staff not wearing a Starfleet uniform. Instead, she wore the high-collared, trim-jacketed garb of the Psi Corps, complete with gloves and the golden-psi badge, though in a wine-red rather than the black of the Psi Cops. She had to be well aware that her captain's guests were not, after their recent experiences, inclined to be kindly disposed toward members of the Corps, and it showed on her face as trepidation. When she was introduced, Troi smiled at Kate, who was perfectly civil in return. The counselor remained standing as Captain Picard conducted Kate to her seat and pulled it out for her, and when the captain was back in his own place, Troi spoke. "I know," she said in a pleasant voice with a hint of some melodic accent or another, "that you've all had a bad experience with the Psi Corps recently, and I want to thank you all for coming, even though you knew I would be here. Just to get everything on the table, so to speak, my name is Deanna Troi. I'm half-Betan and a receptive empath, Standard Rating P3; that means I'm only telepathic with other telepaths, usually other Betans. I'm a licensed counselor, which is the function I serve here on the Enterprise." She paused, then smiled wryly. "I feel a bit silly standing here and rambling on like this, but I thought it was important, after your experiences, to know exactly what you're faced with. If, having heard that, any of you are uncomfortable with my presence here, I'll be happy to leave." When no one spoke, Troi ran her dark eyes down the row of Duelists, finally settling on Devlin Carter, who looked straight back at her. "Mr. Carter," she said. "According to your file, you're a P12 telepath. You must know that means there's nothing whatsoever that I could do to you. If you'd like to scan me, to determine the truth of what I've said and the harmlessness of my intentions... I have no objections." Devlin raised an eyebrow. He knew, better than anyone else at the table, what that meant. For a low-grade psionic like a P3 to invite a scan from a P12 total stranger was a remarkable act, the psionic equivalent of baring one's throat to a potential predator. He wasn't so sentimental as to take the offer itself for proof enough of her good nature, though; so, carefully, he reached out and brushed her mind, only gently. He had no desire to riffle through the filing cabinets of her subconscious - only to look at the surface and test the truth of her assertion about her grade. If that were true, then the rest would logically follow. In a second, he was satisfied, and, smiling, nodded. "I've no objection to your presence, Counselor," he said. Amanda shot him a look; he patted her hand soothingly. he thought to her. Amanda asked skeptically. Devlin replied. She gave him a sharp glance, realized she was being teased, and relaxed, smiling slightly. Seeing her do so, Rina Dragonaar similarly relaxed on his other side. Given that he was being raked over the coals by a notably unstable Psi Cop just twenty-eight hours before, Devlin Carter reflected to himself that life was pretty damned good. Deanna Troi seemed to catch the sentiment, if not the actual thought, from across the table; as she returned to her seat, she smiled a little mischievously at him. The main doors of the lounge hissed open just then, and in trotted a pair of unexpected late arrivals: Corwin's mother, decked out in her most elaborate white and scarlet finery, and Kaitlyn's, in a silver and black IPO Tactical Division dress uniform with her Cosmic Rod slung on her back. "I'm terribly sorry we're late, Captain," said Skuld apologetically to Picard as he rose to greet them. "I considered making a little adjustment to the timestream to correct it, but Heimdall always gets on my case when I do that." "Not at all," said Picard graciously, giving no indication that he had no idea what she was talking about (if, indeed, he hadn't). "Late or not, we're glad to have you here." "Jean-Luc, how do you do it?" Kei asked as she brushed aside the captain's offered hand and embraced him. "Every time I see you, you just keep getting sexier and sexier." Will Riker coughed into his napkin; both he and La Forge resolutely hid the grins on their faces. Deanna Troi didn't bother hiding hers. Neither did Dr. Crusher, nor Kaitlyn. "Oh, well," said Picard with an easy grin, "you know, Kei - some men have it... " T'skaia Vorokoshiga'ar Ixtixtaaqitl't'chl'Vraihelt Ishkarat prowled the corridors of Babylon 5, a t'skrang on a mission. Actually, what he was doing wasn't so much prowling as... perhaps cruising. He was looking for an address, which, in a five-mile-long space station, was not as simple a task as one might expect. There are many wonders in the world beyond Barsaive, Sky thought to himself as he perused the interactive deck chart on Red 12. You would think, for example, that finding the level would be the bulk of the work, after which it would be a matter of relative simplicity to locate a particular set of quarters - but you would be wrong. No, then the fun really began. Still, T'skaia wasn't about to let a little thing like spatial confusion get in the way of his mission. Doggedly, he made his way around, finally locating Red 1290. There was no response to his application of the doorbell, not the first time, nor the second, nor the third. He tried the other large button on the wall panel under the keypad, and was somewhat surprised to see the bulkhead door pivot open, vanishing into the wall. Well, if it wasn't locked... Sky entered the darkened room behind, alert for danger. "Hello?" he said softly. "Is anyone here?" Somewhere to his left, he could hear voices. Quietly, he moved toward them. The doors inside the small but comfortable suite were of the more conventional double-panel automatic type, like those found on starships. The one he approached opened with a soft hiss, admitting him to the suite's bedroom. He entered just in time to see and hear a red-faced, middle-aged man on the room's wall display say angrily, "... can come home with the rest of that rabble, or not at all - it makes very little difference to me!" Then, with a soft 'beep', his face disappeared, replaced by the idle logo of the Babylon 5 communications network. There was a silence. "You know," said T'skaia, "I've never liked that man." Liza Broadbank whirled, making a sharp, frightened noise. "T'skaia! What the hell are you doing here?!" she demanded. "Get out!" "My apologies if I startled you," said Sky, raising his open hands. "The suite door wasn't locked. I thought it possible you were in some sort of trouble." Liza snorted. "I'm in -all- sorts of trouble," she said bitterly. "What do you want?" "You haven't been seen since our escape from Earth," said Sky simply. "I was concerned." "Well, isn't that sweet," said Liza sardonically. She threw herself down on the bed in the middle of the far wall, covered her eyes with one hand as if suffering from a headache and said, "Well, as you can see, I'm fine." "So it would appear," said Sky dryly. Just then, the t'skrang noticed a small white object lying on the little table built into the wall by the door. "Hello," he said, "what's this?" It turned out to be a white envelope, letter-size and sealed, bearing the crest of the Babylon 5 Medical Laboratory. As Sky regarded it curiously, Liza looked out from beneath her fingers. "Tampering with other people's mail is a Federation felony, T'Skaia," she muttered without any energy. "Oh?" Sky held the letter out to Liza. "Would you like to read it first, then? I would not normally pry, but I remain concerned for your condition." "It's nothing," Liza snorted, burying her head back in the bedcovers. "Absolutely nothing. Leave it alone, or throw it away." T'skaia knew a lie when he heard one, and he was also quite conversant with denial. Liza's statement bore a close enough resemblance to both for Sky to do something he normally wouldn't do, even to someone for whom he had lost all respect. The soft ripping of paper under a t'skrang claw pulled Liza's head out of the covers. "What are you doing?" she asked softly, staring at Sky as he unfolded the single piece of paper and began reading aloud. "'The subject, Elizabeth Broadbank, a human of Earth descent,'" Sky read aloud, "'suffers from severe shock and mental trauma due to psychic and psychological assault, severe displacement disorder, and other stressors. This condition is aggravated by a great sense of dispossession, insecurity and loneliness - '" "Liar!" Liza barked. "I am not insecure in the least!" "' - the causes for which are beyond my minimal training in psychology to uncover,'" Sky continued. "'I recommend an independent psychiatric counselor look more closely into these underlying issues, as left unchecked they may lead to a serious psychosis.'" Sky looked up at Liza, raising an eyeridge in imitation of Juri's sardonic gaze. Liza glared sullenly back, and with a soft thump of his tail on the deck Sky returned to reading. "'This is, however, of secondary importance to another factor discovered during the examination,'" he read, his red-rimmed black eyes widening as his speech slowed. "'Ms. Broadbank is possessed of multiple psi talents, exhibiting a standard telepathy rating of P2, although the intense denial and lack of training in the subject may be concealing a talent of P3 or perhaps even P4.' Oh my," he added, looking up again at Liza's stunned expression. Sky cleared his throat and continued, "'More importantly, Ms. Broadbank possesses the anodyne talent at a high level. Anodynes are uncommon enough, especially among Earth-descent humans, that at present, the Psi Corps rating system only goes as high as A7; it is my Bajoran colleague Dr. Brolin Keelen's opinion that Ms. Broadbank's talent is, like his own, above this scale, possibly A9 with training. However, my inexperience in such matters, Dr. Brolin's unfamiliarity with psionics as expressed in Earthpeople, and the limitations of automated scanning equipment must be taken into account. "'I believe that part of Ms. Broadbank's displacement disorder is caused by a defense mechanism to deny and seal off her empathic talents. The patient complained of intermittent headaches during the exam which corresponded to the presence or absence of Princess Amanda Dessler, who admitted in no uncertain terms her hostility to Ms. Broadbank. It is my professional opinion that without both counseling and training in her awakening talents, Ms. Broadbank may... '" Sky read the last few sentences silently to himself, glancing up momentarily to see Liza's shocked stare. "I beg your pardon," he said. "I have indeed intruded wrongfully into your troubles." Carefully, Sky folded the paper up and returned it to the envelope, setting it carefully back on the table. "It's a lie," Liza gasped. "It's all a lie." "I must say," Sky said a little uncomfortably, "it is most unfortunate that the Psi Corps learned of Mr. Carter when they did. You might have escaped their attention and avoided all of this trauma otherwise." Liza's stare managed to grow wider, more glassy-eyed. "Haven't -they- told you?" she asked with a raw-edged, hysterical little giggle. "'They'?" "Hutchins. Tenjou. That madwoman Dessler. Haven't you spoken to them at ALL?" "I didn't see them until this afternoon," Sky said, his tail twitching uncertainly. "I was on the Freespacer city-ship New Orleans all morning, and this afternoon has been quite busy. We spoke mostly of the things we saw today. You should really try to see the Denorios Belt before leaving this system; it is quite remarkable." "-I- called them," Liza husked, ignoring Sky's digression about the wonders of the Bajor system entirely. "I called the Psi Corps. It was my responsibility, wasn't it?" A soft giggle emerged from the blankets which now wrapped Liza, clutched in trembling hands. "Protect them from themselves. Give the poor confused telepaths a new home, a new life... " For a few moments, T'skaia's tail had gone utterly still. As he looked at Liza, however, his momentary rage faded, and he considered the small, pathetic-looking blonde girl wrapping herself for protection. "And in striking out at another, you struck yourself as well," he murmured. Liza's eyes focused, looking at Sky's wedge-shaped head. "Stop pitying me," she said, clearly and firmly. "You've never encountered true -consequences- before, have you?" said Sky in a near-whisper, almost as much to himself as to Liza. "This is the first time anything has ever rebounded directly back upon you, isn't it?" "Get out," Liza rasped, her hands shaking as she stared at the t'skrang. "And when you sought friendship... guidance... even basic love... " Sky shook his head. "... you were rejected by that shallow, self-absorbed father of yours." "You have no right to speak of him like that," Liza said. "Now get out." "-You- have every right in the world to do so," Sky said. "You certainly do not have to grow up to be like him." "I said GET OUT." Liza pushed the covers aside and stood, slowly, from the bed, her hands trembling and clenching uncontrollably. One hand flew up to rub her temple; a second later, it jerked back down, just a little too fast. "And now," Sky said sadly, "you have not a friend on this station, and possibly not a friend in the entire galaxy. I would change that, Elizabeth. We may never have been friends, but we were comrades, before your short-sightedness drove me from your circle." He reached down to his belt pouch and pulled out a small wooden object, a triangle of polished mahogany carved into a most intricate tangle. "I was given this on the New Orleans," he said, "under most peculiar circumstances. I am told that it is a Jyurain meditative charm. It is supposed to bring calm and stability to its wearer." He took one of Liza's hands in his own and slowly pressed the wooden knot into it, wrapping her fingers around it. "Please keep it well, and when you need a friend, please think - " "GET OUUUUUUUT!!" Liza hurled the charm across the room, where it bounced off the wall and fell soundlessly into the carpet. "GET OUT!!" She held her head in her hands, tears running down her face, shrieking again and again at the top of her lungs, "GET OUT GET OUT GET OUUUUUTT!!!" Sky slowly stepped backwards out of the room, not stopping until the automatic doors of the room had closed in front of his face. He stared for a long moment at the closed door of Red 1290's bedroom, straining his hearing for any sound from within. When not a sound met his earholes, his tail slumped, and with a potent sense of failure T'skaia retraced his steps back to his own quarters, where awaited the sketching materials he had also acquired on the New Orleans. His muse called, insistently, demanding he produce a series of sketches that, out of respect, he could never show anyone else. Ironic, he thought, that beauty can come from pain. Meanwhile, inside the room, Liza stood trembling in the middle of the room, pain shooting through her head, tears running down her face as she tried to regain her composure. With a wail she threw herself back onto the bed, grabbing a pillow and hugging it tight, crying loudly and uncontrollably into it. And as she cried, the words she couldn't say in front of anyone else came pouring out. "I'm sorry, Daddy. Sky, Sky, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Kaitlyn. Utena. Amanda. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorrrrrrrryyy... " After a few minutes, she cried herself out; feeling weak and hollow, she got up and found the charm Sky had given her. Mercifully, it hadn't been damaged by its collision with the wall. She sat down on the bed and gazed at it, running her fingertips over the intricate carvings. Calm and stability? Looking at it, Liza thought it better served as a physical representation of her inner turmoil. Sobbing again, more softly this time, she curled up on her side, holding the charm to her chest, and tried to go to sleep. Dinner aboard the Enterprise was a pleasant time; Captain Picard and his officers were good conversationalists and quite nice people, really. Wakaba Shinohara found that surprising. All her encounters to date with members of Earth's armed forces hadn't gone very well, and she'd been given to understand that Starfleet was pretty much just an extension of Earthforce these days. Picard certainly didn't seem to think so, though. The man wasn't a soldier, not really. He was an explorer, a scientist. The fact that he commanded a battleship must have struck him as ironic, but he had too much grace to say so, at least in polite company. Wakaba found herself wishing she knew him well enough that he didn't consider her polite company. Oh, she wasn't drooling over him, like Azalynn - she liked older guys, but there were limits. He was interesting, though, and she would have liked to have known him better, the way Kaitlyn seemed to. Thinking of older guys, she glanced at Saionji, next to her. He'd seemed curiously preoccupied all evening - not rude, but slightly distracted and pensive. She leaned over and murmured, "(Something the matter?)" "(No,)" he replied. "(Just... something peculiar. Corwin's mother keeps looking at us. Mostly at you, I think.)" "(Really? I hadn't noticed. Maybe she's just being friendly.)" Saionji shrugged. "(Perhaps,)" he replied; then, in a more public tone of voice, he complimented the captain on the competence of his kitchen staff. Dessert came, then the hot beverage of one's choice, and Captain Picard gracefully wound the occasion up before people could start yawning. "I've got something I'd like to announce before we adjourn," said Gryphon, "if Captain Picard will permit me to monopolize his table for a moment." Smiling, Picard gestured openly. "By all means, Captain Hutchins." "Speech!" cried Nall, which made Data glance curiously at him. Gryphon walked behind Kate's chair, put his hands on her shoulders, and said, "As most of you know, Kaitlyn is my student in our family's art of swordsmanship, the Asagiri Katsujinkenryuu. Yesterday, during the chase with the Psi Corps, she manifested that art's greatest defensive technique, the Blade of the Inviolate Soul, which is proof that she's ready to take her place as a master of the art." Applause greeted this statement, making Kate blush. Gryphon smiled, then held up a hand. "But," he said, "there's always a catch, right? There's one more thing she must do before that promotion is official. So - this Saturday at 1700 hours, in the ship's dojo aboard Challenger, she'll face her test of advancement. Any of you who wish to attend will be most welcome; in fact, if you bring your equipment, you may even get a chance to help her take her place beside me." "I'm sure she will bring great honor to your family name," intoned Lieutenant Worf with greater solemnity than the Klingon had probably intended. "Indeed, Mr. Worf," said Picard. He rose, adjusted his uniform jacket again, and smiled. "Thank you all for coming. My officers and I wish you all the best of luck." There were polite thank-yous, and the Duelists adjourned, filing out in ones and twos to follow Data to the Enterprise transporter room and return to B5. "Shame you won't be around for Kate's trial, Jean-Luc," said Gryphon as the two captains walked toward the doors. "Four days," Picard responded with a thoughtful frown. Then, his tone somewhat exaggeratedly brisk, he said, "I think it should take us about that long to verify Starfleet's charts of the Denorios Belt - don't you, Number One?" Riker didn't miss his cue; smiling broadly, the first officer replied, "If we get right on it, yes sir." "As soon as our guests have disembarked, make it so. Arrange a return docking clearance with Commander Johnson for... shall we say noon Saturday?" "I think that would be just about right, sir," said Riker. "I'll get right on it. Pleasure meeting you, Captain Hutchins." "And you, Commander," said Gryphon. Riker peeled off down a side corridor, making for the nearest turbolift, unable to quite conceal his chuckling. "You're right, Jean-Luc - he DOES have a sense of humor," said Gryphon appreciatively. "I was under the impression," said Data with a puzzled expression, "that dragons were fearsome creatures of gigantic proportions." He stepped out of the turbolift, then turned to hold the door for the group of students; Corwin came out and paused nearby so Nall could continue his conversation with the android. "Oh, well, we are," Nall replied. Data's look of puzzlement deepened. "Forgive me for saying so, but you do not seem to be gigantic, nor particularly fearsome." "That's just because I'm hanging around with Rocket Boy here," Nall replied, nudging Corwin's cheek with his head. "If you found me in my mountain lair in Alfheim, well, that'd be a different story," the dragon added with an all-knowing nod. "Ah," said Data, though the android did not look particularly enlightened. "I was not aware that there was a draconian species living on Alfheim Colony." "Figures there'd be a colony named after it," said Nall. He gathered himself up and jumped from Corwin's shoulder to Data's. "Listen. This is a long story. If you really want to hear it, great, but if I've got a transporter to catch, we're never going to finish it in time. What do you say you guys take me with you on your sweep of the Denorios Belt, and when you're off-duty I'll tell you all about it." Corwin arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. Nall was -ditching- him? Were the repairs to Daggerdisc -that- boring? But as Data replied that he would like that, if the Captain allowed it, the little dragon turned his face back to Corwin, winked one scarlet eye, and sang to him in Draconic, >There. Now I'll be out of your hair for the next couple days.< Corwin scowled. >Dammit, Nall, you know it's - < >Easy,< said Nall, and his normally sarcastic mien was completely serious. >I know. But still - that doesn't mean you need me around. Huh? Trust me. You need some time without me hanging around. Least I can do after I was so insensitive yesterday.< Corwin looked back at the little dragon for a moment, then ruffled his head. >OK.< Then he switched back to Standard. "Have a good time. I'll see you Saturday." Data looked curious, but was too polite to ask. Nall told him cheerily, "Logistics." "Ah," said Data. He tapped his communicator and set about securing permission for Nall to remain aboard as his guest during the Enterprise's Denorios survey. In the corridor outside Babylon 5's Green Sector transporter room, Amanda and Devlin bade farewell to the others. They didn't go into great detail as to why they were leaving. They didn't have to; their friends could sense what came next, and though not all of them seemed to agree, nobody was stupid enough to think they could talk the Gamilon out of it. "We will try to be back in time for your test, Kaitlyn," said Amanda. "If Dolshaia grants us good hunting... well." She smiled. "I would hate to miss it." Kate nodded. "W-we'd m-miss you," she said, returning the smile - a little sadly, Amanda thought. "Well." Amanda squared up and nodded rather imperially at the group. "With luck, I'll see you all again soon." Utena grinned, and then, to the surprise of several of those assembled, began to sing, if it can be called that, in Klingonese. Amanda looked momentarily puzzled, then amused, and she and Rina joined in on the second line. >The guns are hot, the hull is ringing, The engines sing the sound of triumph; And every one aboard awaits A prize upon the high horizon. Hand and weapon! Heart and power! Cry it with the voice of Empire! Victory and prize and plunder! Vengeance flies at morning!< "I appreciate the sentiment," said Amanda when they'd finished. At the confused looks of several of the onlookers, she added with a smile, "But I believe I'll leave -you- to explain it to the others." On Wednesday morning, Edward Tivrusky and Ein left the station. No one saw them leave, but they announced their departures in an email message which found its way to each of the ex-WPI students as well as the station's management. They didn't specify which of the six ships that had left the Freespacer Home Fleet that morning they'd gone on, where they were headed, or when (or if) they were returning; all the message said was that Durandal needed "to go on a little trip" and the two hackers were helping. Best wishes, love and hugs were bestowed upon all. The Duelists considered this for a few minutes, concluded that Edward would be Edward, and hoped the galaxy was ready for her. That same morning, Janice Barlow packed her few possessions and reported to Challenger for briefing by Captain Hutchins. "Field agent training starts Monday at Experts HQ in New Avalon," Gryphon told her, up in his office next to the ship's bridge. "You'd best leave today if you want some time to settle into your new quarters in town before it starts. Four weeks there, a week of orientation at Headquarters, and you'll be all set to head back here and take up your operational posting. We'll have an office ready for you on B5 by then. What do you say?" Janice grinned. "Sounds good to me. I always wanted to visit New Avalon." They went down to Shuttlebay Two, where Janice was delighted to find that Gryphon had done exactly what he'd threatened to do. Parked in the middle of the bay, smugly lording it over the ship's mere mortal warpshuttles, was a Danube-class runabout. It had been stripped of its Psi Corps Enforcement Division markings and repainted in IPO Space Force colors (IPS Rubicon, NCC-3230), but it was undoubtedly the same one Janice had stolen from Earth a few days previously. "This won't be trouble?" asked Janice as she stowed her duffel bag and the new cases she'd acquired for her Frame and Varista on the New Orleans. "Vision checked the records - the Corps wrote it off as 'presumed destroyed'. Just to be safe, I had the transponder re-encoded and the isolinear ID tags changed. Nobody will ever know it's the same one unless they check the serial numbers engraved on the warp coils." He grinned. "Give the Technical Section a week and those won't match either. I've arranged for her to be rebuilt to the new Kennebec spec while you're in training. Can't have you plodding around at Warp 6 all the time." "Wow, and it's not even my birthday," said Janice. "Listen - not that I want to be a pain or anything, but what about school next year? Any word?" He smiled. "I'm still chasing it, but it's starting to come together soon. By the time you get to New Avalon, there ought to be news." "Well, OK then." She looked momentarily at a loss; then Gryphon held out a hand. "Clear skies, Agent Barlow," he said. "Thanks, Chief," she replied with a grin, shaking the hand. Chuckling to himself, Gryphon left the runabout and the shuttlebay, and Janice Barlow and her faithful Mag headed for New Avalon. After that, next couple of days were largely uneventful. Most of the students kept to their rooms or gathered in small groups in one of B5's common areas, relaxing and catching up on their reading. By Thursday, they were starting to become a bit restless, wondering what was to become of them. Was the rest of the school year cancelled? Would they have to take their finals here, or would the whole last term be written off? How would this affect their futures? And what were they going to do next year? They had assurances that Kate's father was looking into all this, and indeed, Challenger left the station on a mission to Earth early Thursday morning; but the lack of news was starting to put some of the students on edge. There were exceptions, of course. Kaitlyn hardly noticed, so busy was she in training and preparation for her upcoming mastery trial. Juri spent much of her time observing Kate's practice sessions and serving as a dissimilar sparring partner. Utena and Corwin continued the repairs to Daggerdisc. The others amused themselves however they could, waited, and wondered. Late Thursday night found Kyouichi Saionji wandering the corridors of the station, for lack of anything better to do. He was alone, and the not-yet-operational station's hallways were deserted and quiet, but that didn't bother Saionji. He'd always been a bit of a lone wolf. In the old days, that had mainly been because his temperament had leaned toward brooding. Nowadays... well, he supposed he still had a tendency to brood, but not with the single-minded determination he'd once had. Eventually, his wanderings through the night-dimmed corridors of the station led him to one of the core shuttle stations. Of all the place's features, this had taken the most getting used to, for the train, since it ran along the rotating station's center line, was in a low-gravity zone. Not quite null-gravity, but low, enough to make navigating around the train stations a novel experience for someone unused to variable gravity conditions. The trains themselves had gravity aboard, and negotiating the gradient was also a bit of a trick, rather like getting on an escalator. Saionji was a fairly coordinated young man; in three days' wanderings he'd pretty much mastered it. He stood, bouncing slightly on his heels in the weak gravity, and waited for a train, wondering if they ran 24 hours a day. It appeared they did, for in a few minutes, one arrived. Saionji climbed up the gravity gradient and boarded, bound for no particular destination. Perhaps he'd go look around Gray Sector. He had no reason to believe it was all that different from Red Sector, where Group B was quartered, or Green Sector, where those who had arrived on Daggerdisc were staying, but nevertheless... He realized as the train eased into motion again that he wasn't alone, and was further surprised to see that the other person in the shuttle car with him was Liza Broadbank. He found this interesting, since as far as anyone else in the WPI group knew, Liza hadn't left her room on Red 12 since her arrival on the station. She was sitting on the longitudinal bench which faced the doors in the middle of the train. She looked terrible. Her clothes, which looked like the same WPI uniform she'd been wearing when she was rescued from the Psi Corps, were rumpled and dingy, and her curly blonde hair was a mess. Her face was oddly mottled, the pale skin reddened, especially around the eyes, which were sunken in dark rims. His curiosity piqued, Saionji walked over and sat down on the first of the transverse seats, at right angles to Liza. She didn't seem to notice him. She merely sat, arms folded, gazing thoughtfully at the doors. They rode in silence through three stops, passing out of Green Sector into Blue. The core shuttle didn't reach very far into Blue Sector; the main docking corridor occupied the core in most of that sector. It paused at the last (or first) stop, then reversed direction and headed back toward the other end. They rode past the station where Saionji had boarded, and still Liza didn't speak, didn't acknowledge his presence at all. Not until they entered the arboretum, cruising slowly through the rather surreal world of its rolled-up square mile of countryside, did she speak, and even then, from her tone she might merely have been thinking aloud. What she said was, "There has to be some way to open those doors." Saionji looked at the doors, then back at Liza. "Why would you want to?" he inquired conversationally. Liza got up and walked slowly across the car to the doors. She put her hand against one of them and stood looking out of the window at the slowly turning ground below. "You know," she said without turning to look at him, "there are a surprisingly small number of ways to die here, considering it's a space station. You can't operate the airlocks without security codes. Weapons are inaccessible. There aren't any exposed beams in the living quarters to hang oneself from." Saionji grunted noncommittally. "Inconsiderate of them," he remarked. "Very," Liza replied, her tone lacking irony. "But if I could get these doors open... " Saionji got up and looked out the window as well. "Mm. A flamboyant exit, but somewhat drawn-out." Liza blinked, as if realizing for the first time she wasn't alone, and said, "What do you mean?" Saionji gave no indication whatsoever that the conversation he was having was anything but perfectly normal as he replied, "There's artificial gravity aboard the train, but outside it's quite weak. Even if you pushed off as hard as you could, it would take... oh... I would say a minute, at least, to reach the ground. Which is turning at around 60 miles an hour, if I remember what Commander Ivanova told us on our tour. That's what would kill you, not the fall." He shook his head. "Not the way I'd choose to do it." "What way would you choose?" Saionji gave the impression that he was seriously considering the question, then replied, "I'm a kendoka - a somewhat tarnished one, but a kendoka still. If I were seeking my own end for some reason, I would transfix myself on my sword, then have a trusted second relieve me of my head." Liza gave a hollow, mirthless laugh. "No one I know would be willing to grant me the honor," she said. "Kaitlyn should have let the Corps take me. It's as much as I deserve." Saionji cocked an eyebrow. "Why did they -want- you?" he wondered. Liza turned disbelieving eyes to him. "You act as if you don't know." "I don't." "That's ridiculous. Surely the t'skrang has shared it with everyone by now." Saionji shook his head. "He refuses to say a thing about it. It was obvious that he'd visited you instead of coming to Captain Picard's dinner, but he won't discuss what happened. Whatever it was upset him," the green-haired Duelist went on, his tone speculative. "That much was obvious... but he won't talk about it." The blonde blinked, amazed; then she smothered it under another layer of resignation. Reaching into her pocket, she handed him a much-wrinkled piece of paper. "Read it," she said, and turned away. "What the hell. Everybody will know soon enough." Saionji straightened the paper (which seemed to have been crumpled and smoothed several times) and read it silently. When he'd finished, he lowered it and said without a trace of irony, "That's a remarkable gift. Congratulations." Liza, who had been staring out the front of the car, whirled, her face angry. "Congratulations?!" she blurted. "Congratulations for being a genetic aberrant? Congratulations for bringing shame on my family? Congratulations for destroying the Institute?!" "Congratulations," Saionji replied imperturbably, "for having such a power." "Oh, fine," said Liza. "My life is ruined, my parents won't speak to me, and everyone I know hates me, but I have a -power-, so everything's OK!" "Has it occurred to you," Saionji wondered, "that, perhaps, you're better off without parents who refuse to speak to you?" "It's crossed my mind. But without them, what am I supposed to do? I have nothing. -Nothing-. I can't even afford to have these lousy clothes washed. I -am- nothing. I'm sixteen years old and my life is -over-." Despite himself, Saionji smiled. "You remind me of someone I once knew," he said. "She was younger than you are, and possibly -more- troubled, if you can imagine it, but the source of her troubles was just the same - her family." Despite herself, Liza looked interested. "What happened to her?" "She had a very rude awakening one day," said Saionji. "A day when nothing really changed, but she saw the world in a different light, and so -everything- changed for her. I don't know what finally became of her. Either she got better... or she went completely mad." He held up the crumpled sheet of paper and pointed to the last paragraph. "I wouldn't like to see that happen to you." Liza laughed bitterly. "Then you're alone among your peers," she retorted. "In many ways," Saionji replied with dry sardony, "but not in this. Why do you think T'skaia sought you out? Why am I bothering to talk to you instead of leaving you to your fate, or helping you find a way to open those doors? Why, for that matter, didn't Kate just leave you to the tender mercies of the Corps?" "Kaitlyn... " Liza's jaw quivered. She swallowed, shook her head, and said in a shaky voice, "Kaitlyn is a good person. She wouldn't leave anyone in that position - not even her worst enemy. No matter how much she deserved it... " Saionji didn't seem very sympathetic. "Been there," he said. "Done that. I tried to -kill- Kaitlyn the first time I met her. I was trying to kill Tenjou that day, too. I've tried to kill her -several- times, in fact." He fixed her with an intent gaze from his pale violet eyes, and she found herself uneasy, almost afraid of him, but unable to look away, as he continued, "I know what it is to be driven mad by circumstance, by failure, by one's own weaknesses. You've been twisted into what you are by the inhuman pressures of your family. I was twisted into what I was by the callous manipulation of my best friend. I got over it. You can too." "Easy for you to say," Liza snapped. "No," said Saionji, "it isn't." "How did you 'get over it', then?" asked Liza sarcastically. "Did you find God?" "No," said Saionji. "I looked the Devil himself in the eye. I walked a desert, alone with my madness, for a week, then fell into a land of ice and snow. I was humbled by a girl with a quiet rage and healed by the kindness of an alien stranger." He cracked another small smile. "I'm not recommending my exact method." Liza snorted, but the sound was covering something else. She turned away before he could see the tears filling her eyes, or so she thought. Her voice was slightly muffled by her hand over her mouth as she said, "Why would anyone want to be my friend?" "I don't know," Saionji replied bluntly. "I haven't seen any of your good qualities, if you have any. Every time I've spoken to you, except this one, you've been cruel, vindictive, and petty. You've also shown yourself to be a manipulative coward and a poor loser." Liza turned back to face him, wiping at her eyes, and gave him a wan grin. "Well," she said with a weak chuckle, "at least you're honest." "But for all that, you have a great gift," Saionji persisted. "What remains to be seen is whether you have the will to use it." Then, with an abruptness that shocked Liza Broadbank to her very core, Saionji drew his sword, reversed it, and stabbed himself. He didn't make a sound, but Liza made it for him, screaming in sudden terror as the blood flowed down the blade and dripped onto the shuttle car's carpet. The blade slide out and fell to the floor. He fell to his knees, bleeding profusely from the wound in his side, then toppled and sprawled. "Oh my God!" Liza cried, rushing to his side. "What the hell did you do that for?" she demanded, but he was all but insensate with pain and didn't hear her. She looked around for the car's intercom panel, but in her panic, everything was a blur - she couldn't find it. Operating on sheer instinct, she sank to her knees next to him, unmindful of the hot stickiness of the growing pool of blood, and tore his shirt away from the wound. It was a clean cut, deep into the right side of his abdomen, and there was so much blood that she couldn't see how bad it was. She wasn't sure she would have known anyway, not being much of an anatomist. Saionji was already pale, sweat standing out on his lean face. Liza made horrified little noises, looked around again for the com, failed to find it again; her mind raced. What did he DO that for? Stupid, stupid man, what was he trying to PROVE? Even if I am an anodyne I don't know how to use it, I don't have any idea what to do, oh my God he's going to die, he's going to die because of me, because of something I said, I've killed one of Kate's friends, even if she could forgive me for everything else, she'll never forgive me for this, what am I going to do - Enough, she told herself, and seized hold of herself with both metaphorical hands. Her real hands clenched into fists, her nails drawing blood from her palms. Enough. Panic isn't going to help. He's dying. You're supposed to be some kind of healer - heal him. Completely uncertain of what she should do, Liza reached out with trembling hands and touched him, putting her hands to either side of the wound. Is it bleeding more slowly now? Don't think about that. You'll just panic again. Concentrate. I know you don't know what to do, but concentrate... The pain slammed into her like a hammer. She wobbled on her knees, nearly pitching forward over him, and only steadied herself with a supreme act of will, biting her lip until it, too, bled. It was as though her -own- side were on fire, as though she could feel his life slipping away. No, she thought, and grabbed at it with her thoughts. Darkness crowded around; she pushed it back. A dull heat seemed to build in her hands, as if she were holding them up to a roaring fireplace. The horrible pain in her side eased, replaced by a stabbing discomfort in her temples. Liza squeezed her eyes shut, forced it out of her mind, and concentrated on that heat, building it, building it, pushing it out... ... just like that, it was over. Exhausted, she fell back into a sloppy approximation of seiza, her bloody hands falling slack to her sides. She blinked sweat out of her eyes and looked. Saionji murmured, stirred, and sat up, prodding experimentally at the place in his side where, a moment before, he had been perhaps mortally wounded. "Well," he said dryly, "that's one question answered." Liza slapped him as hard as she could, which wasn't really all that hard, given that she felt like a wrung-out towel. "What the hell was that supposed to be?!" she demanded. "If I'd cut my hand," he replied, "you might not have taken it as all that urgent." "You could have killed yourself!" "Perhaps." Saionji picked up his sword, wiped it on his ruined shirt, and put it away. "I hadn't actually intended to wound myself quite that badly, but you have a way of making me angry," he said with a little smile. "You stabbed yourself in the gut just to see if it would motivate me to use my power?!" "Basically." "You're out of your goddamned MIND!" Liza declared. "That accusation has been made before," he agreed. He got to his feet, stretched his newly repaired side experimentally, then held out a hand to help Liza up. "I hope we don't run into anyone from Security looking like this," he added. Liza looked him over - shirt torn, covered in blood - then glanced down at her own bloodied hands and legs. She couldn't help it. She laughed. So did Saionji. The large quantity of blood in the shuttle car caused considerable furor in Security when it was discovered the following morning, but no one could be found who was injured, and in the end the mystery was abandoned. Almost immediately, a completely apocryphal tale of a wounded construction worker who bled to death in that car while being rushed to Medlab, and whose ghost now haunted the car and covered it in spectral blood at irregular intervals, entered the station's collective cultural background noise. "I still can't believe I'm doing this," said Utena Tenjou to her reflection in the mirror. "It's a g-great honor," Kaitlyn informed her. "Maybe so," Utena replied, "but I still can't believe I'm doing it." "Oh, r-relax," said Kate, making a dismissive gesture. "D-Daggerd-disc is almost f-finished, C-Corwin only h-has the b-b-boring p-parts left. Why n-not? L-like I said, it's a g-great honor. Anyw-way, they're n-not what you're exp-pecting." Utena adjusted the Klingon baldric that Sub-Commander Klaang had given her over her Ohtori Academy jacket, then turned and said, "Well, how do I look?" Kate gave her a thumbs-up. "D-dangerous," she said. Utena grinned. "Wish me luck, then... " "G-good luck. S-see you t-t-tomorrow." "You bet." Utena reached into the pocket of her red Martian Army trousers, took out her IPO Space Force communicator, and flipped it open. "Tenjou calling HoSghaj," she said. "HoSghaj receiving," replied a gravelly voice. "Are you prepared?" "Ready as I'll ever be," Utena replied wryly. "jol yIchu'!" The beam swept her up and deposited her in a transporter room. This room was different from the others she'd seen. On Challenger, Enterprise and Babylon 5, they were all much of a type, large rooms with six pads arranged in a circle on a dais and a control console facing them, some distance away. This was a longer, narrower room with seven pads arranged all in a row along one wall and the control console jutting from the other. The walls were angled oddly compared to what she was used to, and colored beige instead of the silver or gray of the other starships or B5. She swallowed, popping her ears; the air here was thicker and warmer, but not uncomfortably so, and the gravity felt slightly heavier. The light was slightly reddish. Standing near the controls were two uniformed Klingon officers and, to Utena's surprise, a human woman who also wore the uniform of the Klingon Imperial Defense Forces. "Captain Tenjou," said the smaller of the two Klingons with a broad smile. He was still fairly tall - over six feet - but he was the least heavily built Klingon Utena had ever seen, with the least pronounced head ridges. He was actually kind of handsome, for a Klingon, with mischievous eyes and his beard neatly plaited. "I am Captain Krontep vathKesek," the speaking Klingon went on. He saluted her, fist across chest, bowed, and said, "Welcome aboard the Battlecruiser HoSghaj." He indicated the woman. "My first officer, Commander Jaime Finney kalKesek." "Pleased to meet you, Captain," said she, nodding. "I've heard so much about you." "And my second officer, Sub-Commander Zargh Thalekh," Krontep went on, indicating the other, bigger Klingon. This one was scowling, as Klingons often did, and though he said he was charmed, Utena rather seriously doubted it. She wondered at the executive officer's name. The prefixes designating family relationships among Klingons were complicated, and Professor Kraalgh didn't really start teaching them until his senior classes, which Utena was a long way from, if indeed she ever had a chance to continue her education with the professor. She thought, though, that "kal" indicated a marriage name. -That- was unusual. "This is the one who defeated the great Kraalgh vestai-Kalaan in honorable battle?" Zargh rumbled. "She's nothing but a child." Utena felt her ears getting hot. She'd anticipated being challenged, of course - it was a common thing among Klingons - but she hadn't expected it to happen in the transporter room, 20 seconds after arriving. "Zargh, the sutai-Tenjou is our guest," said Krontep. "Do you insult the guests of our ship now?" "No, Captain, that's all right," said Utena. Approaching Zargh, she kept her eyes level on his, even though that meant looking up a considerable distance, and asked him cordially, "Has the one never learned that one should not judge a bat'leth by its scabbard?" Zargh's considerable eyebrows meshed into a single V-shaped unibrow beneath his heavily ridged forehead. "Perhaps the vestai-Kalaan has... diminished since his days in the Empire," he said, unperturbed. "Perhaps," Utena allowed. "Even if he has, though, at least the vestai-Kalaan isn't a blowhard." Krontep smothered something that sounded very like a laugh, then held out a hand and splayed it across Zargh's chest as the bigger Klingon started to take a step toward Utena. "Zargh," he said sharply. "You earned that one. Accept it as your due. My guests are not to be challenged. Is that understood?" Zargh's scowl deepened further. He stared down his captain's outstretched arm into his face for several seconds, then said stiffly, "May the one return to his duties, Captain?" Krontep nodded. "Dismissed." Without another word, Zargh pivoted on his heel and marched from the transporter room. Finney shook her head. "I'm so glad we're getting rid of that stiff," she said. "So is he," Krontep replied with a smile. To Utena's puzzled look, he said, "Zargh and I have been shipmates for years, ever since we were assigned to the Wedge Defense Force exchange program in 2387. Every month since that assignment began, he has requested a transfer. Every month it has been denied. Last month it was finally accepted. He leaves us in two weeks to take up his new position as the Empire's representative aboard Babylon 5." Utena looked impressed. "He's so desperate to leave this ship that he's looking forward to a transfer into the diplomatic corps?" "I know," said Krontep, nodding. "It's sad." They left the transporter room, moving into the corridors, and as Krontep led the way, he went on, "Zargh Thalekh is in many ways an admirable man. He is the soul of honor. He is courage itself. He is named for three great heroes of the Empire - Zargh the Well-Remembered, Thalekh the Undeniably Mighty and Zargh Thalekh, the Butcher of Klinzhai Prime - and he strives to live up to their examples in all things. The only problems with him are that he's lousy at klin zha, and he has absolutely no sense of humor." "And you have to have a sense of humor to survive on this ship," Finney said with a grin. "That's why we're out here instead of defending the Empire." Klingon ship designers didn't seem to have much use for turbolifts. They rode from the ship's main body to the command pod on what amounted to a moving sidewalk - an escalator without steps - inside the boom. As they went, Krontep gave Utena a quick history of his command. As it happened, the HoSghaj had been in commission for only a little more than a year. Before then, Krontep and most of his officers had been on loan to the WDF as part of an outreach exchange program, where they had served under the legendary Commander Derek Bacon on the B'rel-class escort WDF Tom Servo (MST-3000). When Bacon had been promoted to captain and reassigned to the WDF Headquarters Division, the Servo's Klingon crew had returned to the Empire, where the High Command quickly realized that they had to do something with them, and fast. They were all famous heroes, returning from their exploits with the humans covered in glory... but their time with Bacon had made them... strange. Certain traditions begun aboard the Servo slowly spread throughout the Klingon fleet, disseminated by the WDF ship's scattered crew. The High Command began to fear a radical change in the Navy's culture, and possibly that of the Empire itself, and they weren't really sure the Klingon people were ready for it. So they did the only thing they could do: they gathered the Heroes of the Servo together and put them all on one ship, along with most of the warriors most severely contaminated by their odd ideas. The total had come to one hundred sixty, which was enough to crew one of the newest, most modern, best-automated D-7M cruisers; and for the command of that vessel, the natural choice was Krontep vathKesek. Once that was accomplished, the safety of the Navy's culture was further guaranteed by sending the ship far away, to a place where it could continue to achieve fame and accrue glory for the Klingon Empire without actually -touching- the Empire: the IPO's newly-formed Space Force, which was grateful for the help. "And so," said Krontep cheerily as they got off the moving walkway and approached the heavy double door at the end of the boom, "here we are." The door, Utena was somewhat puzzled to see, had a large, diamond-shaped yellow sign attached to it - an ordinary highway sign, such as were seen on Earth, Avalon and a thousand worlds in between. In large black Standard letters, it declared: CAUTION! BRIDGE MAY BE ICY A moment later, she realized where the doors must lead, and started laughing. "A souvenir," said Krontep cheerfully, "from the patrol partner of my last ship." He slapped the activator, and the three of them entered a stairwell which took them up to the bridge. >Captain on the bridge!< barked the deck officer in Klingonese as he shot from the center chair. "As you were," said Krontep. "My friends, we have a singular honor today. This is Captain Utena Tenjou of the IPO Space Force Reserve: a good friend of the epetai-Hutchins and his eldest daughter, one of the famed band who bearded the Earther Psi Corps in their very den, and a favored pupil of the great Kraalgh vestai-Kalaan. She will be joining us for our patrol circuit today. Her command of the Warriors' Tongue is somewhat shaky - she has only been studying it for nine Standard months - so while she is aboard, we will use Standard unless she speaks to us first in tlhIngan Hol." "Kai the sutai-Tenjou," said the deck officer. "Welcome to the HoSghaj." Krontep introduced Utena to his bridge crew, which was smaller than those of the other ships she'd seen - only four aside from the captain and his exec, one manning helm and weapons, one engineer, a sensor operator, and a communications expert. She tried to commit their names to memory: the helmsman, who had been acting as deck officer, was Koth ("I am Koth. Koth of the Vengeance," immediately rolled through her head), the engineer Azrodel, the sensor chief Vorek (almost sounded like a Vulcan name), and the comm operator Krentai. Utena looked around, wondering where she should sit, as Jaime Finney took her place in the exec's seat, to the right of and slightly behind the center seat. Krontep didn't move toward that seat, though; instead he went to the jumpseat to its left, where Utena had just decided she was supposed to sit. She looked at him, puzzled. "The ship is yours, Captain," said Krontep expansively, gesturing to the center seat. Utena felt her face stiffen with surprise. She leaned down and murmured, so that the rest of the crew couldn't hear, "Er... that's nice of you, Captain, but I'm not - " "The Klingon Empire has no such restrictions on its vessels," Krontep replied softly, anticipating her concern. "I am the Captain, I could place the epetai-Hutchins's beagle in command if I wanted to. Besides, this is a routine patrol. I will be right here to your left, and Jamie to your right. If anything goes seriously wrong, we will step in. You need fear nothing." "Gryphon put you up to this," said Utena, feeling the smile growing on her face, "didn't he?" Krontep grinned. "He told me he thought if you once tasted command, you'd never rest until you had it back." "Well, I guess we'll see," she said. She went to the captain's chair, paused for a moment, then sat. The chair was considerately designed so that a person wearing a sword on either side could sit comfortably without removing it. She took a moment to familiarize herself with the displays and controls on the arms. She felt a little silly - the chair was designed for a much bigger person. It made her feel like when she was four and climbed up into her father's favorite armchair, one of the few dim memories she had of anything related to her parents. Utena cleared her throat, looked at the viewer, and said, "Communications, get me Babylon 5 Control." "On screen, joH'wI'," said Krentai, and Susan Ivanova's very surprised face appeared on the main viewer. "Imperial Klingon cruiser HoSghaj requests clearance to depart on patrol," said Utena. Ivanova blinked at her, blinked again, then seemed to realize that she should be doing something. "Ah... you're clear to depart, HoSghaj," she said, and then added, as if out of habit, "Good... good hunting." "Thank you, B5," Utena replied, unable to keep the grin on her face from blooming into a full-fledged smirk at Ivanova's surprise. "HoSghaj out." She made a small gesture to her right, and just as if he'd been working for her his whole career, Krentai cut the channel. "Helm, lay in a standard patrol route, full impulse power," said Utena. "Course laid in, Captain," replied Koth. Utena considered her next move for a moment, then smiled and delivered Koth of the Vengeance's signature command: >Action!< Koth of the HoSghaj grinned broadly and replied, >Acting!< The good ship Powerful winged away from B5 and commenced its patrol. Corwin Ravenhair wasn't having nearly as much fun. He was almost finished with the repairs to his father's ship, and all the stuff that an assistant could be of any real use for was done. That part, he had enjoyed; it had been hard work, but somehow even hard work didn't seem like it when Utena was around. She hadn't been exaggerating - she -was- a fast learner, and by this point Corwin suspected she was better with a plasma cutter than -he- was. She could calibrate shield-generator nodes with the best of them, too. Now, though, all that was left were the fiddly, irritating, mostly electronic jobs - connecting the calibrated nodes into the overall generator network, calibrating the new communications array, running loopback tests. Boring stuff. He sat back in the pilot's seat and sighed. "Sounds like somebody's got something on his mind," said a voice behind him. He turned to see his mother entering the cockpit. She was dressed for work, in a gray coverall similar to his own, but cleaner, since she hadn't been working on the ship all week. "Hi, Mom," he said, and went back to working on the comm tests. "That's it? 'Hi, Mom'? And in such a disconsolate tone, too." She slid into the copilot's seat and scruffled his hair. "C'mon, it can't be -that- bad. From the outside it looks like you're almost done. Is there that much calibration left to do?" "Not really," Corwin replied. "I was... just thinking about something else." "Aaah," said Skuld, her eyes twinkling. "Before he left with the Enterprise, Nall told me about what he said. He's really very sorry for teasing you that way. He didn't understand until he saw your face how seriously you're taking it." "Yeah," said Corwin. He poked at a couple of controls. "Can we not talk about this, please?" "No, Corwin, I think it's important that we -do- talk about it. It's an important thing in your life. I think we should discuss it, at least a little." "There's nothing to discuss," Corwin replied, manually tracking the dish through its full range of motion. "She's engaged." "Oh? To whom?" "Somebody back where she comes from," said Corwin. "I'm surprised Aunt Bell didn't tell you - I'm pretty sure she knows." "She told me Utena was trying to figure out a way back home to keep a promise to a friend," said Skuld. "I had no idea it was that sort of promise. Do you... do you think it'd be betraying a trust to tell me more about it?" Corwin put down the diagnostic pad, looked across the cockpit for a few moments, and said, "You're my mother. I can trust you with anything I know." And he told her everything he'd learned the previous Saturday, after he and Utena had left the Spring Formal, before he'd taken her to the Moon. When he finished, he added as a rather bleak postscript, "So, you see, there's not much to talk about," and then went back to work. Skuld sat and thought about it for a moment, then reached across the cockpit, took the pad out of his hands, and put it down on the instrument panel before taking his hands in hers. "It sounds to me as if you might be oversimplifying the situation a bit," she said. Corwin gave her a look. "It doesn't get much simpler than it -is-," he replied. "Doesn't it? Your father's married, you know, but not to me." "That was different." "Was it so? The Ragnarok brought us together. What did they call the one who brought Utena and her fiancee together? The End of the World? I don't have to tell you how that translates." "Don't be silly, Mom. That's not a metaphor. It's just a stupid title." "Titles in magic are rarely stupid," Skuld replied, "though they sometimes appear that way. Listen, I'm not saying it'll be an easy thing, or a quick thing, or even that it's definitely possible. I'm not your Aunt Urd, who can recognize these things at a glance. All I'm telling you is that I've seen the way she looks at you, and I don't think you should write yourself off just yet. She has unfinished business to attend to, and she may not understand -herself- that more than she foresees is possible, but it is, and she's smart enough, perceptive enough, and -centered- enough to realize it one day." Skuld smiled and patted Corwin's cheek. "You're growing up so fast, son, but you're still so very young. You have time. If you do love her, then don't give up. Don't push - that'll only drive her away - but -never give up-. Hold onto that love, keep it safe. Stand by her. Help her finish what's been left undone, if you can, and when it's all said and done, who -knows- what might happen? Do you know how long I loved your father before I had a chance to do anything about it, how many times I gave up hope only to discover that hope still remained?" "I should," Corwin replied wanly. "You've only told me about a million times." Skuld gave him a good-natured swat. "Don't take that tone with your mother, young man," she said with mock severity. Then her expression softened, and she took his hands again and asked, "Did any of that get through?" "I think so," said Corwin. He smiled, less wanly, and said, "She's asked me to help her get her master's certificate this summer." "Are you going to?" asked Skuld. "Of course," he replied, unhesitating. Skuld smiled, her eyes gleaming, and she pulled him into an embrace. "My little knight," she said, running her hand through his thick black hair. "Brave and true... " "-Mom-... " said Corwin. "Shh," Skuld replied. "You're growing up so fast," she repeated. "It won't be long before you slip away from me forever. You're already so independent... " "You raised me that way," Corwin said in mild protest. "I know," said Skuld, her voice hoarse. "And it makes me so proud to see you standing tall and making your own choices... but sometimes I wish I could have that little boy who was, forever." She backed off, sniffling, and wiped at her eyes. "Pretty stupid, huh?" she said, smiling through her tears. "She Who Builds Tomorrow, wishing she could hang onto yesterday... " Corwin smiled and drew her back in. "I'll always be your son, Mom," he said. They held that tableau for a few minutes; then Skuld sat back again, wiped at her eyes one more time, and said, "I almost forgot - poor girl, I've left her waiting all this time... I came to tell you that a friend of yours from school is here with your homework for the week. Your teachers excused your absence because of the circumstances, but because it's so close to the end of the year, you have to do the work. She's up in the Observation Lounge. You go ahead and get at your homework. I'll finish this up. We won't tell your father," she added with a mischievous grin. "Somebody brought it by hand? Couldn't they have just transmitted it?" "They could," said Skuld with a smile, "but your classmate is a stickler for form." That, and the female pronoun, told Corwin who it was before he'd even started to splash water on his face, wash his hands, and leave the docking bay. He reached the Observation Lounge and had his suspicions confirmed. "Hey, Fuu," he said as he entered. Fuu Hououji turned and smiled at him. "Mr. Corwin," she said. For the first half of the 2404-2405 school year, the lab team he belonged to in Mr. Sulak's eighth-grade Physical Sciences class had been Corwin, Nall and Buttercup - the young god, the talking cat, and the Utonium sister most commonly believed to be the most dangerous of the three. Bets had been placed as to how long it would take the three of them to destroy Mr. Sulak's lab, but they had proven to be a surprisingly effective team. Their experiments didn't explode, and sometimes they even worked correctly; with the mind-bogglingly complex experiments Mr. Sulak classified as "simple", this was about par for the course. A student from Division 7A had been promoted to the advanced science course following Christmas break. In order to even out the number of hands with actual -thumbs- present in the Corwin-Nall- Buttercup team, Mr. Sulak had assigned Fuu Hououji to their table. Before that point, Corwin hadn't known Fuu well enough to remember her full name. She was a year younger than he was, a year behind him in school, and at New Year's he only knew her to say "hey" to in the hall. But then, he knew most everybody at Crescent Heights Middle School to say "hey" to in the hall. He knew of her, though - everyone in the school had heard of her. She was widely reputed to be the smartest student in the Heights, and it was no hollow rumor. Her intellect had impressed Mr. Sulak enough that the Vulcan had permitted her, an underclasswoman, to join his advanced sciences class, which most EIGHTH-graders didn't make the cut for. She'd pretty well proven that to Corwin's satisfaction. Table Three's success rate had increased dramatically since she'd joined their team. Sometimes she had insights that startled Corwin, and that, given his family, wasn't exactly easy. He liked her quite a bit - not in -that- way, but as an intellectual partner and a good person to hang around with. She reminded him a bit of Kala, which was sometimes painful, but also good. And here she was in her blue and white school uniform, presenting him with a daunting amount of homework, then blunting the blow by helping him to complete it. They monopolized the corner table in the B5 Obs Lounge for most of the afternoon. "I saw the film of your rescue flight on the news," said Fuu as Corwin plowed through another chapter in his history text. "It looked quite exciting. I'm glad no one was injured." "Mm," said Corwin. Fuu didn't take offense that he was distracted; he was supposed to be distracted, he was doing homework. Anyway, she knew his working patterns well enough by now to know that he was still listening. "Where's Mr. Nall?" she wondered. That was another thing about Fuu that was kind of odd, but endearing at the same time: she was always very formal and respectful, even when, as with Nall, the situation didn't really call for it. Nall had once joked that if he had been one of the dragons of myth, the maiden-devouring kind, Fuu would have very politely objected, "Please don't devour me, Mr. Dragon." Fuu had replied primly that courtesy was perhaps of greatest importance in just such a situation. "He sort of adopted one of Captain Picard's officers," said Corwin. "They went off to chart the Denorios Belt. Should be back tomorrow." "What a pity," said Fuu. "I must return to New Avalon tonight. I would like to meet Captain Picard - I've heard a great deal about him - and hear about their survey. The Denorios Belt is a subject of particular interest to me." Every subject seemed to be a subject of particular interest to Fuu; Corwin let that pass with a smile. Instead he asked, "How'd you get here so fast? Dad let you use the stargate?" "I don't think you're supposed to discuss that in public, Mr. Corwin," Fuu cautioned him. Corwin looked around. "We're the only ones here. Anyway, the B5 staff know about it - it IS installed on their station, after all." "Still," said Fuu; then she relented. "Yes, he did. It was quite a remarkable experience. I'd very much like to talk to Dr. Petrarca about his research into it at some point. I find alien artifacts, particularly those which are relics of lost civilizations, very fascinating." "Mm," said Corwin. "Too bad you have to go back. Kate's trial for master is tomorrow. You could help out." "I don't think my skills would be of much use in such a trial," Fuu replied with a smile. "Katsujinkenryuu has archery counters," said Corwin; then he shrugged. "But you're probably right. There's going to be a lot of people watching. Dad probably wouldn't want arrows flying around the dojo. Might hit somebody whose injury would be hard to explain, like Captain Picard." "Perish the thought," said Fuu. Corwin finished his work at 6; they had dinner with Kate, Juri, and the several other Duelists who could be found, and then Fuu said her (very polite) goodbyes and returned to New Avalon. Challenger returned that evening, whereupon Gryphon convened them all in one of B5's big conference rooms to tell them that he would have news to announce the following day, after Kate's trial. That was all he would say, which left several of them rather exasperated, but not too seriously. His glee at whatever it was he had to tell them was infectious, even if they didn't know what the hell it -was-. Kaitlyn was reflecting on exactly that as she sat in the living room of the Green Sector suite she called home for the moment, polishing her zatoichi. She should have been preparing herself, mentally and spiritually, for the trial she faced the next day, and indeed she was, for the most part; but some portion of her mind insisted on wandering off and pondering her father's plans, futile though the endeavor was. She glanced down at her Institute Duelist's ring, and wondered if it meant anything any more. She hoped it did, or at least that it would again soon, but given the state the place had been in when she'd last seen it, the odds didn't seem very good. The door chime sang its little song. Kate looked up from her work, puzzled, then glanced across the room at Juri, who shrugged faintly. Kate put her blade and maintenance gear aside, got up, padded to the door in pajamas, robe and slippers, and keyed it open. There, much to Kate's surprise, stood Liza Broadbank. After her encounter with Saionji aboard the core shuttle, Liza had gone back to her rooms on Red 12, showered, and gone to sleep. When she woke, it was evening, and she'd taken a long, hot bath while considering her next move. In retrospect, it was the obvious one. She'd combed her hair, put on the fluffy robe that came with the room, and here she was. Kaitlyn visibly mastered her surprise, then kept her face and voice neutral as she said, "L-Liza." "Kaitlyn," said Liza, her own voice and manner subdued. "May I... come in for a moment?" Kate gave her a curious, appraising look, then stepped back. "Suit yours-s-self," she said, gesturing to the room. Liza entered, and as the bulkhead closed behind her, she absorbed another look of calm appraisal from Juri Arisugawa, who then closed the book she'd been reading, got up, and excused herself. "You don't have to go on my account," said Liza. "This will only take a few minutes." Juri looked uncertain. Kate gave her a small nod, and she resumed her seat. She didn't go back to reading, though. Instead, the redhead sat, legs crossed at the knee, and regarded Liza with cool wariness. Kate stood where she was, with a "Well?" sort of expression. "I was raised," said Liza slowly, "to hate you, Kaitlyn. From the earliest time I can remember, my parents taught me that you and your family were the enemy. All I ever wanted was to make my father happy, and if I could do that by making your life hell, then that was what I was going to do, and I was never going to look back." Kate nodded, her face still neutral. "So here I am," said Liza. "Sixteen years on, having pursued that end with all my might, used all the guile and cunning that growing up Broadbank could give me, and where do we stand? You, the wrong one, the shy one, my nemesis, have friends who risk their lives for you. And me? I don't even have my family. Because my stupid, vengeful act caused such tension between Zeta Cygni and Earth, my father has disowned me. Cut off my allowance, deactivated my credit line, revoked my security access to the house and the apartment downtown, everything. I'm cast out." Juri said nothing, did nothing, but her eyes made it plain that she thought that was just too awful for words. Really. Kate, on the other hand, shifted away from her look of neutrality toward something different. At one time, Liza would have seen it as pity and flown into a rage, but after the experiences of the last few days, she realized that there was a difference between pity and compassion. Kaitlyn was moved, sincerely moved, by the plight of her oldest enemy. It was enough to make Liza want to cut her own throat. (Say, some part of her thought wryly, why didn't I think of that yesterday?) "That's not what I came here to tell you," the blonde said, shaking her head, irritated with herself for digressing. "I didn't come to fish for sympathy. I came to say... " Liza paused, looked down at the carpet, took a couple of steadying breaths; then she raised her eyes to Kate's again and said, "I'm sorry, Kaitlyn. I was wrong. I've always -been- wrong. The problem was never you." She chuckled bitterly. "Mary, my youngest sister - she's understood that from the start. I could never figure out how she could be so stupid as to befriend your little sister and her twin, but... now I realize that I'm the stupid one." Kate looked at her in silence for a moment; then she smiled, ever so faintly, and asked, "W-what does that m-m-make C-Clarissa?" (For it was well known that Clarissa Broadbank, the middle sister, was, if anything, more ruthless, more cruel, and more all-around vicious than Liza had ever been.) Liza let out a short, low-mirth laugh. "That makes her Daddy's new favorite," she said. "M-maybe that's f-for the b-best," said Kate. "Maybe. Anyway, that's all. I don't expect you to accept my apology - I've done things I know I would never forgive - but it was important to me to offer it. Good night." Liza went to the bulkhead door, keyed it open, and was about to step outside when she noticed that Kate was at her elbow. "What?" she asked - not haughtily, for perhaps the first time in Kate's experience, but with genuine puzzlement. "L-let me g-get you some t-t-tea," said Kate. "I th-think we h-have m-more to t-talk about." Liza stood gazing thoughtfully at her old nemesis for a few moments, then nodded. "All right." The airspace around Babylon 5 became pretty crowded, considering the place wasn't even open for business yet, on Saturday morning. First the HoSghaj returned from patrol and disembarked its special guest with an invitation from Captain Krontep for everybody - Duelists, station command staff, Challenger and Enterprise officers - to dine aboard that evening following Kate's trial. Then the Enterprise arrived, fresh from remapping the Denorios Belt. At noontime, the Vengeance emerged from the metagate, the scorches on her armor and blackened deposits around her weapons ports silent testament to her activities since departing. Amanda, Devlin and Rina beamed back to the station and joined the others for lunch. They didn't talk about where they'd been or what they'd done - only informed their friends that they had been successful and left it at that. The others didn't pry. Before they knew it, it was time for Kaitlyn's trial. Challenger's dojo was on H Deck, and was spacious and nicely appointed, with a real wood floor and paper panels concealing the metal bulkheads. The collected invitees - the Duelists, the Challenger command staff, Krontep and Finney, and a couple of people from Enterprise - were ranked along one of the long walls, some almost quivering with excitement. At precisely 1500 hours, the doors at both ends of the room opened, and a person strode through each one. From one end came Gryphon, his IPO uniform traded for a gi and hakama of white and deep blue, respectively. He had a daisho thrust through his obi, matched blades with wrappings of black cord over scarlet rayskin, and there was something in his bearing that many of those in the room had never seen before. He was moving with a purpose, a deadly seriousness at odds with his usual, somewhat leisurely bearing. Utena, in line with the rest, recognized it instantly. It was what she liked to call his 'sensei mode'. From the opposite door, Kaitlyn emerged. She wore black hakama and a block monsuke quilted with orange thread, and had her slightly-curly brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail with an orange ribbon. Tucked into the breast pocket of her monsuke was an orange rose. The Duelist leader held her zatoichi in her left hand, and she was moving with that same purposeful grace, her brown eyes wearing the same intent expression behind her big round glasses. "Kaitlyn Yuriko Hutchins," said Gryphon, his voice as forceful as his aspect. "Journeywoman of the Asagiri Katsujinkenryuu. You stand before your master and your peers today, having performed the Final Defensive Technique - the Blade of the Inviolate Soul - in battle. Do you intend to claim the rank which is yours by right of that technique?" Kaitlyn elevated her chin a bit, locked eyes with her father across the room, and said clearly, "Sensei, I do." "Such a thing is not won easily," Gryphon informed her. "You will face many challengers, challengers who will not be impressed by a sharp blade or a master's rank. You must demonstrate your willingness to face them, your determination to oppose them, and your power to survive them. Are you ready to meet those challengers?" "Sensei, I am," Kaitlyn replied, firmly, unhesitatingly. Gryphon nodded. "So be it," he said. In one smooth stride, he glided without looking back to the wall, then sank into seiza and rapped out a single word like the report of a gun: "BEGIN!" /* Propellerheads "Bang On!" _Decksandrumsandrockandroll_ */ As if activated by the sound, Utena Tenjou launched herself out of the line, her Duelist's embellishments sizzling into being upon her Ohtori Academy uniform, the Thorn of the Rose flickering from its scabbard. Without showing the slightest surprise, Kaitlyn pivoted, took a half-step back, shucked her blade from its wooden scabbard, and met her roommate's charge. They clashed, clashed again, backed, ducked, ranged around the room in a breathtaking display of skill, drive and athleticism. Utena knew her best friend would never forgive her if she gave this fight anything less than everything she had, and so she did, throwing herself into the battle as though the Rose Bride herself were at stake. Well... maybe not quite -that- hard. This was the second time they had met in open battle, dueling rather than sparring; and just like last time, Kaitlyn edged her roommate narrowly, scattering her white rose upon the floor of the arena. "Next!" Kaitlyn barked as Utena, flushed and slightly winded, retired. Her own involvement in the trial over, Utena sat down in her place against the wall and watched with fascination as Miki Kaoru took his turn. One by one the Duelists faced the president of their Society. One by one they tested her. One by one they fell, until the floor of the dojo was littered with rose petals of a dozen colors. Miki, Wakaba, Saionji, T'skaia, Amanda, with their blades and styles of all different types, all clashed with Kaitlyn and came away the loser, and through it all, Kate spoke only that single word, once, after each victory. Even Utena, who had seen Kaitlyn intent, was amazed at the brown-haired Duelist's focus. It was as bright as a laser, as inevitable as a glacier. Mia Ausa and her Anla'shok battle staff provided the greatest contrast in weapon and style, and seemed to give Kate the most trouble of any of the Duelists she'd faced to that time; several times Mia tripped her up, sending her sprawling, but she always rolled to her feet, managing just barely to avoid the follow-up strike and launch a counterattack that sent the half-Minbari girl scrambling to consolidate her position. Eventually, it was one of these explosive counterstrikes that relieved Mia of her rose, and brought into the game the last of the Institute Duelists. Juri's turn, as Utena knew it had to be, was spectacular. The redheaded fencer was the best of the Ohtori Academy transplants in technical ability, and today, she fought with something that was normally missing from her approach to combat in Utena's experience - inspiration. Remembering the difficulties of facing an -uninspired- Juri, Utena didn't envy her roommate this clash with a Juri who had a fire burning inside her. If Juri was inspired, though, Kaitlyn was touched by something divine. Her color rising, her eyes flashing, she met everything the redhead threw at her and gave it back in turn. They fought from one end of the room to the other, once scattering the onlookers, once nearly treading on Gryphon-sensei where he sat silent and immobile, watching everything, perhaps seeing more than was plainly visible. Slowly, as this epic struggle raged around him, slowly, Utena saw a smile forming on the man's lips. Kaitlyn and Juri clashed, locked their blades, circled each other, then flung themselves apart, regrouped, and hurled themselves past each other. Kaitlyn's rose scattered. There was an audible sound of alarm and disappointment from the assembled. Even Juri looked crestfallen that she had won. She turned, her blade drooping, and said in a disconsolate tone, "Kate, I... " Kaitlyn turned, bowed to her, then reached out, took Juri's rose, and placed it in her own breast pocket. Juri blinked in surprise. The faintest smile cracked the serious mask of Kate's face for just an instant, and she flickered one eyelid in a very quick wink; then she hardened once more, raised her sword, and barked, "AGAIN!" Utena was momentarily confused. Did that mean they were going to start over? Should she go back out? Nobody had told her about this part. She was just about to get up again when she noticed someone else rising instead, and her eyebrows went up. She had assumed that Corwin, in the black and silver of the Valkyrie dress uniform he'd worn to the Spring Formal, was just there as a spectator, but no - he was taking the floor. Unarmed? The black-haired young man squared himself opposite his sister and flung his silver-edged black cloak back over his shoulders. Then he held his hands up, spread apart, palms forward, and bellowed, "COME TO MY HAND: STICK!" With a searing noise, a six-foot splinter of light appeared in the air in front of him, within the span of his hands. As he closed his hands around that light, it seemed to crystallize, then shatter outward into a million tiny rays that scattered and were gone. Where it had been, he held a hexagonal staff of blond wood about the thickness of a flashlight, shod at each end with a gleaming cap of silvery metal. Black runes marched down the middle of the staff's outward face. Utena knew them; the same runes, in red, gleamed on the blade of the Thorn of the Rose. A traditional slogan for a Valkyrie's weapon, Corwin had said. What ensued was, for Utena, almost as eye-opening as Kate's clash with Juri. She had never seen Corwin fight before, hadn't really given much thought to the idea that he -could-. Oh, she knew he was a Valkyrie, the first male one in history, thanks to the fact that his mother was the goddess of the future and the Valkyrior's leader, Skuld Ravenhair. She knew he'd been trained in the arts of war by his mother's troops; he'd told her. But somehow, it had never really sunk in what that had to -mean- until this moment. He handled that length of wood - "Stick", apparently - like an artist, whipping it around his body and bringing it into and out of play with little flourishes that spoke of a trained, talented and motivated combatant. Like all the others, he knew that holding back wouldn't be any favor to Kate, would in fact offend his sister, and so the Cavalier of Two Worlds gave it everything he had. On this day, everything he had wasn't enough to overcome his sister. Stripped first of his weapon and then of his rose, he retired with a smile. In the center of the room, surrounded by wrecked roses, Kaitlyn was breathing hard, her face flushed and bathed in sweat, her hair escaping from the ponytail she'd put it in to stick to her cheeks and fall down her sweat-darkened back. Is that it? Utena wondered. We're all out of Duelists, and - "NEXT!" Kaitlyn barked. The next combatant was humanoid and female, but aside from that, it was hard to tell anything much about her; she was wearing regulation fencing garb, including the mask, and wielded a competition saber. Utena found this very puzzling - who could she be? Someone from New Avalon she hadn't met? Kate's mother, maybe? She couldn't remember having heard that Kei Morgan was a fencer... no, there was Kei, in the other line, next to Captain Picard. Who the - As Kate and her new opponent clashed, a suspicion started forming in Utena's mind. She knew she'd seen that body line, that particular fencer's style, before. She might not have the memory for form and nuance that, say, Juri had, but she knew when she was looking at someone she herself had dueled. But... that was ridiculous. What would -she- be doing -here-? Unless something had -really- changed over the last five days, it seemed tremendously unlikely... The fencer lost her rose. There was a pause, as Kaitlyn dropped back to her customary ready stance and her beaten opponent straightened; then the fencer raised her saber in acknowledgement, backed up, and removed her mask. Well, by God, it -was- Liza Broadbank. Utena blinked in flat-out astonishment at the sight of the curly blonde hair tumbling free from the mask, the flush in the fencer's cheeks, and the smile - not much of one, but there was one, nonetheless - on her face. Oh, she'd seen Liza smile before, but never genuinely. Beside Utena, Azalynn shifted restively, leaning over to mutter, "(Look at that. The -nerve-.)" "(I'm sure she wouldn't be here if Kate didn't want her,)" Utena replied, "(but I'm just as mystified - )" "(I'm not mystified,)" Azalynn replied. "(I'm just disgusted.)" Utena blinked - such bitterness was exceedingly rare from Azalynn, who was normally the most equable of creatures - and said nothing as Kate called for her next challenger. Next came Captain Krontep, who disadvantaged himself as to reach by choosing to fight armed only with a d'k tagh, the short Klingon ceremonial dueling knife. He was very fast, using his light-for-a-Klingon build to good effect, and he moved with no fear of Kate's blade in him. He was the first combatant to suffer an actual injury, a cut to his cheek as he flashed inside Kate's arc to snag her rose with one of his d'k tagh's two outswept wing blades. Kate bowed to him, took his rose to replace her own, barked "AGAIN!" once more, and squared herself for her next opponent. As he stepped forward, Utena resolved not to bother being surprised at anything further which might happen today, because at the rate she was going, she was liable to wind up with her eyebrows cranked all the way to the top of her skull by the time this was over. One of the men in a Starfleet uniform, whom Utena had thought surely must be here simply to observe, had just stepped out on the floor: Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Picard was a fairly small man, not impressively tall and rather wiry of build, and he was in apparent age the oldest man in the room, probably somewhere around fifty. He had a lean, patrician face and was almost completely bald, with just a short-cropped fringe of silver hair around the back of his head. In his right hand he carried a dueling saber, and as he faced off against Kaitlyn, he struck a fencer's pose, like Juri or Miki would use. "(Wow,)" whispered Azalynn, who had apparently recovered from her snit. "(Look at -him-. Isn't he just to -die- for?)" Utena gave the Dantrovian a peculiar look and did not reply. Azalynn shrugged as if to say, "Your loss, friend," and went back to her previous pose of rapt attention. Picard -was- good, though. He wasn't as fast as Miki or quite as razor-precise as Juri, but he had experience and cunning, and he knew how to use them. Twice he penetrated Kaitlyn's guard, only to fall short of her rose because of a desperate twist of her body or an almost impossible freehand counter. More often than not, he held the positional advantage. In a fencing match, he would almost certainly have won; but, as Liza Broadbank had learned not once but twice to her chagrin, a Rose Duel is not a fencing match. Eventually the captain slipped up, lost his bloom, and, grinning broadly, saluted his opponent before retiring. The next challenger was the Enterprise's Klingon security officer, Lieutenant Worf. Like Professor Kraalgh, the Institute Duelists' Society's erstwhile faculty advisor, he fought with a bat'leth, that most revered and traditional of Klingon weapons; and like Kraalgh, he was very good with it - but on this day, not quite good enough. In defeat he was gracious; he drew himself up, saluted her with his bat'leth and boomed in an almost tectonic voice, "Kai kassai, SuvwI'!" Next was the ponytailed Vulcan woman from the Challenger's staff, T'Vek. Gryphon had introduced her to Utena, some days previously, as his chief of security and a novice student of Katsujinkenryuu, and indeed, she faced Kaitlyn armed not with a live blade but with a bokken. Though clearly a beginner in terms of technique, the Vulcan had an excellent kinesthetic sense and remarkable command of her body; Kaitlyn defeated her without much difficulty, but it wasn't a walkover either. By now, Kate was a shambles - her hair in total disarray, her bangs plastered to her forehead by sweat, her monsuke soaked. She was starting to slow down, to make small but telling mistakes. That fire was still in her eyes, though, her spirit undimmed by the growing fatigue of her body, and it carried her through the next challenge, which was from another Klingon - Sub-Commander Klaang, a cousin of Professor Kraalgh's and the Challenger's science officer. The Warrior of Science fought not with a bat'leth but with a more normal-looking sword whose Klingon name Utena didn't know. Though he was not as skilled as the Enterprise officer, he was big even for a Klingon, and he had a lot of tenacity. Kate barely scraped past him, and as he saluted her and retired, it looked as if the Duelist leader had just about had it. Her monsuke was coming undone, revealing the perspiration-soaked black t-shirt underneath. Her glasses looked like they were fogging up. Several times during the fight with Klaang she'd had to adjust her grip on her zatoichi as her sweat-slick hands slipped on the smooth wood. Now she stood in the center of the room, wobbling slightly in her stance. Suddenly, with quick, almost violent movements, Kate took the rose from her monsuke pocket, removed her glasses, stuck them in the pocket instead, stripped the garment off, tossed it to Utena, and then put the rose in her t-shirt pocket instead. Then she raked her free hand through her bangs, shoving her wet hair back away from her face, shook her head, and said in that same percussive tone, "NEXT!" Utena wondered how long this was supposed to go on. Until Kate passed out? At the level of fatigue she was pushing herself to, she might make a mistake that got somebody hurt - herself or her opponent. These were still live-weapon duels. What Kate was going through here... Utena imagined it was like if she had fought her entire Rose Tournament in a single session instead of spread out over the course of a school year. As the next challenger took his place, Utena realized with a shock, however firmly she'd promised herself that she wouldn't be shocked by anything else that happened today, that it was Kate's younger brother Leonard. What was -he- doing here? Dumb question, someone must have brought him for this, but still... Like T'Vek, Len was a less experienced student, though he was several years ahead of the Vulcan. Still, in her present condition, Kate was almost no match for him. They ended up in a draw, and again the room seemed to sag. After all that, it did seem kind of an anticlimax as Kate turned to her father, the question plain on her face. Then, to the room's surprise (but, resolutely, not Utena's), he took another rose from inside his gi and threw it to her. She caught it, and without complaint or demur, placed it in her pocket and called for her next challenger. Utena was starting to feel a little bit of outrage toward Kate's father. She knew he was sensei and all, but wasn't this getting just a little excessive? Kate was exhausted, almost passing out on her feet, and what was more, she looked like she'd hurt herself in her clash with Leonard. As she moved now, she favored her right leg slightly, as if she'd strained her hamstring, perhaps, or maybe wrenched her knee. And still the man expected her to fight on? What was the point? Surely she'd demonstrated her skill and her courage by -now-. This was starting to approach the point where it resembled bloodsport, and Utena felt herself getting angry. What she saw next didn't make her feel any better. From the end of the Duelists' line, the bulky figure of Professor Kraalgh rose from his meditation posture and took the floor, unslinging his own bat'leth from his back. Kraalgh vestai-Kalaan was a master with many Klingon weapons, but none so much as the bat'leth. Part of the reason he was the black sheep of the house of Kalaan (despite being, at the same time, an honored senior member) was the fact that, though such a capable and famed warrior, he chose to spend his days not in glorious battle against the enemies of the Empire, but rather by teaching the Klingon language to human children. Some of his fellow Klingons believed that his educator's life on Earth (a soft, decadent planet) had cost him his edge. Having fought a Rose Duel with him herself, Utena Tenjou didn't believe that for an instant. The professor, clad in the full battle armor he had almost never worn on campus, was not quite as large as his cousin Klaang, but he was faster for it. Utena winced as he pummelled Kate mercilessly, driving her around the room with almost contemptuous ease. She couldn't match him for strength, speed or ferocity, not in the condition she was in now, anyway. All she could do was defend and retreat, defend and retreat. The end of this was inevitable, and Utena felt her heart sink. This trial, which had started out so exhilarating, was starting to resemble one of those horrid, hopeless ancient video games that had no victory condition - just an ever-escalating level of difficulty until the player's inevitable eradication. And then... Kraalgh, roaring his best challenge, lunged forward, his blade hissing through the air. For one horrifying moment it looked to Utena as if he'd reached too far, as if Kaitlyn wouldn't be able to get out of the way, as if the prong of his bat'leth would surely strike more than the flower, spearing through Kate's thin shirt and her fragile skin to her heart. Kate, weak with exhaustion, flowed away from the blow like water. For an instant, the fire crackled through the fatigue dulling her eyes, and the tip of her own blade whispered. Professor Kraalgh was defeated, and as he bellowed his approval and retired, Kaitlyn could barely stand. She stood, her knees sagging, arms limp, chest heaving, sweat dripping audibly from her chin to the floor, and regarded her father with blurred eyes. Gryphon rose smoothly to his feet and bowed to her, and for an instant, Utena felt relief. It was finally over? Had Kate at last done enough? Then Gryphon stepped aside, the door behind him opened, and the room gave an almost silent gasp of shock. He was tall, impossibly tall, and imposing - dressed head to toe in purple, cloaked, the lower half of his face obscured by a scarf, the upper by the shadow from a broad-brimmed slouch hat. He entered the room with a smooth, precise tread that somehow combined the terrifying implacability of a machine with the leisurely calm of an unconcerned man. The left side of his cloak was flung back over his shoulder, revealing a violet rose almost blending into the rest of his costume where it rode in the pocket of his double-breasted jacket. Without a word, Hammer straightened his right arm out from his side, flicking back that side of his cloak as well, and a gleaming triangular sword sang out of the sleeve of his coat. Utena came halfway to her feet, mouth opening to protest - no, dammit, this was just too much, LOOK at her! - when she saw something that froze her in place. One of Hammer's eyes, faintly glowing slashes of white in the shadow of his hat, flickered at her. He'd -winked-. Her protest dying in her throat, still almost sick with worry, Utena turned to look at Kaitlyn, and abandoned her resolution about surprise yet again. Slowly, as she gazed across at the awesome apparition that was her childhood hero, Kaitlyn rose from her exhausted slump. Her knees unbent. Her back straightened. Her shoulders came up and back. Her chin rose defiantly. The fire behind her eyes burned away the fog of fatigue and glittered more brightly than ever. She raised her blade and snapped in a voice like an electric arc, "NEXT!" /* Rob Zombie "Dragula" _Hellbilly Deluxe_ */ In her days as a Duelist, Utena Tenjou had seen a woman kiss the tip of a blade and make it burn with a fire that could slice through steel. She'd seen and performed almost impossible feats of athleticism and courage. She'd witnessed a million flying swords cutting a stone tower to ribbons, cut a -speeding automobile- in -half-, been -transfixed through the heart- and yet somehow kept living, kept fighting. She had never seen -anything- like what happened next. Though, truth be told, she didn't really see about half of it. A quarter of the time, Martin Rose was moving too fast to be seen. Another quarter, Kaitlyn was simply invisible. At one time, Utena had seen Rose jump almost a hundred feet straight into the air and not come down. The size of the room constrained him slightly, but he was still like a purple tornado as he swept through the room, silent and intent. He used only the one blade, and who knows what portion of his strength he held back, but it was a true duel for all that. Kate hadn't used the mysterious power of invisibility she seemed to have against any of her other opponents, but against Hammer she employed it judiciously, vanishing for seconds at a time here and there, which almost gave her the appearance of being able to teleport for short distances. He was her greatest challenge, and, pushed -beyond- exhaustion, she rose to meet him. Now, suddenly, with the clarity of a sunrise, Utena understood - understood the purpose of the entire trial, understood Gryphon's apparent cruelty, understood the inevitability of the ending. From opposite sides of the room, Hammer and Kaitlyn sprang at each other, Hammer silent, Kaitlyn letting out a warrior's roar that would have done Kraalgh proud. They met in the center of the room with a blinding flash of light from the meeting point of their blades, passed by each other, and stopped almost all the way to the opposite walls. For an instant, there was utter and complete silence, and then the very, very softest of sounds. Hammer's violet rose dropped to the floor. Kaitlyn wavered for a moment in her follow-through stance, looking as if she would surely drop her sword and fall at least to her knees, if not prone. Then she gathered herself, straightened, squared herself, and bowed to her father, whom she had ended up standing perhaps five feet away from. Gryphon rose from the seiza he'd resumed after admitting Hammer, bowed solemnly in return, and spoke a single, soft word that resounded to the corners of the dojo despite its softness: "Enough." Then he took a pace forward and enfolded his daughter in his arms. The dojo erupted in cheers and applause. Hammer retracted his sword, took off his hat, pulled down his scarf, and winked at Utena again as both of them went to join the mob hug. Juri Arisugawa finished showering, stepped out of the cubicle, dried herself, put on her dressing down, and then left the shower cube's little enclosure at the end of the ambassadorial suite's palatial bathroom to find Kaitlyn exactly where she'd been when Juri went -into- the shower: soaking in the thermotub, immersed but for her head from the nose up. "You'd best get ready," said Juri in a tone of faint amusement. "We don't want to be late for Captain Krontep's dinner." Kate raised herself slowly another inch or two, so she could speak, and said, "I c-c-can't m-move." "Mm, after the show you put on this afternoon, I don't doubt it," said Juri. "Would you like me to convey your apologies to the captain?" Kate looked seriously tempted, then sighed. "N-no," she said resignedly. "I w-want to g-g-go. I d-don't get to s-see K-Krontep very often." She raised a hand out of the water, winced, and lowered it again. "I m-might not be able to g-g-get out of the t-tub, though," she observed ruefully. Juri smiled again. "Well, I'm not coming in after you," she said. "I'd get all wet." "W-what a sh-shame," said Kate, downcast. "It is," Juri agreed. "As captain of the Ohtori Academy fencing team, I had to learn a thing or two about sports medicine. I could probably help you a bit with the soreness and stiffness you must be developing by now." She sighed regretfully. "If only you weren't trapped in that tub... " Kate made an incoherent grumbling noise, gathered her will, and levered herself partway up, then raised the hand again. "You'll h-have to h-help me," she said. As Utena, who had stayed behind on Challenger to talk for a few moments with Kraalgh and Klaang, entered the suite, she heard the mighty splash from the bathroom, performed a quick bit of deductive reasoning, and decided there was -no- percentage in getting involved in -that-. Instead of checking in with her temporary suitemates, she just went to the master bedroom, grabbed her IPO Space Force dress uniform, yelled "HALF HOUR WARNING!" and then beat it for the hangar bay. She could use the shower on Daggerdisc instead. As Krontep led the Duelists through the corridors of his ship, the Klingon captain was practically rubbing his hands together with delight. "You are going to have a marvelous time," he promised them. "It just so happens that Saturday nights have become a traditional night in the Imperial Navy, a night when the crews of all ships gather together in their mess halls and enjoy a traditional food which is wildly popular throughout the Klingon Empire." Amanda, who knew a thing or two about Klingon food, felt her face falling. "Oh no," she said. "No, you can't mean - " "Exactly!" said Krontep, his eyes gleaming. He thumped the activator next to the great double doors leading to the main mess hall, and as they slid open, he whirled with a flourish and bellowed, "Ladies and gentlemen, it's TACO NIGHT!" The room was immense, full of ranked bench tables and the smell of seasoned meat. It looked like the ship's whole crew was gathered there, crowded along the benches, banging steel mugs against the tables and cheering for their honored guest. In the corner, a five-man mariachi band on a raised dais struck up a peppy Southwestern tune. The sight of five Klingons with bandoliers and sombreros over their uniforms almost shattered Amanda Dessler's mind. Utena Tenjou, on the other hand, almost laughed herself sick. One of the mariachis, the one playing the trumpet, was Helmsman Koth, whose quirky sense of humor she had gotten to know quite well during her captain-for-a-day experience. The young Klingon officer had been thrilled to learn that the ship's visitor was a "may'Duj bortaS" fan. Some poor asteroid off in the Epsilon Eridani system's Oort cloud had felt the wrath of the "Vengeance" during their patrol sweep, and had learned the folly of opposing the will of the Emperor. Strung across the wall at the back of the room were two enormous banners. One read, in Standard and Klingon pIqaD, "CONGRATULATIONS KAITLYN"; the other, slung underneath, declared in large red letters, "A WINNER IS YOU!" Martin Rose was standing on a chair to finish securing one end of that one, which should give some idea how high the mess hall's ceiling was. Amanda, the most experienced of the group with starships, estimated that it extended upward for at least two decks, possibly three. She noted the retractable walls, the grooves for which divided the long bench tables here and there, enabling the huge room to be converted into a cluster of meeting chambers. Partial command crews from all the key starships were present, as well as Commanders Johnson and Ivanova from Babylon 5. Jer was an old friend of Krontep and much of his command staff. As a lieutenant commander, he had been Derek Bacon's first officer aboard the good old Servo, the only other human aboard. He and Krontep swapped war stories, enlivening the head table with tales of the wondrous adventures of that greatest of WDF sector patrol teams, the battleship Pennsylvania (NCC-2317) and her faithful escort, the Servo. While that was going on, Martin Rose and Kaitlyn took the time they hadn't had in their earlier encounter to have a proper lost-time embrace. When he finally put her down, Rose grinned and said, "Well, well. Little Kait's a master now. What do you know about that?" Kate slumped with exaggerated (but not much) exhaustion into the bench next to Juri as Martin sat down opposite her. "I still can't believe I did all that," said Kate. "It's unreal. Eighteen opponents. FOUR KLINGONS and YOU. I never dreamed I could still be standing after something like that. Never in my life thought I could summon up that kind of endurance." Martin smiled. "I gathered that was kind of the idea," he observed. "Apparently so," said Kate. "I doubt I'd ever be able to do it again, though. And you must have been holding back quite a bit." "I'll never tell," replied Rose with a twinkling smile. At about that moment, Juri reached over and nonchalantly resumed a facet of the massage she'd given Kate earlier, the one which had enabled the newly-minted kenjutsu master to emerge from their suite in Green Sector and come to this party in the first place. Kate's eyes about half-closed, a low, contented sound coming from her throat, as the redheaded Duelist's strong fingers gently but firmly kneaded the nape of her neck. "Oh," she said, sounding a bit sleepy, "I'm sorry... you two haven't met, have you?" "No, I don't believe we have," said Martin, squashing an inappropriate internal desire to add, "Hellooooo, nurse!" "Martin Rose, this is Juri Arisugawa. J-Juri - my ch-childhood hero, M-Martin Rose." "I am the terror that flaps in the night, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance," said Martin in an overly-grave parody of his Batman voice, which didn't go at all with his relaxed civilian clothes. "Charmed," said Juri. Kate didn't volunteer an elaboration on her exact relation with Juri, and neither did Juri. That suited Martin fine; it wasn't really any of his business anyway, but if it was something like what it resembled, well, then bully for Kaitlyn. He grinned and offered Juri the nearest bowl of salsa. Aya Nakajima and her party arrived a little late and somewhat pre-lubricated, which livened things up a considerable amount. As the tacos (which were extremely good) were consumed and the band played on (now pressed into service as a karaoke backup band), a good time was had by all. Well, almost all. Zargh Thalekh sat off by himself, or at least as off-by-oneself as one can get in a communal dining room, his face set in a mask of resigned duty as he picked at his qeSadI'ya' and wished time would accelerate. Aside from him, though, only one guest was visibly failing to have a good time. Much to Miki Kaoru's shock, that one guest was Azalynn dv'Ir Natashkan, who stood in a corner of the room, her arms folded, almost rigid with disapproval at the presence of Liza Broadbank. To be sure, there were some others who wouldn't have logged Liza's presence as their first choice, but for the most part the blonde was being tolerated. Her genuine repentance had gone a long way toward softening the attitudes of the various Duelists and company toward her. Amanda had even made the gesture of issuing her an Imperial pardon for her actions, stating that the true conspirator had been dealt with and announcing a general amnesty for any surviving accomplices. With that done, and in light of Kaitlyn's having accepted her old enemy as one of her trial opponents, the others were treating her more like a recovering victim than one of the architects of their recent troubles. Corwin was over there right now having a perfectly civil conversation with her. ("'Stick'?" the blonde asked, leaning over as a Klingon steward brought more chimichangas to their end of the table. "I thought you were over that snide phase," Corwin replied with an easy grin. "Sorry," said Liza. "But still - you named your magic staff 'STICK'?" "You'll never forget the name," Corwin replied, still grinning.) And that just made Azalynn feel -sick-. Miki made his way over to her and asked, as diplomatically as he could, what was wrong. "Look at the way they're treating her," Azalynn replied. "Who? Liza?" "No, Commander Finney. Yes, Liza! Look at Devlin, for Ch'zar's sake. He's -smiling- at her. She turned him in to the Psi Corps and he's sitting there -smiling- at her!" "Devlin's had a bit to drink," said Miki. "At any rate, he can afford to be forgiving - he's safe now." Miki turned troubled eyes to Azalynn. "I've never seen you act this way before, Azalynn. It's... disturbing." Azalynn's annoyed golden eyes flicked away from Liza and met his. "Act -what- way?" she asked sharply. "Angry. Vengeful. You're the most forgiving person I know. You helped heal Saionji, who was every bit as bad to his peers in his time as Liza has been - gave him the second chance he needed to become the man he is today. What's different about Liza? Is it that you've seen her dark side first-hand, while you've only heard the stories about Saionji's?" "No, it's not that," said Azalynn, unconvincingly. "What, then?" Miki persisted. "It can't be something as basic as gender, can it? You forgive Saionji because he's a man, but - " "No," Azalynn snapped. "Look, drop it, all right? I'm not in the mood." "No," Miki replied, quietly but flatly. "I -won't- drop it. Something's -wrong-, Azalynn. This isn't -like- you." "How the hell do -you- know what's 'like' me?" she asked angrily. Miki didn't rile in response; he merely replied to the rhetorical question. "You've been showing me since the Second Day of the Summoning of the Spring Wind. Holding a grudge isn't your way. I would go so far as to guess that it's a form of hurting yourself - and snubbing someone for past mistakes is definitely an act of malice. None of that is like you, according to all that you've tried to teach me." Azalynn glared at him and opened her mouth to refute him; then she seemed to hear some inner voice, and blinked in shock and dismay. "Dvhil," she whispered, appalled. "Number TWELVE!" blared the voice of Aya Nakajima over the jury-rigged PA system, slicing through their conversation. Miki turned (along with nearly everyone else) to see the diminutive admiral point an accusing finger at Zargh Thalekh (who, to his annoyance, was suddenly transfixed by the beam of a powerful field beacon being wielded as an impromptu spotlight by Bridge Engineer Azrodel) and continue, "The KLINGON will now SING!" Zargh scowled at her and replied flatly, "Absolutely NOT." Captain Krontep leaned over and said in a very loud stage whisper, "(Zargh, the vestai-Nakajima is a vice admiral, and she is within one hundred kellicams of our engine room besides. You will do as she commands and you will like it.)" Zargh scowled more deeply, then replied stiffly, "As you command, Captain." Then he rose, blinked ill-temperedly into the light, and began an exceedingly bad rendition of "My Boyfriend's a Pilot", to Aya Nakajima's unbridled delight. (It wasn't a song he'd have chosen, but he had to work with what the band provided. At least it was short.) Miki blinked, shook his head, and tuned the Klingon out with great effort, refocusing his attention on Azalynn. The Dantrovian had missed the entire exchange, standing there staring down at the floor with horrified eyes. Miki put his hand on her shoulder and said softly, "You've been like this ever since we came here. Edgy. Angry. It's... " He shook his head. "It's very upsetting." Azalynn studied the pattern of the deckplates beneath her feet for a while, then looked back up at Miki with a troubled look and said, "You're right. I've... I've lost my balance. Fallen out of step with my own spirit. I'm holding a grudge. Dvhil nazhai, -I'm- holding a -grudge-! For all the things she's done to Katie, for what she did to -you-, for almost getting the lot of you killed... but that part wasn't her fault, she had no way of knowing they'd react that way... I... " She trailed off, losing herself in thought for a few moments. Then she smiled uncertainly, touching his arm. "Congratulations, Miki... you're a better Dantrovian than I am, right now... " He put his own hand over hers and looked at her steadily. "What can I do to help you?" he asked. "I... don't know," Azalynn replied honestly. "This has never happened to me before. I... need to go back to Dantrov, I think. Regroup. See my family. Climb the trees and sing to the stars... it's been so long since I was home... " Miki nodded. "Ask Captain Hutchins to take you home, then," he said. "I'm sure he'd be happy to; at the very least, if he can't pull his ship away from here that long, he has connections. He can get someone else to do it. For that matter, I'm sure Corwin would." She nodded. "I'll... I'll do that. I will." "Would you like me to come with you? I've been wondering what it would be like to visit Dantrov since I started studying your philosophy... " Azalynn smiled. "I'd like that. But... what about Dorothy? Do you think she would understand?" "Well... let's find out." Miki left her standing where she was, went along one of the tables, and found Dorothy deep in conversation with the Soong brothers. They were an interesting study. Physically, they were all but identical, identifiable only by their different uniforms, but their manners were completely different. Even here in this crowded, noisy, boisterous dining hall, with T'Pall (who had a surprisingly good voice) belting out "Why Do Fools Fall in Love?" in the background, Data sat upright, back straight, knees together, feet flat on the floor, and listened with a look of polite interest. Lore, on the other hand, was slouched back against the wall with his feet up on the table, hands folded across his middle. His face was sleepy-looking, and he nodded every now and again to show that he was paying attention. Miki borrowed Dorothy from the conversation for a few minutes, promising to return her, and led her back to the corner where Azalynn waited. Dorothy listened to the plan, then nodded. "I see no problem," she said. "Are you sure?" Azalynn asked. "I mean... I know that you guys are... sort of starting something," she went on, sounding most unlike herself in her discomfort. "I couldn't stand to think that I was interfering with that." Dorothy shook her head. "Not at all. I have much to do in preparation for my Turing Board evaluation." With a faint smile, she glanced at Miki and went on, "I would have had to neglect him for much of the next month anyway." Azalynn grinned. "You've been reinstated, then?" Dorothy nodded. "The Board was quite displeased to learn that my application had been fraudulently cancelled as part of a Psi Corps power play. They've issued a letter of formal censure and reconfirmed my appointment for Saturday, June fourth - four weeks from today." She cocked her head inquisitively. "Will that be enough time? I would like you both to be present." Azalynn threw her arms around the robot and hugged her tight, then stepped back with something like her old sparkle in her eyes and said, "That'll be fine, just fine. Of course we'll be there. Dorothy, thank you. I can't say how much this means." Dorothy smiled - really smiled - and replied, "Don't let him fall out of a tree and break his neck." "I won't," Azalynn promised. "You should try the fried taqitos," said Dorothy as she led the others back to the gathering. "I'm told they're quite good." A few minutes later, as the entire ship's company of the HoSghaj (even Zargh!) plus various others finished singing the theme from "Battlecruiser Vengeance", Gryphon got up and banged a serving fork against the side of his ship's-issue metal mug. This brought a semblance of quiet to the room, permitting him to speak, with only slight effort, and be heard: "Everyone, your attention please! Former WPI students, especially." That got their attention, all right; they perked up like a town full of prairie dogs reacting to a ground tremor. "I know I've kept you waiting for news, and I'm sorry, but the truth is, I only just got all the ducks in a row today, and I didn't want to get your hopes up until I was absolutely sure. I have some information about the status of your school year. "First, your aborted finals. I've been in consultation with Dean Montaigne, President Tiefeld, and most of your professors, and the consensus has been that it would be unfair, after the disruptions of the last week, to expect you to complete final examinations for Term D-05. Therefore, your grades for the term will be computed based on your cumulative performance over the course of the term and posted accordingly. If any of you wish to take the final for a given course anyway, in hopes of bettering your grades, you may do so - but from what I saw, none of you have any particular need to do that." Cheers erupted, both from the students and from the Klingons, who were in such a party mood that they were willing to celebrate -anyone's- good fortune. "Second, next year. With over half the student body departing the Solar system and not expected to return, as well as a considerable percentage of the faculty and staff, plus extensive damage to the campus and facilities, the Trustees of the Worcester Preparatory Institute have decided that the Institute will be permanently closed." That brought a disconsolate hush. They'd all known, in their hearts, that they wouldn't be able to return, but to hear that the school was closing, that it wouldn't go on without them... "Third," said Gryphon with a twinkle in his eyes, "what now. If you'll be so kind as to report to Docking Bay 11 tomorrow at noon, I have a suggestion that I think you'll all like. That's all I want to say about it right now - sorry, but you get to have a little more suspense. The good kind this time, I hope. For now, relax, enjoy your grades and have a good time!" Krontep jumped to his feet and led his crew in a Klingon song that was basically their equivalent of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow", only in the plural. In the midst of all the celebration and noise, Utena Tenjou happened to scan the length of the table, and spotted something that made her burst out laughing and clout Corwin on the shoulder to get his attention. Corwin turned from his conversation with Captain Picard, looked, and laughed as well. Midway down the head table, Kate was leaning sideways, her head on the shoulder of Juri Arisugawa, who looked not at all discommoded by this fact. The redhead was, in fact, carrying on a perfectly normal conversation with Deanna Troi, neither of them acknowledging that anything was out of the ordinary. In the noisiest room in the sector, surrounded by exuberant classmates and boisterous Klingons, Kaitlyn Hutchins had fallen asleep. The next day, the Duelists and friends (and Liza, who wasn't really their enemy anymore, but didn't fit those categories either) congregated in Bay 11, where Daggerdisc gleamed, armor, shields and comm array restored. Gryphon (who, they noticed with some interest, was accompanied by a positively gleeful-looking Major Kira Nerys) showed them smilingly aboard, called for launch clearance from Babylon 5, and guided the ship into space. It was a short hop, wherever they were headed - only about fifteen minutes until the ship's landing gear touched down with a clunk and a hiss. Gryphon and Kira came back from the cockpit, still grinning. As they filed down the ramp and stepped off onto the grass, the students noticed the gravity lightening. Moose MacEchearn, who was by long habit something of an expert on the subject of gravity transitions, guessed it to be about .8 G. Pleasantly light even for a normal human, positively buoyant for a Hoffmanite like him, but not light enough to cause normals difficulty in transitioning back to a Standard environment. (Hoffmanites, bred to adapt to a difference of more than 2 G, had no such difficulties, but normal humans suffered terribly when transitioning back and forth between environments separated by as little as half a Standard gravity.) The air was warm, pleasant and fragrant. Daggerdisc was parked atop a grassy hill overlooking what appeared to be a river, which could be seen to flow into a small lake with some mountains on the far side of it. Woods surrounded the area. Off in the distance, nestled at the mountains' base next to the lake, there appeared to be a town. Everything was flooded by Bajor-B'hava'el's very Sol-like sunlight. "Welcome to Jeraddo," said Major Kira. "This is the fifth of Bajor's moons." She pointed at a beautiful crescent planet, about a quarter full, hanging in the sky. "There's Bajor." She pointed again, to a spot near the horizon. "If it weren't daylight, Babylon 5 would be right about there." Brushing his hands together briskly, Gryphon said, "Now, if you'll just follow me, please." They did so, murmuring among themselves. This was like a field trip. They walked a few dozen yards, then stopped, some with exclamations of awe. Standing at the crest of the hill was a massive grey stone structure like a Moorish castle, complete with crenelations and a dome peaked with what looked like bronze. There was a large circular hole over the broad main entrance, where there had obviously been a window, probably decorative, in the distant past. The place was in great disrepair, having been abandoned some lengthy time ago, but it was impressive anyway, and also pretty. Standing next to the rusty-metal-strapped main doors of this edifice was a small group of people - a man in orange robes and a hood, a thinner, elderly man in an Earthman's business clothes, and a slightly stout woman in a green suit. As the students grew near, they made exclamations of recognition, for two out of the three, they recognized. President Roland Tiefeld, late of the Worcester Preparatory Institute, smiled and polished his half-moon glasses on his handkerchief. "Children," he said in his somewhat reedy voice. "So good to see you again." Miss Claudia Montaigne, the Institute's former Dean of Student Life, nodded as well. "Hello, everyone. You look well," she said. The questions of the students tumbled over each other in confusion; smiling, Gryphon held up his hands for quiet. "Please," he said, "it'll all make sense in a minute. Everyone, I want you to meet Otano Lompoc. Prylar Otano heads a Bajoran monastery a few miles from here." The man in orange, whom the students could now see was a fairly elderly Bajoran with a grizzled beard and a pleasant smile, bowed in greeting. "Welcome to Jeraddo, my friends. Welcome - if you agree to what we are about to propose - to your new home." The proposal was beautiful in its elegance. The former Worcester Preparatory Institute needed a new home, one in a location more politically amenable to its mission of diversity and tolerance. The Bajor system was in the process of flinging its doors open to the galaxy, having volunteered to be the site of the Babylon Foundation's visionary station, a place to bring the peoples of the galaxy together. It seemed only natural, explained Major Kira, that the people of Bajor should welcome the -youth- of the galaxy as well - the leaders of tomorrow as well as the leaders of today - to enjoy the beauty and history of Bajor, a world whose cultural history spanned over 25 millennia. "Selecting a site for the new school wasn't easy," she said; the comment seemed to be part of a joke between her and Gryphon, because as she said it a glance passed between them and they both had to stifle a snicker. "Bajor itself is still rebuilding from the mess the Cardassians made of it while they 'visited' during the War of Corporate Occupation, eighteen years ago, and Bajor VIII, our principal colony in the system, is very remote - not a place for a group of kids as high-spirited as you," she added with a grin. "But then the Captain had a thought. That's why he's the Captain," she added confidentially. "He said - " And here, she assumed a rather comical impression of Gryphon, which, given the radical differences in their physical appearances, was a bit remarkable in itself. "'What about Jeraddo, Major?' And I said, 'Jeraddo! Of course! That's utterly brilliant!'" Gryphon couldn't take it any more; he burst out laughing, then waved for quiet and said, "Thank you, Major, for showing me how thick you can lay it on. The truth of the matter is that Jeraddo was all Major Kira's suggestion. I was totally stumped until she came up with it. There are five thousand people living on this moon, fully half of them in that one town over there - " (he pointed) " - which means there's lots of space. Your nearest neighbors are Prylar Otano and his monks. And they had this site... well, I'll let the Prylar tell this part." Otano nodded in polite acknowledgement, then indicated their surroundings. "This area has a climate similar to that of the part of Earth you are accustomed to," he said. "It snows in winter and is quite pleasant in the spring and fall. I'm told," he added with a confidential smile, "that the skiing in the mountains across the lake is quite good. At any rate, the area is quiet and well-suited to learning and contemplation - my own monastery is located in the next valley over. "But at the same time, you would not be cut off from civilization," he added. "Port Jeradar is a sleepy town, it's true, but there's quite a good local market there. In addition, there will be regular shuttle service to Bajor and Babylon 5, and of course, those students with starship masters' certificates will be welcome to bring their vessels - as you can see, we've plenty of parking," said the prylar with a twinkling grin. "After some consideration," said Gryphon, "we've decided to name the new school the Deedlit Satori Mandeville Memorial Institute, after one of the heroes of the War of Corporate Occupation. Some of you may have heard of her." Nods all around. "President Tiefeld can tell you what little we know so far about the academic shape of the new Institute." The little old man smiled benevolently and said, "We have retained approximately ninety percent of the faculty, including almost all those teachers who left WPI after Term B-04." "P-Professor Stuvek?" asked Kate hopefully. Tiefeld smiled again, nodding. "The Professor was most eager to rejoin us," he said, "although of course he would claim rather stuffily that his decision is rooted solely in logic." Kate giggled, nodding, and the President went on, "Additional faculty will be recruited locally; Prylar Otano's order has several excellent mathematicians and theoreticians, for instance, who are quite eager to assist their new neighbors in any way they can, and the Prylar himself is an accomplished astronomer." Otano smiled modestly. "As for student life," said Dean Montaigne, "we'll be starting from scratch, which means we'll be able to include a number of things that the old campus, being restricted by the Historical Preservation Act, could never quite get working - like a proper campus center and better assembly facilities for the Symphony concerts and the Spring Formal. We hope to retain all of WPI's best traditions while at the same time using our unique location and opportunities to forge new ones. It should be a very exciting time. "Of course, we're losing a considerable chunk of the student body - almost none of our Earth-based students will be able to come here, with the political climate the way it is. We have received confirmation that a great many of the students we lost at Christmas, much like the teachers, will be back." "Chenann?" Azalynn blurted. "Oh please say Chenann's coming back!" Miss Montaigne smiled and nodded. "She can't wait," she confirmed. "She'll be here next week - she insisted on helping with the construction. Says it's in her family's nature." Chenann, thought Mia as Azalynn gave a celebratory yell, that's a Minbari name. That ought to be... interesting. "And, of course, we hope that our new location will enable us to recruit many new students. It seems likely that much of the permanent crew of Babylon 5, which will be arriving in the next month or so, will choose to send their children here. There are provisions for educational facilities aboard the station, but given the choice, we think most parents will want their children studying under a blue sky. As such, the Babylon Foundation has provided a generous endowment to the Mandeville Memorial Institute." Utena and Juri shared a grin. MegaZone, throwing his money where it would do the most good, like always. "Prylar Otano?" said Mia. "Yes, child?" "Can you tell me anything about this building?" she asked, indicating the castle-like ruin they stood before. Otano smiled, though it seemed as if the smile had a touch of sadness in it. "Ah, yes. This building is ancient even by Bajoran standards," he said. "We are fairly certain it pre-dates our own colonization of this moon. It's remarkably well-constructed, and from what little our archeologists have been able to glean from it, it seems to have been some sort of... temple, we think, or possibly a place of learning. In either case," he added with a smile, "it's a lovely site, and it seemed appropriate to offer it to your Institute." The prylar looked sadder still and said, "The building's interior is quite dilapidated, of course; the walls are strong, but it has lacked a roof for some centuries. We have learned all from it we can, so there is no real reason to leave it... no doubt you will want to pull it down and replace it with something more modern - " "No," said Utena, Mia and Kaitlyn simultaneously. Otano looked surprised, but not annoyed at the interruption. "No?" he inquired. "No," said Utena again. She was looking up at the building; slowly, she approached it, placing her hand against the wall. "You say the walls are solid?" "As solid as the mountains yonder," said Otano, "but as I said, the interior is in ruins." "That d-doesn't m-m-matter," said Kate, following her roommate's lead. "There's... some k-kind of p-power here... " Prylar Otano looked impressed. "Several of our mystics have said the same, though none have been able to identify it. It doesn't seem to stem from the Prophets, but neither does it seem to be evil. Quite frankly, we've never known quite -what- to make of the place." Mia Ausa stood gazing up at the building for several minutes, a look of concentrated thought on her face. "I know this style," she said, "but I can't place it. I'll have to check my books when I get them back." "You would be answering a great mystery," said Otano appreciatively, "if you can solve the riddle of this building... " "It s-stays here," said Kate. Utena nodded. "Seconded," she said, then caught Kate's eye. "Are you pondering what I'm pondering, Mademoiselle President?" "I th-think so, M-M-Madem-moiselle V-Vice-Pr-President," Kate replied. "B-but this t-time, -you- w-wear the t-t-tutu." "Not a chance in hell," Utena replied with a wicked grin; then they both turned to face the others as if the last part of their exchange hadn't happened. "I take it," Kate said to her father, "the plan is to build a new campus on this site?" Gryphon nodded. "That's the plan, all right. The Wedge Defense Force Corps of Engineers Third Battalion are already on their way." "Well, this building stays. The Institute Duelists' Society hereby claim it as our headquarters. We'll renovate the interior ourselves, if the Corps of Engineers will provide materials and equipment." Mia smiled. "I like that idea," she said. "It'll give us something to do over the summer." Kate turned to address the rest of the Duelists. "Th-those of you with p-plans to go h-home, d-don't let th-th-this s-stop you. I'm s-sure there'll b-be p-plenty to d-do when you g-get back... b-but this w-will be our h-home." "Living quarters and training facilities both, for the whole Society?" Utena inquired. "Sure," said Wakaba, gauging the size of the place with her eyes. "It looks plenty big enough." "See, Prylar?" said Gryphon, grinning. "I told you they wouldn't insist we tear it down." Otano nodded with a beatific smile. "The Prophets smile on your children, Captain," he said. "They certainly do," said Gryphon. "They certainly do." The Duelists and their friends sat down in the shadow of the mysterious castle, lost in an animated discussion of their plans for the Society's new headquarters. Throughout that conversation, which lasted until the prylar excused himself and Gryphon hustled the others back onto the ship, Amanda and Devlin said little, glancing uncomfortably at each other from time to time. Azalynn noticed it, wondered at it, and felt a sense of foreboding about it. The others were too busy planning and dreaming to notice... until, back in Daggerdisc's crowded wardroom, Devlin broke into the conversation with a diffident, "Er... excuse me... but there's something I have to tell you all." They stopped talking and turned as one to face the young telepath with puzzled looks. He stood by the forward hatchway, looking nervous, his hand linked tightly with Amanda's. The Gamilon's face was subdued, an unusual look for her. "Well... eheh... first of all, the good news," said Devlin with a weak grin. "Amanda and I... well, we're getting married." He held up his hand, blushing, to ward off the storm of congratulations, and went on in a louder voice to override them, "We don't know just when yet - might not be for a while - but we'll let you know, and we'll expect you all to be there." Amanda nodded. "Do not think that you can escape," she said, the smile on her face putting the lie to her harsh words. "If you do not respond to your invitations, you will be hunted down and dragged to the ceremony in irons and chains." "That sounds like it could be fun," mused Azalynn. "W... w-what's the b-bad news?" asked Kate in an I'm-afraid-to- ask-but-someone's-got-to tone. Devlin's face fell. "Ah, well... the bad news... is that we won't be joining you at the new school, I'm afraid... " This brought a new storm, this one of protestations, shocked sounds and repetitions of the word, "What?!" Devlin nodded, his face sad. "I don't want to leave you - you've been better friends to me than I ever could have hoped for. But... now that the cat's out of the bag, so to speak, I need training. I have to learn to defend myself, refine the skills that I already know, both in the use of my powers and in general defensive terms. I learned enough to function in society, but compared to the training a Psi Cop gets, it was very much minimal. If I'm to survive... I need more, and I can't get it here." He paused, as if collecting his thoughts, and went on, "So... thanks to Kate's father, starting next week, I'm to be enrolled at the International Police Organization's telepath training center on Jyurai." More congratulations, though they were tempered by the sadness of knowing that their friend was leaving them, perhaps never to return. "What about you, Amanda? Are you going to Jyurai to... to be with him?" asked Azalynn. Amanda shook her head. "No - at least, not right away. I must return to Gamilon. I have... duties to perform, in the wake of recent events. My life has become considerably more complicated." She, too, paused, then looked up at all of them and said, "I want you all to know, before I leave, just how much I have enjoyed my association with you. The life of a princess is generally a lonely one, and you have made mine not so. In your company, I have been able to pretend for two years that I am... more like a regular person. You have been true friends to me, and I will never forget you. Any of you will find a safe haven in the Gamilon Empire at any time you may need one." She stopped for a moment, sniffed, and dashed a tear from her good eye. "I... I will miss you." "You don't have to say it like we'll never see you again," said Wakaba with a smile. "Gamilon's not -that- far." Amanda looked up at her, grinning a bit wanly. "No," she said. "I suppose it is not, at that." After a rather subdued dinner with their friends (from which Liza Broadbank diplomatically absented herself), Amanda and Devlin left aboard the Vengeance in the early evening. After watching the ship leave from the observation gallery at the end of one of Babylon 5's docking arms with the rest, T'skaia entered the core shuttle bound for Red Sector and was surprised to find Liza Broadbank there, sitting in the seat opposite the middle doors, looking pensive. Not upset, but definitely preoccupied. Very carefully, he made his way to the seat at right angles to her, eased himself down, and tentatively cleared his throat. She blinked, startled out of her contemplation - of, he noticed with a lift of his heart, the Jyuraian charm he'd given her! - to glance up at him. "Oh, Sky," she said. "Hello." "Elizabeth," said Sky, as formally as he could. "OK... I earned that," said Liza. "Listen... I'm sorry I screamed at you the other day. I... I wasn't really prepared for what you told me about myself." Sky inclined his crested head. "I doubt," he told her, "anyone truly could be. No apology is necessary. If anything, I should apologize to you for forcing myself into your troubles at such an inopportune time." "No," said Liza, "don't apologize. I... it was exactly what I needed to hear. I've read it, now, over and over again. That last paragraph... what Dr. Bashir thinks could happen to me... " She sighed, reached over, and surprised the t'skrang immensely by putting her hand over his. "Sky, it scares me to death." Sky recovered from his shock and nodded. "It's a great change that you face," he said. "As great, almost, as that which every t'skrang must endure." "How's that?" asked Liza, looking interested. "When t'skrang are hatched," said Sky didactically, "we are neither male nor female, and so it remains for the first twelve years of our lives. This is not without its advantages; it means we spend our childhoods blessedly free of the confusing gender roles most mammal species must grapple with all their lives. On the other hand, it leads to a great ordeal when the change inevitably comes." Liza nodded, smiling faintly. "I was just about to say, puberty must be a bitch." Sky slapped his tail against the floor, jaws swinging open in a silent laugh. "It is indeed. We call it kaissa, the Great Change, and it is to human puberty as a tornado is to the swirling of a breeze in a corner. There is nothing in this universe as confused, as quick to anger, as stupidly opinionated, as headstrong or as lacking in powers of concentration as a t'skrang in kaissa, except possibly a Vulcan in pon farr. Obviously, for the peace of t'skrangish society, something must be done with these creatures, to occupy their time whilst the change does its work - which can take up to a year." "What do you do with them?" asked Liza, knowing it was expected of her. "In the old days, we t'skrang were the traders of Barsaive," Sky replied, which didn't seem to be much of an answer in itself. "Our riverboats - 'boats' is a pale thing to call them, for all that they plied rivers, for they were truly ships, and great ones at that - our riverboats sailed all the rivers of the world, but especially the Mother Serpent, spreading the goods of each land to its neighbors and beyond. Traditionally, youths undergoing kaissa were sent to the river to work. Their hard duties and the simple, structured lifestyle of the riverboat crew gave them much-needed distractions and allowed them to put the nervous energy of the change to a constructive purpose. "Today, of course, Barsaive is a spacefaring world, and the many peoples of Barsaive walk among the stars - but none so much as the t'skrang. We have adapted our rivertrading ways to become our world's principal explorers and traders in space. The Great Houses own fleets of starships which conduct business all over the Alpha Quadrant and beyond - and just as the riverboats in days past, these ships have an ever-present need for young, resilient, not necessarily any-too-bright crew members." Liza sighed. "It must be nice. Travel the stars, work, sleep, not have to worry about who or what you're going to become... " She gazed off into the green expanse of the arboretum, and then, as they passed into the service tunnel at the other end, she said suddenly, "Do they ever take non-t'skrang?" "Pardon?" said Sky. "Those trading ships. Do they ever take non-t'skrang crew members?" "Rarely, but sometimes," Sky replied. "A non-t'skrang generally can't become part of a crew covenant - our ships' companies often bind themselves into legal communities, almost like families - but others - usually from the other races of Barsaive - have been known to work passage aboard t'skrangish ships." "Do you know of any way I could get on one?" Sky's brow-ridge rose, his eyes going wide. "Seriously, Elizabeth? Life as a... well, basically a cabin boy, aboard a t'skrang starship... would be a much harder life than you're accustomed to. Discipline isn't necessarily brutal - it depends on the captain and her officers - but the work is hard and the conditions not exactly luxurious." "Good," said Liza. "That's exactly what I'm looking for. Don't you see, Sky? Everything about my life as I knew it is gone. I can't go back to my family, and what's more, I don't -want- to. I have to find out who and what I can be without them to shape me... and if that means doing things the old Liza would never have done, then that's what I have to do. I'm going through a change, maybe not one as personally traumatic as kaissa, but a great change nonetheless." Sky weighed this, his tail fidgeting while the rest of him remained still and thoughtful. "I am of the Great House Ishkarat," he said after a few moments' thought. "It's within my power to arrange a berth for you aboard one of my house's ships - I think - but before I do that, I must be certain that you truly understand the magnitude of the undertaking. You won't have much in the way of privileges. You'll have to share your quarters with t'skrang, very possibly t'skrang in kaissa. You'll have to learn t'skrangish ways, acquire a working grasp of our language, eat our food. It will help that you're female, the old customs die hard, but... " He shrugged. "Shustal! If it's what you truly want, then I'll help you in any way I can." Liza smiled. "I don't have anything -else- to do with myself this summer." "I had thought," Sky observed dryly, "that you might take the idea of hard work in kaissa as a -metaphor-, and perhaps apply yourself to the great amount of work that needs to be done on the new Institute... " Liza shook her head. "No... I think Kate and the others will have that under control. They won't need me around. Anyway... I want to get myself sorted out before I try to be around them. I can tell that they don't know how to react to me, and that's understandable, since -I- don't know how to react to me any more... " She shrugged. "I think some time apart from -everything- I've known before is exactly what's needed for -all- of us." Sky nodded. "Very well," he said. "I will communicate with my elders and see what can be arranged." "Thank you, Sky. Thank you... well, for everything." "It is always a pleasure," said Sky, "to help... a friend." While the Duelists, after seeing the Vengeance off, went to Challenger for further discussions of the renovation plans with Captain Hutchins and Prylar Otano, some of their other fellow students convened on the Zocalo for dessert, munching pie slices and speculating as to what their schoolmates were getting up to regarding the development of their new school. As they did, Moose MacEchearn was the first to notice that they were being approached. "May I help you?" Moose asked the approaching courier, a young human barely older than himself. This worthy wore a Freespacer duty uniform: a single silver stripe embossed on the lapel of a polo shirt, simple grey slacks and boots making up the remainder. In his hand he held a bundle of letters and a data crystal. "I am looking for Midshipsman McKenzie," the courier said. "I have his new orders from Fleet Command. I also have his mail from the past ten days and a datacrystal containing all his electronic messages since his departure from Earth. If he would sign for them... ?" Hearing his name mentioned, Mac came around to the end of the table and, with a quick salute and a flick of the pen, recieved his mail. With the courier disposed of, Mac took his load back to his seat, moved his breakfast tray aside, and opened the parchment containing his orders. For the others' benefit, he read them aloud: "'Midshipsman McKenzie, your active service in Supply Fleet, Confederate Freespacers Mercenary Fleet, is hereby ended. You are hereby assigned as Midshipsman reserve to Diplomatic Guard, Home Fleet, Confederate Freespacer Alliance, until such time as your services shall be required by the Ambassador Plenipotentiary to the Babylon Foundation. "'Your active service shall be officially recorded as from Monday, May 2, 2405 through 2359 hours, Sunday, May 8, 2405. Payment of salary and expenses for this service, less the Fleet tithe, shall be rendered upon reciept of your final after-action report by the Office of the Commander-in-Chief, CFMF. Signed, Magnar vin Rhydan, Commander, Chief of Personnel, Home Fleet.'" Mac smiled wryly and added, "So I've been given homework over summer break. It figures." Mac opened another of the letters, also made of parchment, and read it in silence. As he read, his eyebrows crept up in an expression of growing wonder. "Well," he said at last, "I've just been offered admission into the freshman class of the Freespacer Fleet Academy, beginning with fall semester. Command track, even." With one hand he crumpled up the letter and tossed it over his shoulder into the nearby trash bin, opening the next one without any further concern. The next letter, however, had him pause midway through reading to contemplate the words. This letter he folded back up carefully and returned to its envelope, setting it carefully on the table. "A full scholarship to Freespacer State University upon my graduation from secondary school," he said at last. A third letter, and a fourth, generated laughs after the first silent paragraph of reading. Mac waved the two letters and chuckled, "Ensign's commissions in either Tactical or Strategic Fleet. Starfighter crew chief in Tactical, or engineer's mate in Strategic. Heh." Two other letters joined these, unopened but on similar stationery. "I believe that my nation has gone completely fucking mad, pardon my Tellar." Moose leaned back in his too-small chair, stroking his cheek with one finger. "Well, looks like you've made out well, Mac," he rumbled. "Your choice of assignments, scholarships to college, anything you could ever want. Have you decided what you are going to do with this embarrassment of riches?" "Nothing." Mac shrugged, fingering the data crystal in his hand. "I don't want a military career, although I'll serve if called to duty. I plan to be a space architect. A shipwright, if that doesn't work out. Freespacer State is the -least- I would accept. But I want more." Mac smiled, staring at the ceiling. "I want to be able to write my own ticket. I want the -best-. NAIS. Nekomi Tech. Maybe even the Vulcan Science Academy, although I doubt I'll get one of their hundred offworld slots. So that means," he said with a smile, looking back at the others, "I'm probably going to be following most of you. Wormtown Prep was one of the best secondary schools in the Federation; it'll take a damn good school to replace it, and I don't expect any of you to settle for less than the best. If even half of what we heard yesterday was true, then this is the place for me to stay." And, he thought to himself, it'll be nice to see the folks for a few days, until the Home Fleet heads out... Utena briefly left the meeting, which was proving to be very rewarding indeed, and accompanied Corwin and Nall down to Shuttlebay Two, where Daggerdisc had been parked since the party's return from the Jeraddo expedition earlier in the day. "So," said Utena as they waited for the turbolift - which had to get from the bridge-level conference room all the way to the farthest aft habitable point in the ship - to deliver them to their destination. "You've got two weeks of classes left?" Corwin nodded. "Yep, and then I'm through for the summer, and we can get started. I figure we'll use the One-Hit Wonder for most of it, except for the warp-drive section. For that we'll have to borrow a Predator or a runabout or something." He smiled. "Looking forward to it?" "You bet. My brain will probably explode," she admitted, having been visibly daunted but not dissuaded by the sight of the required reading list for the master's certificate examination, "but the practical parts ought to be fun." Nall was about to add, "And hey, it's more quality time with Rocket Boy here," until, for once, his brain-to-mouth safety interlock functioned properly and caused him to say instead, "You'll do fine." "Thanks," said Utena, scruffling the dragon. "Did you enjoy your tour of the Denorios Belt?" "Yeah, it was a hoot. Data's not as big a stiff as he looks. He's got a cat, you know. Just an ordinary cat, nothing as remarkable and talented as me, but any construct who can get a cat to like him is worth spending time with." The lift arrived; they proceeded down the short corridor to the shuttlebay, and paused at the base of Daggerdisc's ramp. "We did a good job, didn't we?" Utena asked as she surveyed the fully repaired vessel. "That we did," Corwin replied. "Well... see you next weekend." "I'll be here," said Utena, grinning. She gave him his goodbye hug, and a kiss on the cheek, and then went up to the shuttlebay control room to watch him leave. As Daggerdisc plunged through the metaspace gateway and vanished in a flash of light, she found herself waving goodbye, which made her grin a little at herself. "Not a very logical thing to do," said T'Vek from the shuttlebay ops board; then the Vulcan grinned and added, "Makes perfect sense to me, though." Utena chuckled, bade her have a good day, and went back up to the conference room to get on with the meeting. When Corwin came to take his leave, Gryphon had just started outlining a suggestion for something to do with the athletic facilities, and Utena definitely wanted to get some input in on that. /* Stan Bush "Dare" _Transformers: The Movie_ */ Eyrie Productions, Unlimited Sometimes when your hopes have all presented been shattered UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES And here's nowhere to turn FUTURE IMPERFECT You wonder how you keep going - Symphony of the Sword - Think of all the things that Seventh Movement: really mattered Reflections in Transition And the chances you've earned The fire in your heart is growing The Cast (in order of appearance) You can fly if you try Aya Nakajima Leaving the past behind Benjamin D. Hutchins Heaven only knows what you might find Corwin Ravenhair Utena Tenjou Dare! Homare Nakajima Dare to believe you can survive Dremp You hold the future in your hand Juri Arisugawa Dare! Ensign Jinto Lin Kirk, IPO-SF Dare to keep all your dreams alive Kaitlyn Hutchins It's time to take a stand Elizabeth Broadbank And you can win if you dare Public Relations Unit 709 Mia Ausa Everybody's trying to break your spirit Network 23 Receptionist Keeping you down Theora Carter Seems like it's been forever Al Calavicci But there's another voice if you'll John Trussell just hear it Harcourt M. McKenzie Saying it's the last round G'Kron Looks like it's now or never Azalynn dv'Ir Natashkan The Hon. J. Maurice MacEchearn IV Out of the darkness Cyrano McKenzie You stumble into the light Shirley McKenzie Fighting for the things you know Jasper dos Santos are right Fredrigo dos Santos Caspia dos Santos Dare! Emerald McKenzie Dare to believe you can survive Commodore Coros bel Bendi The power is there at your command Typhon Dare! Crewman David Jantzen Dare to keep all your dreams alive Nall Silverclaw It's time to take a stand Klaang tai-Kalaan And you can win if you dare Kraalgh vestai-Kalaan T'Vek Dare! Wakaba Shinohara Dare to believe you can survive Susan Ivanova You hold the future in your hand Starfleet Comm Ensign Dare! Garon Tultalian Dessler Dare to keep all your dreams alive Kira Nerys The power is there at your command Jer Johnson Dare! Malcolm Reed Dare to keep all your love alive Corimel Jandhia Dragonaar Dare to be all that you can be Kitarina Telaia Dragonaar Dare! Julian Bashir, MD There is a place where dreams survive Peril It's calling you on to victory R. Dorothy Wayneright Dare! Amanda Elektra Dessler Devlin Carter /* Eric Clapton "It's In the Way Captain Jean-Luc Picard that You Use It" _Chronicles_ */ IPO Transporter Technician William T. Riker It's in the way that you use it T'skaia Vorokoshiga'ar It comes and it goes Ixtixtaaqitl't'chl'Vraihelt Ishkarat It's in the way that you use it Elim Garak Boy don't you know Geordi La Forge And if you lie you will lose it Data Soong Feelings will show Worf, son of Mogh So don't you ever abuse it Beverly Crusher, MD Don't let it go Deanna Troi Skuld Ravenhair Nobody right Kei Morgan 'Til somebody wrong Kyouichi Saionji Nobody weak Janice Barlow 'Til somebody strong Krontep vathKesek No one get lucky Jaime Finney kalKesek 'Til luck comes along Zargh Thalekh Nobody lonely Koth vorTajj 'Til somebody gone Azrodel tai-Klandu Vorek, son of Grulek It's in the way that you use it Krentai vestai-Retkal It comes and it goes Fuu Hououji It's in the way that you use it Leonard Hutchins Boy don't you know Martin Rose T'Pall It's in the way that you use it Prylar Otano Lompoc It comes and it goes Roland Tiefeld It's in the way that you use it Claudia Montaigne Boy don't you know CFMF Courier Ensign And if you lie you will lose it Feelings will show and featuring So don't you ever abuse it The crew of the Imperial Don't let it go Klingon cruiser HoSghaj I've seen dark skies Great Maker Never like this Benjamin D. Hutchins Walked on some thin ice Never like this CFMF Fleet Operations I've told some white lies Kris Overstreet Never like this Looked into true eyes Miss Hutchins's wardrobe by Never like this Anne Cross It's in the way that you use it Consultation Boy don't you know John Trussell and So don't you ever abuse it The Usual Suspects Boy don't you know Enterprise crew created by Yeah Gene Roddenberry T'skrangish culture notes adapted from "Earthdawn" (Second Edition by Living Room Games, http://www.lrgames.com/ ) This one's for Derek Bacon This Movement concludes Symphony No. 1... ... but the Symphony will return