The Word Painter
Chapter Eight--Stems
by D'Alaire

 

Stems

 

    "...And the trunk is meant to create the branch..."
 

---

    "They return our fire!"

    "Brace yoursel--"

    Some seventy revolutions before that day, not too far from that place, the empress Yusi had stood at the center of her regal bridge.  She bowed before the Unar commander who had sought and captured her, knowing her doom, secretly praying for her teenage son, who would inherit all from her--immediately, if necessary.  In her ornate robes and heavy ornaments, she quietly knelt at the commander's demand.

    That day, three generations later on the same debris littered, coolant steaming, sparking bridge, two filthy, coughing, exhausted Desalians clawed their way up from the floor to their seats and punched their panels, damned before they would accept defeat from the two remaining Unar ships, one of which for five years of that war had been a pest of a foe.  Their friends in the field, equally staggering, echoed across the open comm, calling out the pest ship's shifting location.

    The first ship was a more practical target, however.

    Toma of Azlre narrowed his eyes at it.  "Bringing us around to the trail ship's tail!"

    "The Korchau's aft shields have been compromised!" Be'i cried out.  Aratra was trying hard that day, but could not have done enough.  "Their propulsion is failing!"

    "How did that happen?"

    "The hawk!  --We are coming around it and moving away!"

    As if hearing the singular prayer from the small, white ship, the looming grey craft turned from its prey and began a new pursuit...
 

    "Prihar i'i mogra'oc lull," Sashana'i swore between her teeth as she crawled into a small access port.  "Reactors have made themselves inactive as well.  I shall divert the power now!"

    "*Defenses shall be required sooner,*" Aratra told her.  "*Two more owls fly around our sphere and but as many rodents are here to avert them.  --Be swift!*"

    Sashana'i, born in the forced refugee city of Sacezia, granddaughter to Dulla and heiress to the ancient line of Allanois, had somehow become an astute engineer.  Of course, Be'i and Toma had been more influence than they are aware of, she reminded herself as she unlocked one set of plasma constrictors and prepared to manually divert that system.

    In a small way, Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres had been bonded since their last day on Uillar, except only in her.  In her desperation, having found two whose passion could assist her in resurrecting Desal, she had thrown herself on them and collected their memories, connected her own neural energy to theirs with what little ability she possessed, forced her own energy to support theirs.  It had maintained their lives in the frozen smoke and desperate panic, on the battered ship that came for them, in the terrible wait until they were finally delivered to Cezia.

    On Uillar, Aratra had found her, shuddering and covered with their blood, unwilling to release their energy from herself.  Touching her temple, he instantly knew what she was doing and shuddered, knowing the consequences.  By the nature of their union, Aratra would soon have their memories, too.  Though they carried the lives of many scholars, they were not trained scholars themselves.  Accepting the two's memories would not be a pleasurable experience.

    As always, he accepted her decision--the necessity--and cared for all three of them throughout their dark, plagued journey.  Finally, at Bakali's clinic, Sashana'i quickly disconnected her link with the two.  They told the honorable elder nothing when she declared the outsiders' survivals a blessing of fate alone.

    "But one more petra'a!"  Sashana'i announced as she pulled another node in that cramped access hatch, feeling the wild turns he was making, knowing where the technique had been earned.

    As was the way, she and her bondmate indeed had been affected by the connection they secretly shared with their siblings.  It was incomplete, of course, not in the least a true bonding.  Yet Sashana'i and Aratra had needed only practical teaching to know how to utilize Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres' skills, though far more experience to accept their nerve.  The extent of their siblings' violent pasts was certainly not a part of either regent's natures.  They had taken great pains to know the better of it without being too horrified.

    Conversely, it took but a short examination for Sashana'i to be assured that the two were acting in truth when they made their decisions about adopting Desal, eventually in full.  Looking into their memories, she could see it, could see their need for belonging and pride, for self-acceptance and successful responsibility, for contentment and for love.  In her own nature, Sashana'i also understood those needs.

    So she had gladly stood at their bonding, even as she devised a solution for the fate she had created and the need Aratra felt as well to balance their particular crimes.

    She meant to give them "the best of all possible worlds," as their birthpeople's saying went.  If not that, she would try for at least a few worlds.  In either case, fate would indeed have a chance to make up its mind on what indeed was meant.  However, Sashana'i knew that deep inside them, too much had been left incomplete in that other life.  Even a peaceful passing would be one with unresolved dilemmas, not only on their parts, but among those they had been associated with and the families left behind, far away.

    "The shield generator is activated!"  Sashana'i cried as a blast took out yet another system, onto which she threw herself and called out to her crew for parts.  Pulling and turning the assembly as quickly as her small hands would allow, she managed to bring impulse and primary power back online before the shields could be disrupted again.

    The ship responded accordingly:  She could practically hear Aratra calling out evasions and tactics three decks above her.

    But she concertedly drove the sympathetic distraction from her mind for the time.  For the present, she had a warp reactor to reinitialize, too, and that tended to be a measure more complicated...
 

    "The Korchau responds!" Be'i announced with a sharp breath of relief.

    "Sashana'i bears yet some ingenuity," Toma grinned as he pulled the Azallis around the shield bubble of a ship far too large to compensate for the angles he was pulling.  Had he been any less concerned for the other ships left in that battle, he would have thought it was too easy, even wondered why such a hulking supply cruiser would be stupid enough to bring itself out to that fast, busy field.  Or perhaps it was all they had left to pull out.

    Then again, he knew better by then than to underestimate the Unar's ability to regurgitate a squadron of ships seemingly from nowhere.  They had been doing that for three years.

    "Into the nacelle grid," Be'i told him, her eyes pinned on the tender hull seam, the rest of her working on pure instinct as they neared-- "Plicta!  Fire!"

    "Impulse has been compromised!"

    "Activating the thrusters. --Bolmra, concentrate the shields to our port."

    "Diverting disruptor array to the drive.  --Latsari, install the ninth canister!"

    "*I have removed the spent canister now.  ...And now the new is installed!*"

    "Plicta, bring the torpedoes online and fire!"

    A projectile was shot from the aft bay and whirled towards the soft belly of the Unar ship.  They prayed as it flew into the dusky hull and breathed again to see the effect. 

    Moments later, the trailing ship exploded.

    The shards of hull and parts flew at the Azallis' wavering shield bubble, buckling it slightly.  After, they floated lazily, as if time had slowed.  Then all but the ship's hissing systems seemed to stop.  Simply stop.

    Blinking, they looked down to assess the damage left behind.  The Unar hawk ship had fled, Plicta noted.  Their bloodshot eyes drew up to the viewscreen as they collected their breath in tandem.  All that was left of Unar was but the debris of the fifth ship they had taken that day.  It was a fine success, despite the hawk, which had indeed escaped.

    It was obvious, but no less surprising to them at times, how fate had yet again decided they remain among the living.  By all right, they should have been killed years ago.

    Not that they had ever minded surviving. 

    "*That vulture has escaped, Toma!*" came an Antral snarl over the still open comm.  "*Again!  It sulks away again!  But I will have another lunge at him!*"

    The captains of the Azallis shared a look.  Their fellow captain had become determined to catch that deadly and persistent ship, had made it his goal in that war.  Though he tended to disappear in the middle of a fight to chase his self-ordained challenge, they couldn't blame him--and were usually thankful for it.  Once more, their own fine craft had been beaten beyond spacebound repair with the "grey hawk's" help, and two more resistance ships had been destroyed.

    Yet more had survived than found the ancestors.  They had to remember that.

    "*Had I any more power left,*" Novren continued, "*I would hunt him!  Drag him on his knees in shame--to your toes, Toma and Be'i!*"

    "Ka, and you would see him crawl to Dviglar's internment cells to answer for his many crimes," she said tiredly, tapping her sensor panel back to life, and then kicking the base of the console to clear up the static. 

    "*Hear my words now, Be'i of Azlre, for his pursuit of you, I will do it, even if you will not.  It will happen som--*"

    "While this might be a pleasant thought, Novren," she cut in, "we bear our pressing concerns, such as surviving our systems' failures.  May we work while you talk?  It should not distract you too dearly, I should think.  --Aratra?  We read a surge in your primary plasma reactor...  Aratra?"  She looked at her bondmate, who also listened.  "Do you receive?  I have read...  Gyi'at, that is an improvement.  Aratra, please answer?"

    "*We bear wellness,*" came the regent's ragged voice above the unmistakable hiss of crashed junctures.  "*Enough power remains to arrive at Iaskeb, though it shall require...  More repair shall be required before we may take ourselves to Cezia.*"

    "We all shall, I would think," said Toma, trying not to wipe at the burn across his jaw, already corrupted with soot as his ship screamed at him in insult.  For a fleeting moment, he prayed uselessly for silence, merely silence again.  Relinquishing that vain distraction, he began typing into his comm to contact the other ships, namely Miztri's, whose comm systems were down. 

    "When we are prepared," he continued, "I shall set a course for Iaskeb..."  He turned an exhausted but resolved grin to his lady, "...which ancient territory now is free."

    She grinned back, holding his gaze for another moment before pushing herself to her feet.  "I shall assist Latsari now, now that 'Ahab' has decided to take himself bird hunting again."

    He chuckled.  It was particularly when he was too tired to shed some sort of wit that he was even more thankful for his lady's, even if he knew her lightness wouldn't last after she got to the engine room.  It never did, though she rarely showed her discouragement to the others.

    Toma felt his knowledge confirmed not long after.  He moved to his feet to follow her path.

    But fifteen minutes later, he, Be'i and their crew had touched the temple of their friend, Tallyla, and blessed his way onto their ancestors.  After a quiet prayer of words far too commonly said in those times, Toma of Azlre gently lifted the corpse, ignoring the stitch the weight caused in his side.

    It was his duty, as elder captain.

    Stopping so others could bless Tallyla's way, he took it to the stasis with the two others who had been freed to the ancestors during that mission.  After placing the body inside, he watched the doors slowly close upon the corpse, remaining a moment more in respect for the memory of a man who had been a good one.  They all were good, of course, but he never neglected to think that. 

    Moving away, he let it go with a long, heavy breath.

    Their two week mission had exhausted their resources as readily as their bodies, with fights lasting hours, all the maneuvers he had ever learned put to use and every systems patchwork his bondmate might have conjured, eleven passings on their ship and several close calls which still made his heart rabbit when he recalled them.  The others, from their bridge to the engine room to their passed friends, had likewise given everything of their strength and spirit.

    A small part of him felt an immeasurable satisfaction for what could be called either fate or sheer luck.  Naturally, Sashana'i often reminded him and Be'i that the people of their birth would have been proud of their achievements, and that they were the ones to make their success.  They did admit to some, though they had always credited their crew in the same breath.

    Every face still among the living realm was evidence of that praise.  Their crew, haggard but hopeful after days of fighting in that hard-won field, had followed them utterly into the bowels of Prihar and back again.  They, having given up so much of their own way to dedicate their lives and spiritual peace to a better future, were the truer heroes. 

    Even so, Toma did have to admit that he and Be'i had done rather well, too.  He grinned to think what a captain he had become--among other things, many things, so much more than he had been or had ever thought he would be.  Of course, he was able to accept and be thankful for what teachers he'd had in the past, as well as the learning he'd finally allowed himself in the present.  He had grown, up and older--and far wiser. 

    It had come together rather well, he thought.

    Be'i believed much the same, allowing herself a sympathetic grin before yanking out the panel from beneath the deflector control junction.  With a nod to Latsari, she stood again and wiped away the dust from the monitor.  Straightening it on its loosened bolts, she commenced with diverting their fuel supply to the secondary systems with fingers well past the sore stage.

    In her darker moments, she wondered why she bothered to neaten that common mess.  Each time they fought such a battle, their once beautiful ship ended up about the same--looking like it did when they found it at Dviglar.  Perhaps it was but for a show of pride and lack of defeat.  Indeed, it was pride and standing stalwart even in destruction.  It was done not only for their own sakes, but for a crew that needed their strength and utter unwillingness to fold under the weight of Unar, who she openly admitted had become a formidable, though still conquerable, enemy.

    For that crew and others, she had related it to the demons they all bore within themselves, who created Prihar from their own downfalls and weaknesses, a thing she knew of painfully--and doubly--well.  It seemed only natural not to destroy their demons, both an impossible and not very practical venture, but to put them to rest in a way that was effective and would rather give them further opportunity to learn better of them.

    Well, at least once one learned to accept such a thing, she grinned to herself.

    Outwardly, too, they would face their challenges with what wisdom they bore; they did not allow the effect of Unar to stain their ship as much as possible, as much as they would allow it upon their spirits.  Unar would live another day--and the resistance would let them have that.  All that Desal wished, after all, was a return to the former and adhered to territories of Irllae.  It was not too much to ask. 

    Or at least that was what their elders had always suggested, and she had come to agree with it.  She disliked it when she heard it first, but she soon agreed the proposed solution to the war was indeed an acceptable balance for all in Irllae, though certainly it included the resistance's success. 

    So, Be'i had overcome those darker days with her ultimate mood in good order, like that one, with that engine she had put back together piece by piece almost seven years ago--and chunk-by-chunk thereafter.  It was how she managed to show so much temperance before her crew.  It was for them and others, after all, that she was there and would remain, after all.

    If only they might get the Unar to agree on the plan, that balance would come about.

    Soon enough, she knew, it would.
 

---

    She moved without hurry around the Iaskeb communications center panel, her dirty hand drifting over the edge until it touched the frame of the monitor she needed to read.  Tucking a thin braid back into her scarves, she shook her head at what she squinted to see.  In a way, it was unfortunate that the reason was all too easy to find.

    Down the corridor, a door was released from its lock and grinded shut.  The sounds of the celebration outside, the cheers and other reveling in the late afternoon haze of the capital city, faded quickly to the hard echoes of the old council hall where they were gathered.

    "This is idiocy," Be'i stated.  "Little wonder it has taken so many du'ave to secure this small area.  They rejuvenate their deuterium, galacite and ferranide sources faster than we ever could."

    "A compliment to us," Aratra noted, "yet not good to see."

    Sashana'i also saw it and leaned up on the panel, elbows first.  Too tired to think for herself, she looked again to her sibling.  "How might those ore supplies be cut, Be'i?  There are so many routes--reconnecting each time we sever them."

    "Sollve'a and I may turn a front around the deep corner of Gozhor," Miztri suggested, but nodded as Toma opened his mouth.  "The risk is known, my friend, yet to destroy that most direct link which powers them would be a beginning."

    "I would agree," added Givadra.

    Aratra, sitting on an inactive panel to view the larger viewscreen before them, let his eyes roam over the paths he knew Miztri would devise.  She and Givadra liked to slip in on radionic disruptions, common around Gozhor.  But the Unar were accustomed to that trick--and the Merraj had lost its photonic shield grid over a year before, leaving it with only the standard complement.  "It carries too much danger now," he finally said.  "Moreover, without a complete takeover of the region, the route would recover.  Unar feed like land eels--they re-grow their limbs for each amputation when they need only chew another vine for that nutrition.  The food must be taken, not just the limb."

    Medrove, still nursing a burn on his shoulder, tapped in a few parameters with a trembling hand.  "I concur.  Gozhor is not the place to strike--yet.  We must find the source of the supply and rid it of Unar first."

    Miztri nodded.  "Perhaps you speak wisely."

    But Novren shook his head, not looking at anything but the monitor under his eyes, glowing with the trail of remaining supply lines and communication relays.  Each one was a pestilence to him, another chance for the Unar to recover--which they had several times since the war began.  "I think we should take Unar where they live and now.  Take our remaining ships and snuff out their fire where they breathe first."

    "To what pleasing effect would you kill women and children, Novren Pridalar?"  Be'i queried, peering at him askance.  "So that the supply would continue with far more insult driving your victims' dominants?  The vindicators shall follow you out as well--and I would not have you were you fool enough to lead them."

    "Then we will regroup at the Onast Sector and take them from behind!"

    "You might prefer your booty as such Novren," Toma replied, "yet you would be foolish to brandish such a meager weapon in public."  With that, he transferred the data Novren hadn't read to the main viewscreen so he could see what the rest of them had.

    "Vyuch gitro!"  Novren swore, half laughing.  Though Desalian, Toma was blessed with as sharp a repartee as any self-respecting Antral--or at least the man knew how to mock it.  But looking up at the Unar configurations in full, his brow drew down to see that the insult was deserved.  Whipping his head around, he turned a glare to his agent--his agent, to his sudden shame.

    "Tridl!" he barked, gesturing in angry jerks at the man.  "Why is the Onast Sector still encamped with those filthy Unar?  There are over thirteen colonies!  Six civilizations I told you to begin assessing last year!"

    "Oh, and it is such an easy thing to do, Captain!"  Tridl scoffed despite the murder in his superior's eyes.  "With what power?  For all the rationing--"

    "Those are supplies that would have been well earned were you performing your duties as requested of you," Be'i responded coolly, "and repairs that would have been made in spite of your negligence were you not too far the coward to face your contractors."

    Tridl drew a slow breath, calming the dignity that often suffered in the regent siblings' hands.  He knew better than to engage the fire-eyed Desalian woman--particularly in front of her bondmate.  "Then where will you have me go?"

    Toma pulled the telemetry around so that they were looking at it from a flatter perspective; then Sashana'i took a step forward and pointed.

    "Dajid is lesser developed in culture, yet has always borne great resources," she told them.  "A minimal labor internment camp lies on the north continent."

    "Which brand of camp, good regent?" Givadra asked, concerned.

    "It houses the families of criminals to Unar,"Aratra answered.  "Largely Antral and Dajidians are interred there, though our sources have said there may be Desalians, as well."

    "An camp of Antral families beneath our noses?" Novren growled, glaring again at Tridl.

    "Yet the Dajidians' spon is quite pure, and once was mined heavily in that region.  Perhaps freeing that camp and taking the spon mine would be a good beginning."

    Be'i drew up her brow to hear that.  "We had believed that Dajid was a low-warp society with Unar presence and good resources, ka, yet not a world bearing rich ferranide deposits."

    Sashana'i flushed, stiffening as her eyes turned away.  "You had not known?" she wondered aloud.  "Be'i, I believed I had written about their spon exports."

    Be'i shook her head, but let it go.  It was not the first time that Sashana'i had neglected to tell them some small detail of one sort or another, particularly since the war began.  Aratra had explained that with the mass of knowledge they bore and a lack of scholarly training, neither of them could remember anything from the lives they bore instantly.  From what she heard from their elders and the recovered scholars and word painters--not to mention what Be'i knew of her own bonding with Toma--it seemed right.

    Be'i wished for it, anyway.  She always had disliked coming onto information after the fact, particularly in their present situation.

    "Dajid is your objective, Tridl," Be'i said, "with s start in the liberation of that camp's inmates.  Latsari will be applied to for to for our remaining plasma canisters for power--and we all shall add to it where we can.  Complete your duty this time is all we ask."  She tilted her head the other way, grinned slightly.  "For Irllae and for all else you hold dear, good man, I should think you would find much to gain in it--and not lose."

    Tridl's characteristic sigh was met by Toma's hard stare, intense above his mouth, pursed in neither a grin nor a frown.  "You shall go," Toma told the trader, "and the people waiting for our efforts shall know freedom.  You leave tomorrow, no later--"

    "But my ship--"

    "Shall be repaired!" Toma barked.  "Neglect your duty once again, Tridl Himad, and I and my bondmate shall use your hard head as our next torpedo and your prick to stop off a leaking conduit--and do not tempt us to rationalize such a fate.  You bear sufficient knowledge not to do that."

    "And it would be good if you did not tempt me," Novren added, hot with his own humiliation.  Were Tridl not as good as he was once he did get around to his work, Novren would likely have left him to the Unar years before.  "Requisition your needed supplies and we will continue our plans.  --This is a command." His fingers flicked at the nearby door with enough suggestion the his lieutenant jumped to open it.

    Only when the trader had shrunk away to the corridor did Miztri allow her grin.  "Toma, I shall not speak to Dalra of your corruptive tongue.  He would have you quote the Tenants of the Spirits' Path yet again."

    Toma's hard expression melted into a quirky grin as he held up his palms.  "It was merely diplomacy, Miztri."

    "Vya!" Sashana'i laughed, hearing similar chuckles around the room.  They all knew Toma had no patience for Tridl--less and less so since inheriting Be'i's part of it.

    Grinning at the better cheer in the room, Toma strode across to Novren and grabbed his forearm.  "So, we plan for the Onast sectors?"

    Novren returned the gesture and gave a firm nod.  "I would rather my own homeworld be secure, but it will never happen unless we do follow through there, stuff Unar into its hole."

    "And take their supply line," Be'i reminded them both as she came around her bondmate and looped her arm in his.  "I would believe that with their supplies in the resistance's hands, the end shall be well brought.  We should not become complacent this, rather press hard on the line claimed by us."

    Novren smiled.  "It will be a good thing to see, Mother Be'i."

    She grinned at his slightly derisive nickname.  He had once said she reminded him of any fine Antral matriarch let loose of her house, for she could be so willful.  For some odd reason--likely her bondmate's fault--she found it endearing, coming from him.  "Be safe until then, friend."

    "And yourselves.  --But are you departing already?"

    "As Latsari and I repair our warp drive, yes," Be'i told him. 

    "We wish for home," Toma said, "and better repairs.  The Azallis took many casualties on hull and life.  Much remains for us to do."

    "The plasma shall be left for Tridl, however."

    Novren held up his fingers.  "No.  Retain it for yourselves.  I will outfit him.  --Please.  I have less distance to travel.  Go with hope and pride for this day, then."

    "And you soon shall be followed," Aratra told them.  "We face another day here without our engines."

    "Perhaps we would assist," Be'i offered.

    Sashana'i smiled, went to her sibling to kiss her.  "No, Be'i.  Go to your boy and our good elders.  We shall be content in these celebrations--and in arranging the coming food for Desal's thin belly."

    Be'i brushed her fingertips across Sashana'i's temple, touched her own to give Aratra a nod.  "Then we shall see you soon.  Take care in your return.  It is secure, yet it is rarely known what snake lies behind each stone."

    "Yes, Mother Be'i," Aratra grinned then turned to say more farewells to Miztri, Givadra and Sollve'a, also prepared to return to Cezia.

    Sashana'i followed them all with her eyes as they walked away, turning towards the corridor that would take them back to the bays.  Her siblings were quiet but content as they might have been after such a stressful time in the field.  Their coats swung easily against each other's in their separate gates; his kraja-marked hand rested comfortably on the curve of her back.  As they turned, she rested her head against him and he held her more warmly.

    Such a familiar sight, Sashana'i sighed to herself.  She had to swallow the guilt that rose with it.

    They needed someday to return to their birthplaces; their work in life would never be completed within Desal alone.  With the recoveries of several old but very good Desalian transporter systems and her collected memories all working together...  It was possible she could make it work.  She only needed time--and time to convince them to accept that fate when the day came. 

    They had said outright that they did not wish to return to their people, even later, after their duties at Irllae were complete. 

    "We would of course wish to see them again," Toma had told her and Aratra one day as they strode back to Dviglar.  His son was running ahead with Be'i, galloping through the grasses, his nut-brown hair but a messy nest on his uncovered head.  "They shall bring themselves eventually, seeking their crewmates.  Likely, merely records and word paintings would be found.  Yet even were Be'i and I still among the living, how could we be useful on a Federation starship?  As Desalians?"  He shook his head.  "No, we would rather spend our lives settled with the fact that our home remains here."

    "Yet you have left much behind to resolve, Toma," Aratra pointed out. 

    "Completion of one's fate is not always required for peace," Toma replied.

    Aratra sighed, shook his head.  "There are many who would need you and Be'i, particularly for what you have said of your former ship and many matters of your past left far unraveled--or mysterious."

    Toma considered that.  "Then thorough histories shall need to be left behind us," he said, "as there is not a way to return us as we were, or erase the years we bear.  Moreover, the issues of which you speak are over sixty years beyond this place.  We may not survive so long were we to leave this very sun."

    Looking out to the field again, watching Be'i capture their boy in her strong, thin arms to swing the giggling toddler around, kiss his head as she set him down, Toma's mouth turned up.  He did so love to watch them.

    Aratra was not done, however.  "I should think you rather would not face that which you left," he said.

    "Ka, this is truth," Toma admitted, turning his eyes down for a moment before finding Aratra's again.  "Why would we choose to go back to a place where we felt so little contentment and carry on from a point of such great insecurity?"

    "Perhaps not enough time had been available to you."

    "Perhaps.  Yet we reside here instead--as do our spirits, our son, all we call family now, our beings' truth. Never again shall we be what we were."

    "This is why you fear returning to them?"

    Were Toma disturbed by the question, he neglected to show it, but shrugged and looked out to his wife and son again.  They were finally wearing down a bit.  Still smiling with her exertion, Be'i had taken Ba'ela's hand to start them back.  Toma grinned to see her bright eyes and happy face, her soft scarves and gown caught in the breeze, her solid yet skipping step beside their toddler, whose hand she held with her small, sure fingers.  One would never have known she had endured a day of pain to see her just then.

    "This is our home, Aratra," Toma said.  "Be'i and I have already made our choice to remain; we shall in no way abandon any part of what we have made.  It would please us to see our birthpeople someday, however, and put that memory to rest.  We shall plan on that."

    With that, he left the trail to greet his lady and child.

    Naturally, Sashana'i was thrilled to know she would have her siblings for their time among the living, but it did complicate matters, made her plans increasingly ornate.  Even so, Toma had given her an answer to that without meaning to.  The problem was, figuring out how to accomplish that.

    Such was a regent's curse, she knew as the sounds of the Iaskeb celebration began to echo through the communications hall again.  But she was working on it.  Her own feelings of responsibility--for them and all who would be affected by their loss--would not allow her to relent on the resolution as they had.

    Someday, she knew, with patient and gentle influence, she would convince them of the fate she had planned for them.  It had worked before, after all.  And she definitely had the time.

    When she could no longer hear Toma and Be'i's steps in the corridor, Sashana'i turned back to Novren.  "So, friend, the polyphasic pattern enhancers and transport resequencers of the Kiburr-six salvage have been found?"

    Novren chuckled and bent to pick up his gear.  "I have my recovery teams searching it.  I am still curious as to why you are so aimed at it--aside from its technology.  Or do you plan to transport difficult minerals with the device?"

    Sashana'i shook her head.  "It is but a casual project, Novren," she shrugged.  "My price remains generous."

    "It is always a pleasure to assist Desalia's noble regents in their technical curiosities," the Antral captain smiled wisely.

    Aratra rolled his eyes, laughing as he took Sashana'i's arm.  "Should we ever use it to an advantage, we would share it with you, friend."

    "Yes," Novren replied, "you would."

    "Were it necessary," Sashana'i concluded for him, straightening her aching back, which would ache more before the day was over, she knew.  "At present, we must procure equipment and power for the liberation of the Onast Sector.  Shall assistance from Desal be required?"

    "No.  Tridl might have some more moths to toss from his fingers," Novren told them.  "And if he does not, Antral and Brija both have a refreshed complement of ships which will follow him there and help in what ways they would."

    Sashana'i nodded.  Like Aratra, she was wise enough anymore not to ask the Antral man of the method they would use.  Though willing ignorance was less efficient, she and Aratra both knew it truly was better that they did not know what the Antral had planned for the first purging of Unar in Onast--and more, that others among Desal did not find out. 

    Hearing about the existence and conditions of the Antral prisoner camps alone had brought instant protest of the brutality amongst the Cezians and other colonies, forcing Aratra to erect a small internment of their own to balance that terrible nature with which Desal had become associated.  There were very few Unar there, however.  Desalians usually left defeated ships drifting after taking their primary power nodes and any crystals they might need.  Their allies' understandably vengeful ways continued despite Desal's kinder efforts and encouragement otherwise.

    Thankfully, Novren had likewise become wise enough not to tell them his details.
 

---

    When they allowed themselves to think too much, they were often filled with wonder of each other.  All their memories, their lives, their pains, their dreams and insecurities, their love, their passion--all of it could be recalled in the other with little effort, and some of that had naturally influenced their present selves.  It sometimes surprised them how well that had happened--other times, it was unnerving to see qualities their partner had assumed, things they knew of themselves unconsciously emanating from the other.

    She could see her hot indignation rise in him sometimes, when once he would have shrugged the issue off or relied on a quip. At the same time, his impulsiveness had settled into a quiet nerve she had liked in herself but made his intense moods less forgiving to those who crossed him.  In her, he could see his casual charms poking through her frustration, making her more temperate in her anger and clever in attaining her needs, but a rather sharp tongued dealer. 

    Or at least they discovered those effects later.  The bonding had not always been a smooth one. 

    As with most who joined, there were times in the beginning of great frustration and inescapable awareness.  Until a proper amount of experience had been gained, the stress was inevitable.  As they were not born Desalian and required more time for the proper neurotransmitters to form, adapt and make the needed connections in their deluged minds, the process was prolonged and often rather intense.

    "Get out of my head!" he'd cried many times in tense moments, when their hostilities bounced between each other and multiplied as a result.  "Just leave my brain to bleed now that you have it punctured like a yibak cracker!"

    "Fine!  I'll get the laser and cut the link this instant," she retorted, clutching her pounding skull between her hands.  "You only make it worse!  Just stop!"

    "This is my doing?!" he demanded.  "--Just shut the hell up, B'Elanna!"

    For nearly two dua'ave, their poor elders had a fair portion of Prihar rattling their ceiling boards, stopping only when the youths wore themselves down enough that they would pity each other's duress--and sense that, too.  Then, they calmed considerably, their moods simultaneously turning comforting. 

    In that downtime, they laughed that they'd finally gone nuts.

    Still, while the transition took a good deal longer than even the elders had expected, they eventually adjusted to the alien nature they had taken on--realized in full what they had done, the full effect of sharing their memories and binding their passionate minds together in an eternal bond.  Indeed, years ago, they would never have considered such an insane notion.

    To add to the whirlwind, not long after they were stable enough to delegate their work at Dviglar and return to their ship, they discovered they were expecting a child--shortly after Be'i had collapsed in the middle of a leaders meeting.  They had been convinced that nothing else could shock them, but when Miztri amusedly gave the bondmates her diagnosis, Be'i swore roundly enough to even make even Novren and the other Antral take a step back.

    In time, however, it became a welcome diversion.  Once again grounded at Dviglar, Be'i and Toma were more than able to keep themselves busy with directing the resistance in tactical issues, teaching, repairs and continuing with the technical upgrades for Cezia and the other colonies.  Be'i in particular was close enough to the elders and all their land-bound friends to be goaded into taking time for herself, her bondmate and their child.  Eventually, she listened.

    It proved enlightening.  With the assistance of her enthusiastic elders, she had a pleasant, worry-free term, which was full of finding out exactly how blessed was that thing she and Toma had not wanted to bring into Desal's situation.  Thinking on making a family before had only reminded them of every other thin child on the streets of Azlre--this aside from the busying war, where they were more than needed.  Yet once her pregnancy began to show and her moods and equilibrium calmed, she felt herself fill with wonder at the feeling of a "kini'isa" growing inside of her.

    Toma, grounded as well for his bondmate's sake, similarly discovered yet another thing he never thought, being born human, he would--the actual feeling of a child growing within another's body.  It was not difficult to get used to, that.  Rather, sharing the pregnancy and childbearing with his lady, as was always the way with bonded Desalians, was, in a word, amazing.

    The word did no justice, however.

    He could clearly recall watching Be'i sleep, seeing her swollen belly contract and bob with a kick that she had easily learned to sleep through.  In his amazement, he remained awake, softly touching Be'i's palm, feeling...

    There was no description for it, but it managed to bring him to tears every time.

    He could feel their son's life, his energy.  In the Desalian belief, the spirit itself was not complete until the little life which carried it was able to support itself.  But Toma knew he felt the beginning of it there, knew what it would soon be. 

    Sometimes Be'i awoke to gaze into his eyes, smiling understandingly.

    "And how fares our little shuttle pilot, Toma?" she teased softly as he kissed and caressed her tight, warm skin, which still quaked slightly.  She had liked to jibe at him from the first kick that the boy's activeness was her bondmate's doing.

    "He prepares now for his first 'bat'leth' competition, good Be'i," he returned, still halfway entranced from the residue of what he felt in her.

    Amazing.  It was hardly a word at all.

    Then there was childbirth--a matter Toma of Azlre would not forget.  To prove it, he still bore the scar on his chin from when her first labor throe sent him tumbling down the clinic staircase.

    Only during that time did they realize that their ways had blended as they were supposed to.  The shared recollections slowly burrowed down into their natural memories, like the memory of a very long and oft-played holonovel.  It was just as strange sometimes but far more pleasant once they knew how to deal with it.  The empathy likewise settled into a queer sixth sense as their neural pathways readjusted to the alien connection and the practices they employed on a daily basis.

    Their physiologies had also undergone the usual sympathetic changes, which though easier on them than other reactions had been, was also something that took them off guard at first.  Meeting each other's eyes sometimes made them blink with distraction.  Other matters--such as his instinctual reaction speed, her blood-given stamina--were simply interesting physical subtleties they took as they came.

    Of course, after another full day coaxing the Azallis up to warp speed, their only discernible sympathy was not landing on each other when they fell into their bunk.

    She turned onto her back, eyes closed to the stripped-down ceiling.  "When did you say this war should end, Toma?"  she muttered, yawning behind it.

    He yawned right after her.  "Three or four suns past the last time I said it would," he said, still on his side, ignoring the old, common pain in his ribs, a twinge that was by then but a dim reminder of the cause.

    Opening his eyes, he saw his lady, arms flaccid above her head, seeming to willfully relax every muscle in her small body.  Her coat and gown were as filthy as her tattered wrap boots; her thin leggings were stuck to her shins with grease.  Her face was utterly still, relaxed enough that it appeared she was frowning.  He knew she was only as tired as he was.

    With some effort, he pulled himself up to sit beside her unmoving body and began undressing her.  Her eyes opened slowly to meet his, inspiring him to a pause.  At thirty-five years, she was even more beautiful to him, even in exhaustion. 

    Like a fine wine, he grinned to himself, and even more pleasing to taste... 

    "We are to Cezia soon," he said, distracting himself from things he knew they were both too tired to even consider, "and P'llaja'i shall call us should we be required.  Allow me to rid you of this now?"

    "I had not fought you before," she said simply, though pleased he would treat her that evening.  It was a common replacement for their intimacy when they were in the field, the undresser being the one with that last dose of energy.  Closing her eyes again, a tiny smile pulled at her lips as she felt the fasteners come loose, his tender hands push away the too-worn cloth.  She felt her skin sigh with relief as the cooler air bathed it.

    He worked slowly, enjoying the sight of his gradually bared woman, hearing her purr as he finally opened her bodice and spread it away, toying briefly with her breasts before dipping his hands under her.  Massaging the long muscles of her back, he meanwhile pulled her willfully limp frame up enough that he could push her garments off her arms then lower her again so he could remove her leggings.  Folding her items away, he undressed as well, grinning when he saw her eyes open just enough to watch him. 

    Exerting the last of her day's strength, she turned herself in the bunk to give him room to join her then sighed contentedly as his skin and their blanket both touched her.  All of it needed a good washing, as always, but it was better than anything else they'd had in two weeks. 

    His closeness filled her, and her fingers crept up to his temple, stroked there softly.  He leaned down to kiss her then made himself comfortable against her.

    "When Dajid and the rest of the Onast Region is freed," she whispered, "there shall be more offenses to secure--particularly the Jebrrad and Far Barrier sectors.  We should request finer repairs on the Azallis."

    "Then we shall procure the trades and take our rest while we may," he replied.

    "And Desalia..."  She drew a long breath.  "I feel as Novren does, that I would like to simply take it all, have it done."

    "It was your suggestion we not be too impatient."

    "Yes.  I wish this peace to be a secure one, as do the others."  She turned her head enough to nuzzle his neck briefly.  "And yet, I do wish to see the databanks, read each word for all it should be.  I wish to see Irllae celebrate its knowledge again.  I think so much upon it, it lives clearly in my mind.  Imagine the celebrations, Toma."

    Toma breathed a small laugh at her surge of excitement, with the dream they and so many others had shared so long.  "I already have, in myself and in you."

    "I can hear Dalra cautioning me yet again of the sixtieth precept of arrogance in the shadow of the future," she quipped.  "In spite of its use, patience remains a challenge at times for me."

    "It shall not require too many more suns," he smiled.  "And yet, it would indeed be an incredible celebration, with the music and foods and people cheering our freedom.  You would wear your blue gown and gold scarves, and we would toast Sashana'i and Aratra in the square with real sirril wine and hear the songs echo throughout the city.  --Yet at present, I would recommend we rest.  We shall require our energy when we return for matters we now bear.  Ba'ela, you know, shall happily sap every bit we gain."

    Be'i felt her grin press up to her eyes for the thought, lightening to think of their son.  Always, she missed him dearly when they were gone, ached to leave him and made herself more busy than ever to not regret parting even more.  Only knowing they were steadily en route to him made Toma's mention settle without the usual pang of longing.  "It is better to be impatient for him."

    "He has taught us well."

    Relaxing, she released her breath and thus the remainder of her day, and so he took her hand, moved his fingers into her palm, as they had been trained carefully to do.  For their physical origins, not to mention accepting that they could learn in the first place, it had been a difficult skill to gain, though increasingly rewarding when their bodies adjusted and they finally began to grasp it.

    She was pleasantly filled with memories close to being renewed again...of Ba'ela, their greatest blessing, and all the warmth, love, laughter and warm kisses resulting directly from him.  A freshly procured dinner and the sweet voices of family around them, and then journeying with their elders; their bed and old, clean linens, a sponge bath and making love on the floor, or on that soft bed, quietly now so not to rouse their boy's attentions...

    He shared her mind more than willingly, adding long walks in the fields--or often running as it was of late, waking up in the cool, dry air of dawn, warm tea and greeting their friends in the square.  He would bring her tea in the morning before the others awoke.  If it was early enough, she would invite him back onto their bunk.  They would later take breakfast on the floorcloth with their son and their elder-parents, spend at least a couple normal days before returning to Dviglar...

    And they so wanted peace...

    Perhaps that was what was meant, only that:  Peace, for Desal and for them.  They had a good deal of that in hand already.  The rest, like the other many of their dreams, would likewise come as well as they might steer fate to allow them that--yet still, only as it was meant.

    It was accepted.

    It never failed to surprise them, what they had done in but five and a half years.  Certainly, that fight had been nothing like the Maquis, but far more reaching and necessary in saving races upon races of peoples otherwise subjected to slave status. 

    She wondered sometimes if Unar would have crumbled after all, as Dalra used to predict on Uillar.  Once the resistance struck them and decimated their workforce, Unar could never come back strongly enough to conquer their foe.  They did considerable damage in their retaliation and still held the homeworld without disturbance, but they had never been able to come close to Desalia's colonies again.

    Sometimes, they thought the resistance hadn't even needed to be too clever or careful--even if she was glad they had been.  Despite the relative speed of the war, there had been a great deal of death on the resistance's side, too, particularly in the beginning, when many of the "captains" were still learning how to fight--much less fly.  There would have been a great deal more loss had they not waited while the Unar fought each other and then stewed in their disgrace.

    Toma and Be'i were doubly glad of their care to see how much better the ship looked the next day.  Though they were not commanded to, the better rested of the crew had solicitously cleaned up the corridors and the bridge over the long night.  As he unbuttoned his coat and took his seat to receive Dalra's morning report, Toma couldn't help but be grateful all over again for them all.

    "*Our regents and my bondmate travel together and behind you,*"  Dalra said over the comm, his voice like a soft, knotted blanket on a cool evening, that gentle tenor they had come to know so well, long ago.  "*They have taken themselves from Iaskeb this past hour.*"

    Be'i relaxed a little to hear that.  She had not necessarily wished to leave them at Iaskeb, even if it was safe.  "Has there been communication with Novren?" she asked as she continued to check the engine status from another monitor.

    "*Ka.  He has broken off his usual tangent and journeys this sun to Brija for repairs, thank the spirits for their many blessings.*"

    Toma snorted.  "I should believe it is too much of the 'spirits' that drive him," he joked.  Be'i was the only one there to get it.  "How lies the remainder of the field?"

    "*Another line of offenses have opened at Ra'ezfi,*"  Dalra reported, "*yet our Sureshan friends report this is well met.  I should also think you would bear more of yourselves here, my friends, as the arrellaros approaches.*"

    Toma smiled.  "We should arrive in good time, I would think," he said, spotting a similar smile in Be'i.  The holiday would be a welcome rest for all the crew.  "We shall see you soon, old friend."

    "*I await it.  The spirits bless a quick and a peaceful journey.*"

    "And your sun, Dalra," Be'i said, rising then leaning over to kiss her bondmate.  She did not do so often on the bridge, though there was not a Desalian there who would blink an eye at such a thing.  But she felt oddly compelled that morning.  "Latsari requires me," she told him softly.  "When our elders are contacted, I shall return."

    "Until then," he returned, reaching up to stroke her markings, which creased with her smile upon the touch. 

    Indeed, it was surprising, but certainly pleasant, that they felt so much more confidence about that fight than they did with the Maquis.  Tom Paris had but a few weeks there, but even in that experience, he had known that the result was a coin toss--and likely, only diplomacy would save the rebels in the end.  They just had too much going against them.

    One might have said that as well and far more easily about the Irllae resistance.  But as the Antral had said, their sheer numbers alone were a benefit; their exceeding desire for survival and restoration of their proper way gave them strength.  On top of that was their overall wish for peace in the region, which, sector by sector, was indeed becoming real.

    Opening the hatch of the Azallis upon landing at Dviglar, Toma and Be'i knew that desire all over again.  It was autumn on their lovely world, with its steady, dry breeze and warm sun; the full harvest from that spring's rains was under collection in the grasses around the base.  The finest sight of all, however, stood on the edge of the fields with a small, tanned hand in Bala's elderly one.

    Hopping down the short row of steps to the rocky ground, Be'i opened her arms to have them immediately filled with a joyous boy of four, so excited, his greeting was but a squeak.  It was just as pleasant as anything else he might have voiced, just to know he was there and they were, too.  Be'i felt an equal mix of relief and excitement wash through her as she pressed Ba'ela's little body close against her.

    "How we have missed you, Ba'ela!" she breathed into his soft curls.

    "It was but this sunrise when we spoke," Ba'ela pointed out.

    B'ei laughed and relinquished her child just enough that Toma could kiss their son as well.  "Subspace is a comfort, but not a replacement."

    "This is truth, Nali."

    "Has your elder-father filled your mind's lake with joth fur since we left?"  Toma queried as he tugged at his son's shirt.

    "Not that!" Ba'ela snickered.  "Yet my stomach's lake bore much to fill it."

    Be'i's brows rose.  "Dov?  And what has he filled you with?" she asked turning a look towards a laughing Bala.  "It would not be sirril, would it?"

    Toma rolled his eyes.  "Sirril is good for him, Be'i."

    "That is Aratra's excuse," she smirked, hiking Ba'ela more securely onto her hip, "and you shall convince me no better than he does Sashana'i."  She gave the boy a look.  "Was it enjoyed?  I should hope so as it is yet a rare fruit."

    Ba'ela's wide smile told her everything.  Be'i could only laugh at it--and be anxious for her elder-mother's company.  It would certainly be an interesting tale to hear, as Bala was not necessarily supposed to eat sirril at his age.  Of course, even all her playful fussing was something else she could be thankful for and she knew it.

    Later, as she threaded a thin gold headscarf under her thick crown braids, Be'i knew that their work would be far from finished even with a solid peace achieved. The economies, alliances, cities and even the attitudes of the peoples involved were all in serious disrepair despite the good morale flooding through better kept cities like Azlre.  Sacezia itself continued to live poorly and the other colonies much more so.  Equipment to treat their malaise could only go so far.  They still needed the resources to make a full restoration, and the peace and freedom from threat to do that in.

    In spite of Sashana'i and Aratra's increasing preoccupation with those concerns, their determination and plans to remedy that continuing tragedy, their ambitions were necessarily put off for their battles elsewhere.  This was aside from Irllae's databanks, yet to be rescued.  It had not been much of a shock to hear that Desal's own homeworld had been the storage place for the majority of the region's confiscated information, though it made the Desalian contingent all the more willed to rid the homeworld of occupation.

    With some luck, some more analysis of what they were up against, the resistance would free Desalia-Four completely.  With a good deal of work and more of their gentle but solid leadership, Sashana'i and Aratra would soon lead that restoration.

    Gazing at her reflection, Be'i reached back and twisted the remaining length of her hair and scarves into a knot braid--decidedly casual for a Desalian lady, but one Be'i preferred to the intricate styles even the most humble women might wear.  Smoothing out the tail with a comb, she dropped the heavy plait behind her.  Idly, she stroked the squint lines that had formed under her eyes, which had taken on a decidedly hazel tone after her bonding with Toma.  Though strange, it wasn't unattractive, she concluded after becoming accustomed to the change.

    "Rai i'i yrmonr savu'it?
     Szerr mrla a hzill re'o..."

    To that song with chimes for the Arrellaros, the parades passed through the streets, echoing up into the loft as it did the first time they heard it.  Those revelers would walk every avenue, passing through the many neighborhoods announcing the holiday.

    It was not unlike most holidays, really, but it was nice to hear.

    But she smiled not only for that witty old song.  There was more chirping and chiming much closer.  Behind her, on an expanded section of the loft, she listened to Toma tickling Ba'ela into his coat and boots, making the boy so excited by his tola's silliness that he tried to escape, only to be caught and tickled again.  Their son, wiry and agile, was pure play without much other trouble.  Rather, Ba'ela was too busy having fun to consider any other sort of mischief--and suitably bright and curious that Bala had been pleasantly challenged to keep him mentally occupied.

    Coming home to their child, so full of life and light, made the horrors and the troubles she and Toma knew well elsewhere even more worth their sacrifice.  Since his birth, they had known this.

    A year ago, they had helped liberate the forced labor colony of Satrif.  An equivalent to Uillar in everything but its poisonous climate, it had also been the passing site of Yusi of Allanois, and where Dulla had labored for nearly six years.  After the Antral's initial attack and removal of the camp guards, the Azallis was alerted to take prisoners back to Cezia.  Seemingly a simple mission, it grew into a protracted battle when Unar reinforcements arrived, hot with the desire for vengeance and stung anew for the loss of its largest camp.  Ten resistance ships had perished in a tense series of fights over four days.  It left even Be'i shaking.

    The Azallis itself--never landbound but for repairs and supplies--had been forced to land in order to pick up the remaining survivors.  They almost didn't make it off the surface again for the crossfire.  Thankfully, Toma spotted a window of opportunity the moment Latsari smacked the plasma flow initiator back into place, spit a few torpedoes back at the base as if to curse their trouble there and hurled them through the atmosphere to the safety of space.  Their secondary systems screaming for attention, Toma did not stop until they were around the tail of the Rallave Jihag and into the next asteroid field--and left the controls only when Be'i eased him away.  From there, they began repairing what they could, silent and mechanical for the after-haze of adrenaline and sheer stress, simply unable to stop.

    They returned to Cezia all but crawling.  Toma had been so ill and sore, and Be'i so exhausted and nearsighted, that they had agreed to allow Aprra and Cali to take them home in the hovercraft.  They finally drifted off on the short run, tangled up together in the rear compartment.

    Deposited at the square, they managed to drag themselves into the clinic, only to find their toddler holding the hand of one of the camp survivors, a small girl, and singing her a seasonal song he had recently learned.  All the other haggard inmates had silenced to listen to the music, a sort they had likely not heard so well in years.  One lady, about thirty, cried through her smile at the baby's song.

    When it ended, Be'i took her own heavy, but happy breath, making Ba'ela turn and call out, "Nali!  Tola!"  That sweet sound almost brought her to tears, too.

    When she caught her son in her open arms to lift him onto her thin hip, as Toma stroked his bushy hair with his trembling hand, Be'i looked into her bondmate's eyes and knew what joy was.

    It was with that hope, that future.

    Be'i stood from the makeshift vanity in the corner of the loft, barely hearing the creaky floors beneath her cloth shoes and heel-length leggings as she smoothed down her old blue gown, now hemmed at her calves for the inability to repair a portion of the skirt yet again.  Sashana'i had procured the once regal artifact for her first tsaborr at Azlre, knowing somehow that her dear friend would love it once she was brave enough to try it.  Be'i did and had worn that "best dress" every holiday since.

    Toma loved it too, Be'i knew as she pulled on her newer dress coat--another gift from Sashana'i and Aratra two rallkle past.  She was anxious to allow Toma to peel it off her that evening, kiss her lips, skin and flesh until she would be forced to stifle her moans and cries, lest they wake Ba'ela.  Moments later, lowering her onto him with the surety that proved their years together, he would arch his back so to rub his temple against hers, biting into the meat of her shoulder as she devoured the soft side of his wrist--partially to muffle her ecstasy.

    How strange it was sometimes to know exactly how well he knew her...and doubly exciting.

    It was not the time to think on that, however, she reminded herself.  She stepped towards Ba'ela's section of the loft, past the baluster they had built around the floor flap, which now led to a steep and curving row of stairs, replacing the ladder.  All were new constructions, erected soon after the boy had asserted his ability to come and go on his own.  Before, he had slept with his parents or beside the elders' pallet--though he always ended up with one of the couples before the night was through.

    "Are my men prepared for the arrellaros now that their appetites have been worked upon?" she asked, archly to tease their mood.

    "We may be, good lady," Toma returned, giving Ba'ela a pat on the bottom to get him going.  As if released from pins, the boy shot out of his cubicle.

    Be'i reached out for him as he hopped around to her side.  When Toma caught up, gave her an easy kiss and toyed with the low seam of her bodice, she opened the baluster for Ba'ela. 

    "Take yourself with care," she told him, as always, taking the heavy hem of her coat to follow.

    "I have never fallen, Nali," he told her, turning back a beatific grin that only his father could have given him.

    Thankfully, she was not as prey to it as others were.  Rather, it amused more than bent her that "her men" always used it despite its lack of success.  "Ka, and best this is maintained," she said.  "Keep hold on the rail.  This is meant, Ba'ela."

    Minutes later, with a pat on his head, Toma set the boy free to run through the sunny square and meet his friends, already at play with the games set up by the dais.  He darted into the crowd and between Bakali and Lledri with only a touch to his temple and a brief, "Zha lastnya!"  The parents laughed at the prichava's characteristic sigh and shake of her head.

    All that they wished was there, as was all they wished to do, their pasts and presents and whatever else fate was yet deciding to put upon them.

    Nine years ago, Aratra had told them the first time about the oneness of life and lives, the interconnection of all things living, bound in time for only the time they were among the living.

    When they let themselves think about it, their own part in it all could be overwhelming.  At the same time, it was equally simple.

    And blessed.
 

---

    As his ship slowly maneuvered through the Gozhor Jihap, Sub-Commander Gychak allowed himself a silent sigh.

    For five years, he had sought that voice.  In the crushing battles Unar waged with Irllae, through all the humiliation, death and destruction of everything his people had built and enjoyed in his lifetime, he had fought bravely, proudly.  He also had sought the man who possessed the voice that haunted him and teased at his doubts about Unar regaining their territory, told him his patriotism was useless, his efforts were in vain..

    It mirrored all the doubts he could not admit to, but knew were there.

    He encountered the drask shortly after he had renewed those many feelings.  Through sheer chance in a wild battle, Gychak spotted the ship readings he had memorized upon his first hearing that oddly familiar voice.  After that day, again and again, he had engaged the ship--the Azallis, he learned.  In five years, he had come upon it over twenty times, and each time, their skirmishes had ended in a stalemate--thanks often to, ironically, an Antral ship whose captain proved to be even more annoyed by his presence.

    Oddly, the stalemates pleased him.  He did not want the Desalian "captain" to die before he could see his face.  Unfortunately, the Azallis had never been damaged sufficiently enough that he could capture it, nor did the drask present himself at ground skirmishes.

    A couple years ago, when the Zhighapan camps at Satrif rose up against its leaders, slaughtering hundreds of Unar, both Gychak and the Azallis had been there.  The latter had landed to rush escaping Desalians, Brijan and Antral to its belly, the best look Gychak had gotten of the ship and its crew.  Running to his own ship, he had been so close to the Azallis, he too might have boarded it.

    But before the planet's defenses could recover enough to target it, it lifted like a feather in the wind...then spun and destroyed the array of ground canons and four grounded support ships with but a few well-aimed shots.  As it veered through the fire and into the atmosphere, Gychak watched it rise from the bloodied ground, and he knew his latest in a series of defeats.

    So humiliating.  So close...

    Such it is again, Gychak grumbled to himself as he ordered his crew to shut down another line of systems so they could continue at their present speed.  It was not only the Azallis left on the field behind them, after all.  Seven resistance vessels remained with it.  As for his side, though his cruiser had taken out one of the Antral ships, the Unar front had been reduced to him alone--again.

    It was either a curse or amazing luck.  His comrades thought it was both.

    The other resistance ships were left staggering, but being less damaged, they had won the day.  Gychak left them to that honor.  He did believe they had earned it--sacrilege, he knew, but he did not mind such thoughts when so brutally true.  Meanwhile, he would live another day to face the man whose voice seemed intent on confirming Gychak's buried pessimism.

    He would not speak of that, however.

    The monitor beside him bleeped, signaling their exit from the nebula.  He barely glanced at the readings.  "Set a course for Gozhor Haplit and then for Unar," he told his crew and watched the blazing nebula streams dissolve to a clean field of asteroids and some stars.

    Other commanders would not have approved of it, but Gychak still felt that those more familiar suns were comforting.  Even the stain of their incredible disgrace could not erase that love from him.  During the long, empty nights on the barricade of Uillar, the starlit sky was like a warm hearth for him as he lost himself in his thoughts--his doubts, his wishing, his aspirations, which all had no time or place within his duty.

    Looking at the stars that danced in the screen, Gychak idly rubbed his charm through his pocket.  It was under such stars that he had seen yet another man fall to the will of Unar and yet fight it too, sacrificing one thing to gain what meant more, no matter how humbling.

    Pulling his hand away from the charm, he turned to go cleanse himself before their arrival at Unar...

    "Where flies Commander Frouwid?"  Gychak asked as he strode through the long corridors of the Wisnnin base, painfully empty, he noticed as his grey eyes took count of all the missing ornaments--sold for supply, likely.

    "He takes the defense against the Antral at the Gozhor Duag," his personal officer answered, one pace off his superior's heels.  "He would take on the Antral uprising personally, he said."

    Foolish, Gychak thought before his better senses could stop it.  The Antral were a prouder race than any he had known: arrogant, strong-willed and deeply embedded with a despise of Unar even as they served.  Their avoidance of disgrace was nearly equal to Unar's, too.

    Then again, few other fronts were more pleasant by then.  Looking at the Irllae maps, seeing their "fleet" configurations as they were, he felt his heart beating in his throat.  Gychak knew his pessimism would someday be well placed only to look at their shoddy lines, their scattered sect deployments, their remaining territory, steadily shrinking.  The "easier" lands in Onast and beyond would fall for their lack of support and stronghold, as Unar had always concentrated its efforts on its most developed neighbors. 

    He wondered how his own people could be so ignorant to the fact.  They were losing.  They needed to prepare for that, not weaken themselves further in attacks of mere revenge and so-called dignity.

    Seventy years ago, it had been an act of pure brilliance.  Stripping their new domains of their fine technology, records and educational systems had indeed weakened Irllae, thus solving their immediate and long-term problems.  It put the drasks in their place, according to the commanders who had executed the plan.  It enabled them to begin their cleansing through proper Unar domination.

    Gychak had always wondered about that, however.  When his people got what they had fought for, they had become more corrupt than ever--or at least this was whispered among certain small communities, namely his own when he was a child.  As he grew, those rumors were brought to light, challenging all that his education had him know.  Lives were lived through series of payments and bribes, sects struggled for dominance rather than intellect, their philosophy, holidays, art and family became all but non-existent in the shadow of the military, which spouted its purpose as some miraculous cleansing.

    But even they knew that only Unar had been the ones affected by the streams of Gozhor over the millennia.  Why did other races need to be part of what was unique to Unar? he had wondered in his idle time.  He never did find an answer to that.

    He barely knew his wife.  Since they were joined, he had only visited her three times.  She was not even a part of his house; he could barely recall what she looked like.  Only on Uillar, staring at the stars on those bitter cold night patrols, had he had the time to think on her.  Worse, their child was but a belated thought when his usual duties slowed enough to allow him a distraction.

    Something within Gychak told him this was not a correct thing, possibly for he knew that it had not always been like that among his people.  The whispering of the aged in his village, the nagging voice within him, the shrinking of what his people had decided should be theirs a century ago, all of it found him again as he stared at the sensor map.

    Even having taken away the bulk of their technology, the drasks of Irllae were yet able to rise against Unar and strip them of their claims, sector by sector.

    When he had come through the Wisnnin corridors, Gychak had glanced in to see that none sat in the tisaluo hall.  Only a few years ago, it had been filled with his comrades, planning their next attacks, cursing the arrogant drasks who dared to think they had right in their claim to Irllae.

    Most of those same men were dead soon after--killed by the very peoples they had sought to put back in their place.

    Looking at the monitor in Commander Frouwid's office, Gychak could plainly see the Unar were the ones who were being put back.  The resistance had carefully recalled the original of Unar territory before the war--and had respected it.  Even Unar's nearest neighbors, the testy Antral, had not crossed the line.

    They merely wished a return to the past, he realized, a resurrection of their more treasured time, and the Unar were yet to be a part of it.

    It would be an amazing disgrace, Gychak thought as he deactivated the screen.
 

---

    "We are approaching Dajid, Captain Tridl."

    "Very well," the captain said, hardly bothering to stifle his yawn.  "Initiate a full scan to be warned of any more Unar ships in the vicinity and take us down to the back of the mining complex.  --Sabeg, shift our external energy resonances to match the camp barricade."

    "And the remaining Unar?"

    Tridl bit his lip.  In his hurry, he'd almost forgotten about them.  Turning a quick glance down, he saw that the barricade grids were not rotating; they could be transported through.  Better still, he had upgraded transporters and the Unar would certainly not expect him to...

    "Lock on to all Unar lifesigns and transport them into open space."

    Silence.

    Tridl turned a stare back to his slightly amused but somewhat hesitant tactical worker.  He knew as well as any other that the Desalians in particular would not approve of the tactic.  But it would get the job done, he also knew.  It would be difficult to prevent after the fact. 

    "Do it.  Unless you would rather talk them out of their posts?  Only be certain that they are Unar."

    The other man took a breath and did as ordered.  A minute later, he nodded, a bit unsteadily, to his captain.  "There are no more Unar on Dajid."

    "Good.  If the scans are clear, take us down to the surface."

    Tridl Himad could be at times a lazy man.  He was aware of this fault and didn't see much care in trying to change a thing that had been with him all his life, even if others cursed him for it.  It never meant he did not care about his people or the war--far from it.  He had been as active and clever in his service as any other self-respecting Antral. 

    What had kept the man those few extra days--certainly a couple more days wouldn't harm anything--was assuring that Unar ships had indeed left Dajid.  The plan in itself, once he had averted detection, had been rather easy.  All he had to do was slip near enough to the planet to transport a message for the prisoners and the artificial virus that had been designed for their captors.  Then they needed to find an asteroid to hide in while the virus took effect.

    Above all pride and arrogance, Unar truly did despise physical illness, and certainly, silica nitrate poisoning was scary enough to them.  Ugly, too.  It was only regrettable that the resistance couldn't use that trick again.  Tridl did get a giggle out of it, though, imagining the horror in their slivered grey eyes as the welts formed.  With but one provocation from his fellow Antral resistance ships, the Unar knew whom to blame for their blight and go to their ships for retribution.  The poisoning, of course, would have weakened them by then.  As they were efficiently picked off, all Tridl had to do was get past the few remaining guards.

    He did wait perhaps a bit too long to return to Dajid, but he didn't mind knowing that most of the ships that had left that world were either destroyed or captured.  For that matter, the diverse prisoners weren't suffering but to look at each other.  The virus' truly deleterious effect would only strike Unar.  But then, when he uploaded the Unar files from the camp the night before and saw who was there, he fell out of his bunk to rush back to the bridge and order his crew to scan the area again.  It was definitely time to act, if only to see if the prisoners list was accurate.

    All the while, he cursed himself for what the others had at Iaskeb--but for another reason.  For his avoidance of the Onast Region, he might have had his payment--and his systems upgrades--a full turn ago.  Had he known Y'dri and Me'ekra of Maha'aje were there, he would have gone the day after Toma and Be'i had commissioned him and to the maggots with the Unar.

    Either way, he would get a couple bags of platinum silicate to take to Koba to assuage his debts with enough to spare to see about some more upgrades to his ship.  It of course would also be good for Captains Dalra and Miztri to see their children again, too, but he did need the improvements...

    Blinking when he remembered the inmates, he gestures toward his lieutenant and ordered, "Release the anti-agent into the atmosphere."  He knew the virus was harmless, but he would rather not catch its outward effects.  Not to mention, the people on the surface would be glad to have it gone sooner, too.  It wouldn't take long...

    No, he did like Dalra in particular--Captain Gihetra, too.  He also admired the regents, who were properly clever but always good-natured and fair.  It was the regents' siblings who were worthy of driving him mad, constantly prodding and pushing him and taunting him...  Well, they may well have been justified to some degree about that, but it is not reason to threaten my manhood--repeatedly.

    For years by then, as they fought under the fair hood of the illustrious Azallis, the regents' siblings had never failed to send him an occasional lecture--some firm enough that in his necessary stops at Azlre, Tridl often avoided meeting them.  When cornered, Toma had the sheer nerve to explain in detail how useless a coward he was in front of his crew, while Be'i looked as though she would raise the fire of their people's demon to melt out his eyeballs for not continuing the search they had contracted of him. 

    Worse, they sometimes exchanged their moods without warning--and Toma would look as though he were prepared to follow through with his rather creative threats.

    Well, perhaps at times Tridl had forgotten their agreement, despite the purse they had offered...and they had never been outwardly cruel--and always generous with their repairs and praised him when he did follow through with their contracts...

    How many years has it been since they contracted me for the Maha'aje siblings? he suddenly wondered.

    "Lower the landing struts and prepare for grounding," he told his helmsman, though a nearby monitor said it was already being initiated.

    The landing was a standard one, and Tridl pulled himself to stand before hooking up his topcoat, straightening his short, dark russet hair with his fingers.  Then, moving to the access corridor with a long, proud stride, he tapped the control to open the hatch...then tapped it again and harder.

    A waft of musty air filled his nose, cool and woodsy and everything he remembered of Dajid--though the last time he had been there was almost fifteen years ago and as a mere supplier.  It was wonderful, fresh and wet, almost like Maha'aje.  But there was still a labor facility before him, the brown metal buildings, which were not nearly as bad as other Unar camps.  Rather, the entire settlement was decently equipped, bordered with small, stacked, box-like apartments and softened by the high coniferous trees all around. 

    He had heard tales on Cezia recalling Dajid as a once popular holiday locale, its space faring but lesser developed people quite welcoming.  Tridl could see why.  The sun itself, a deep golden yellow, practically asked him to lie back and enjoy it and the temperate breeze...

    "Where have you been?!" demanded a woman, shaking Tridl from his reverie.  Looking to the edge of the camp, a stately Antral woman with fading welts on her face stood glaring at him, her arms at her sides, her hands stiff.  Even her long, copper ringlets stuck out in ugly clumps to kick up her indignation.  "The Unar ships have been gone for nearly two days--and the guards for more than an hour!  And you left us like this?"

    "I would hold your tongue, woman," Tridl replied.  "You here have no idea of the Unar's capabilities.  You were not suffering, and I would not have risked capture when it was not safe."

    "I was not suffering," she responded, "but not everyone is alike, you stupid cur.  Some of the people at this camp did suffer heavily for your little trick--and you sat around playing with yourself in the interim!"  Sighing hard, she gestured aside, spun and strode back to the gate.  "Well come on.  I happen to know your Desalian booty.  The good thing in this is that we have a route out, too, thanks to them."

    "Oh, you would have been extricated," Tridl assured her, skipping to catch up.  "I, Tridl Himad--you might want to know--was assigned this section of captive space by the resistance, who have engaged the Unar ships that left here."

    She turned an eye back, softened slightly at that.  "Oh?"

    "Why yes, lady," Tridl said graciously.  "I only asked after the Desalians when I recognized their names in the databanks I accessed after scanning the surface.  The camp complement came with the other files....  And so they have been here." 

    She nodded.  "Long before I arrived with my cousin's crew nearly six years ago," she informed him.  "They have been in service here nearly seventeen years now.  They reside with the other Desalians."

    She entered the shaded forest complex without any fanfare, smiling to her friends and laughing to answer their obvious questions.  Holding her hand out, she accepted the hand of a blotched but healing Antral man, who bent to kiss her.  "Then we are finally getting out of here?"

    "Yes," she answered, reaching up to rub at a spot under his eye and nodding at the result of her attention.  "But I have to take this Captain Tridl to the Desalian residences first.  He really was looking for Y'dri and Me'ekra."

    The man grinned then winced and touched another welt on his cheek.  "Well, as long as we get off Dajid, I do not care about the reason."

    Tridl hardly heard him for suddenly finding his attention on the so-named Desalian section.  Less sturdy than the other buildings in the camp--squat and ugly in comparison--it bore a thin court where a number of long-robed, thin-faced Desalians stood, patiently awaiting the man's arrival.  From the group of adults and children, two dark haired individuals of about thirty years stepped forward, parting from their mates--one of whom held a small girl in his arms.

    It was becoming stranger and stranger to him, seeing Desalians in such a state, he thought.  Indeed, in spite of the trouble the regent siblings had put to him over the years, even they were fair-minded people with excellent intentions.  Seeing those people--there were even infants and elders, Tridl noted, similarly poor, dirty and compliant--he did feel the usual itch of compassion for them.

    "I am Me'ekra of Maha'aje," said the man who stepped forward, his tenor so like Dalra's it made the trader smile.  "My sister, Y'dri."  That said, the two bowed deeply to the man, touching their temples in the traditional manner.

    "Though I should think it would be wise to ask," the lady said, "why one might seek the humble such as us by name."

    Tridl couldn't have stood taller as he drew a deep breath to address them.  "Me'ekra, Y'dri, I am Tridl Himad.  On behalf of the Allanois Regency, I have come to reunite you with your parents, Dalra and Miztri of Maha'aje, survivors of Uillar and captains in our glorious resistance for freedom."

    "Is he serious?" said the other Antral man into his lady's ear, making her snort quietly and tell him to be silent.

    "They have spoken longingly about their parents," Yasis reminded him.  "Be respectful."

    The Desalians ignored their comments, too shocked to hear their parents' names, much less the rest of it.  They even looked at each other to confirm what the trader had said.

    "I speak the truth," Tridl assured them.  "Your parents live--and have little idea of your whereabouts."

    Y'dri looked at her Antral friends.  Both Yasis and her mate shrugged; the former finally gave a nod.  "He would not have bothered otherwise," Yasis told her.  At that, the Desalian lady opened her arms and took another step forward, tears suddenly filling her deep brown eyes.  Without any more warning, she embraced the trader, one set of fingers pressed to his temple. 

    "Zhra'i ka, nazha Tridl," she whispered.  "My most sincere thanks."  Parting from him, she again looked at the Antral couple standing by.  "And now you, too, dear friends, shall join us in deliverance.  No more might have been wished...except..."

    With a look to her brother, he immediately understood.  "Good man, bear you medicines aboard your ship?"  Me'ekra asked.

    Tridl blinked.  "Why yes.  Have you illness here?"

    "Of course we do!"  the Antral woman snapped.  "You're the one--"

    "Good Yasis," said Y'dri, touching her arm, "all shall be well."  She looked at Tridl.  "We shall prepare ourselves in humble thanks to the spirits for all your deeds, good man.  Yet assistance in treating further the ruse you employed would be required.  One among the Antral has taken it poorly.  It would comfort more spirits than one, your goodness in this, including myself, who is a trained healer among these prisoners."

    Me'ekra nodded to add to his sister's request.  "Your favor would be compensated for with my labor.  This body is lean, yet bears great strength.  Ka?"

    Tridl almost laughed.  But he had to remind himself that the people there, while quite aware of the resistance, had been completely separate from it.  They had no idea.  So, he merely said, "Your labor is not required at this time.  Your presence and well being is.  Prepare yourself to leave and bring your ill aside.  They will have any treatment needed."

    Y'dri smiled, touched his cheek again then bowed to leave them.  She did so speaking quickly in a form of her native tongue that Tridl had given up on years ago.  As the Desalians moved to gather their belongings, he gave another look to his fellow Antral citizens.  "I do mean that.  The ways have changed, with a good deal of work and some interesting luck.  But you will learn of that later."

    "I could get used to it," the man said, whapping Tridl's arm in acknowledgment before sweeping his woman into his other arm to take a deeper kiss from her.  She returned it freely and almost didn't let him break away.  He grinned and gave her chin a tap.  "I will start getting everyone together."

    Looking the trader up and down, she nodded.  "As will I.  Captain Tridl, I recommend you make yourself ready for some passengers."

    "It will be my pleasure, lady." 

    Yasis breathed against her first response to his bloated gallantry then turned to follow her lover.

    Within minutes of the announcement, the Desalians had boarded the plain, hulking cargo bay and promptly began helping the crew prepare the remainder of the ship.  Y'dri and her mate Ellreda in particular took every care to have the few frail elders of the camp settled comfortably, then Y'dri hurried across to prepare a space on the floor near the medical stores as the long belly of the patchwork ship filled with the others from the camp.

    As the ship's engines began to rumble awake again, a patient was carried in.  Outstretching her arms, Y'dri helped a dark-haired Desalian man with a steady frown ease the slight Antral woman down and into the bed.  "She shall bear wellness, good man," she assured, a smile touching her lips.  "I should procure it far more efficiently now with proper devices."

    The Desalian man touched his marked temple then the patient's bare one.  "Ka, Y'dri, you shall," he muttered, "else I shall procure the bitter reminder of your failure for the remainder of your humble existence."

    Yasis rolled her eyes.  "Silence your ravings, Gatra."

    Y'dri simply bowed to the threat, however, calm as before, though her smile was gone.  She then looked up to the captain, who had come to see the sick person.  "Our lady has borne a poor reaction to the ruse," she explained.  "I would believe she suffers an allergic effect to the nitrates.  Thus, an additional dosage of anti-toxin and a tissue regenerator would be appreciated, good man."

    Tridl nodded numbly, gaping at the open sores on the pale-skinned woman, seeing her trembling under the drab longshirt and worn trousers.  When Y'dri pulled the lady's heavily scuffed boots off, he saw the scabs had reached even her toes and winced.  He had seen many, many sick Antral in his life, many dead as well, but none from his own doing...or at least never a woman.  He cringed to think that only an hour before, he had laughed at the thought of the Unar he had sickened.  He hadn't thought that one of his own people might suffer such an allergy.

    Turning to the metal cabinet, already open, he sighed.  "This is my doing," he told them.  "I must carry the fault for waiting too safely too long."  He looked back at the angry man.  "You must not blame this healer, sir.  I am a man with faults--but not one to deny deserved responsibility."

    "You should need not feel sorrow but for ignorance," Y'dri said.  "As for Gatra, his blame is the way of his family, rightfully so in our debt.  He shall chastise me regardless of your culpability."

    Tridl understood immediately.  "Your family was in exile," he said to the Desalian, properly marked but as forward as any...  Well, as any of my own people, in honesty.  Though he appreciated the spiritedness, it seemed unnatural, to use the Desalian phrase.

    Gatra nodded once.  "My family was the Ella'omb," he said, raising his chin, "exiled in the short reign of Troka."

    "Ah, but those days are over," Tridl told him.  "The Allanois are the leaders of this resistance--it was their decree that raised their people from their contrition to return Desalia to its truer ways."

    "It was Allanois decrees which sent my family into nothingness!" the man retorted, ignoring Yasis' groan of disgust.  "Our fortunes taken, our names wiped from our histories--for our wish to help your people!  How can you defend them?"

    Tridl's eyes narrowed as his lips curled up.  Not that he would like to be Desalian, but he knew Sashana'i of Cezia, and Aratra--and they certainly were not anything of what he had learned of Troka or that other disastrous regent.  Rather, they had been more than generous with him--and even the siblings were fair when he traded well. 

    "You spit your bitterness for that you have lived on Dajid?" he said.  "Dajid, sir, is a paradise.  You have no idea of the contrition your grandparents were spared.  You have missed that much entirely."

    "What it may or may not have been," Gatra replied, "Desal took it deservingly."

    Tridl sighed and almost spoke again, but Y'dri reached over and touched his leg.  "I would not waste your wits, good captain," she said quietly.  "It would be pointless, and his words are familiar to me."

    Tridl snorted.  "Yet he will need to adjust his...nature, when we come to Cezia."

    "Should we be a corrected race," Gatra stated, "then my belief and expression would be freely accepted.  There are none in Desal who might silence me--nor could, for their own acceptance of contrition.  They know well of it for the disgrace my grandparents suffered."

    Tridl smirked, but followed Y'dri's advice and said nothing.  Seeing that man so willfully ignorant made him feel better about his mistake.

    As the young healer began sorting out and activating the tools he handed to her, Yasis' companion arrived with a girl perched up on his hip.  "If you are done torturing Y'dri," the man said as he emptied his arms--one of the girl, the other heavy with their belongings, "there is food over there for us.  Maybe you could get some and bring it back for dinner while we set things up here?"

    "I shall, Kurt," Gatra nodded and turned on his heel.  His dirty coat caught the air as he moved himself out into the thickening crowd that had gathered around a long food dispenser.  A moment later, he disappeared among them.

    "My thanks," Y'dri said without looking up from the effects of the regenerator, which were just taking hold on the woman's skin.  She continued the treatment, careful around the freckles all Antral bore, which ran along the underside of her jaw and curled beneath her cheekbones.  She smiled at the success and strung her fingers through her patient's dark, reddish brown curls, caressing as she continued.  That done, she picked up the subdermal injector.  Checking it first, she placed the head of the cylinder to the woman's throat and pressed it down.

    Moments later, the patient awoke with a start.  "Gye ak," Y'dri breathed gently, continuing her work.  "The resistance ship has brought themselves and I treat you now, Susik."

    "Marise?" she croaked. 

    "I am here," said the little girl, crawling up into her view and pulling a section of long, thick curls away from her face.

    The mother smiled for her sake then checked her friends with her eyes.  Blinking slowly, she gave them a nod and asked, "Did Gatra come, too?"

    "He is getting food," Kurt said, kneeling down on her other side.  "We are leaving Dajid--finally.  All of us."

    She drew a deep breath, swallowed in her dry throat as she took the girl's fingers into her own.  "Where are we going?"

    Tridl stepped forward to answer the handsome, serious woman.  "Cezia.  I need to bring Y'dri and Me'ekra to their parents.  After, I may take you where you want to go--though I will say first that Cezia is the safest place for even our own.  Crowded, yes, but well secured for those not actively involved in the resistance.  Where the lines are drawn now, even our beloved Antral is difficult to maneuver about.  We will be taking the route around Suresha instead."

    She said nothing at first, looking again to her friends, her daughter, and then the healer, who continued to work at her left.  "Secure is good, and Gatra needs to be near his own people again," she whispered, "as they are doing something about the Unar."

    "I hope so," Yasis said.  "His mood has grown too acidic for anyone's good of late, particularly his own."

    Y'dri, not stopped in her duty, shook her head minutely.  "This is a curse we deserve, good Yasis."

    The patient sighed as the Desalian lady took her hand to treat it.  "Not anymore, Y'dri, if your people ever did," she said.  "Moreover, you never earned any of his spite.  You have always been good and always helped--even when the others questioned us.  I will never forget what you did for us...for me."

    "Listen to her," Kurt said then looked up to a keenly interested Tridl.  "Gatra is not as bad as this, Captain--not all the time."

    "I should hope not," the captain replied.  "I have never seen a Desalian so...opposed.  Has he good cause?"

    "He was living with some Dajidian friends for a few years after his parents were killed," Kurt explained.  "The Unar picked him out and sent them all to the camp.  The others were released and his sentence was extended for life for being exile by blood.  This on top of the reason his family was on Dajid in the first place, he rakes over the retribution issue.  But since we received your message, he has been insane about being surrounded by his people again."

    Tridl nodded understandingly, but said, "Desal is very changed."

    "He will have to taste it before he eats it," the man replied then looked down to his friend.  "But whatever happens, you know Yasis and remain by you and Marise, as always, yes? Any issue with him is mine to deal with if you need it."

    She nodded.  "Yes."  Looking up at the captain, she offered a small shrug below a weak grin.  It warmed, however, as she looked at her daughter.  "Would you like that instead of Antral for now, Marise?"

    "If you are going there, Mother," the child answered coyly, scratching at a healing welt. 

    It was her father's smile, the mother knew.  Marise was so much like him....  "Then Cezia it is."

    "Thus there we go," Tridl said, as if it'd been her choice and command.  He always had been prey to soft-spoken women, and the lady there not only seemed by her demeanor and the others' treatment of her to be of high family rank, but was also a mother of an even lovelier little girl--another of Tridl's personal weaknesses.  He had three sons.

    Before he left, he leaned down to pat Y'dri's shoulder.  "You will be well compensated, Y'dri, for this woman's health," he told her.

    Y'dri closed the regenerator, finished her work with a caress to the woman's cheek and an affectionate smile.  "Gye, good captain.  It is reward enough to see our Lady Kichyrn well and her child with her.  Take yourself to your work and I shall take respite and prayer with my mate and child, my brother and his lady.  In this, we shall all be where we belong.  This alone is what is required."

    Tridl liked that answer, too.  "You are right of course.  Until we are to Cezia, then!  Be well, all of you.  I will have more food and linens sent.  Make any further requests known to me and I will see what I can do.  We will arrive in one gruvnu."

    "One gruvnu?"  Yasis queried, squinting up to him.  "I believe from my own travels that Dajid is not near at all to what was...is Desalian space."

    Tridl snickered to himself.  "I plan to move us very quickly," he told her.  "For your own convenience, of course, as this discomfort was unintentionally my doing."

    Yasis sighed.  "If only that you do not kill us on the route, I will not complain."

    "I assure you," he grinned, "I have as much to live for as yourself."

    "I am certain you do," she replied with as much mock sincerity as she could muster, going so far as to bow for the aspiring gallant as he moved away to the lift door.  "Dublachk," she muttered, making the girl near her giggle.

    "He is a dublachk with a ship, though," Susan said as she reached to sit.  "We will not be here long--and anywhere is better than that camp, even a Desalian colony."

    With her friends' help, the patient rose unsteadily upright.  Seeing her sway, Y'dri quickly gathered a few blankets behind her so she would have support.  "You shall require rest in your convalescence, Susik," she said softly, pressing her back against the soft pile.

    "You are too good to us," she told her while opening her arm to accept her daughter beside her.  "You know that, I hope?"

    Y'dri giggled softly.  "Gye, I would not believe I possess more than any other, good lady, though I would suggest you listen to my words were you to feel indebted for my thoughtfulness."

    Susan, though still feeling dizzier than she had in a long while, smiled back.  Even when the Unar were nipping at their heels for more output, Y'dri had always been both sincerely solicitous and wise-eyed to them all.  Me'ekra had told them once that their mother always had that way about her, too.  She had always wanted to meet those two's parents for that alone.  All of a sudden, it seemed they would after all.  To hell with Gatra, she thought, enjoying the idea of a friendly place again.

    "Very well, Y'dri," Susan finally conceded.  "Zhevra ye'e."

    Y'dri bowed, her fingers stroking her markings as she ignored the lady's usual errors with Desalian manners.  Her attempts were pleasing enough.

    As she straightened, Gatra returned with their tray of food.  He waited for the healer to notice his presence and move herself, but then simply got to his knees and set down the tray.  "She is treated, lady.  You may take yourself now."

    Obediently, Y'dri rose to her feet, offering the others another bow.  She opened her mouth to speak, but Gatra glanced back at her first.

    "Certainly your family would bear more use for you," Gatra said quietly, knowing well that an outright dismissal would not bode well with his lover, who had always sought to protect her daughter's ears that way.

    His quietness did the trick, regardless.  Y'dri stopped herself, released her breath through her nostrils, trying to clear the mist in her eyes she could not help when she sensed his impatience.  "Your forgiveness, Gatra of Ella'omb," she whispered.  "It is futile, yet this is applied for with all sincerity."

    Gatra said nothing, but did nod, excusing her.  Seeing her small form walk away in the corner of his eye, he moved into the spot she had occupied and pulled up the tray.  Seeing his lover healed and awake, he finally smiled.  "How do you feel now, Susik?" he asked, reaching up to her temple.

    Susan motioned his hand away with a wave of her own and a flick of her fingers.  "You can stay if you want to, Gatra," she said coolly, "but do not think to touch me right now, or in the near future.  You have been a selfish, boorish ass for two days without fail.  And now you dismiss my friend like trash at your feet?  I hate it when you do that to her and you know it."

    He bit his reply, seeing Marise' downturned eyes and frown.  "I have been too stringent," he admitted, handing her a mug of sweet water.  "I ask your forgiveness."

    "Again," Susan noted.

    "Ask yourself forgiveness," Yasis snapped,  "as you have been like an Unar to an innocent woman."  Taking a mug without his offering, she added, "We have not waited six years on Dajid to see you abuse the people partially responsible for our liberation.  So accept some of that manhood you treasure so dearly and forgive the unconscionable cruelty your Desalian natives have given you compared to our good hearted captors."

    Hearing the venom practically drip from her cousin's tongue, Susan knew without guilt that she couldn't add anything to it, and she didn't bother to try.  Her silence was enough of an agreement.  Instead, Susan simply sipped the water Gatra had brought and stared at her child's mop of chestnut hair, pressed gratefully against her breast.

    Good hearted captors, indeed.
 

---

    "You shall adore Cezia," enthused Me'ekra, his warm voice easily carrying over from the glowing corner of the cargo bay. 

    He and his own had set up a small section aside from the others, as many of the Antral and Brijan prisoners separated themselves from them, or even directed them away.  So, as always, the Desalians managed to carve a nook for themselves to tell their stories and share their traditions and small comforts around a heat globe, despite the people who surrounded them.  Susan had been told once that it was simply their way, to make what one could of what little they had.

    It was a familiar thing.  The difference was that they accepted their state much more readily, maybe because they were accustomed to less, because they had nothing to compare their misery with but locales.

    "It bears a fine, white sun to warm its skin," Me'ekra continued, "and lively dry air whose breath smells of crisp sap and earth, fresh silver grass, flower-strewn mountains--and a population as moderate and giving.  Ka, the short time of my boyhood there is well remembered.  I bore my twelfth year--and Y'dri was to take her final kraja of youth.  Upon that sweet soil, we stepped from the trade ship, our parents' hands in ours..."

    Susan felt somewhat better after having something to drink and a good meal--maybe too good a meal, in fact.  She knew Marise unthinkingly had eaten far too much; Y'dri had to return to help ease the ache that followed.  Though they ate decently on Dajid, it still wasn't as much as Tridl's crew had offered and they had naturally taken, their eyes being far bigger than their bellies, so to speak.  But all went well enough that Marise kept the food down and fell quickly to sleep at her mother's side, sucking her pinkie finger as she sometimes still did.

    Looking over, she saw Kurt leaning back against the wall, his close cut hair sticky for having been out in the rain that morning, his eyes a bit hazy for his tiredness.  His chiseled face was a little gaunt for the same reason, making him look a good deal older than he was.  Yasis was sound asleep at his side, her curly red hair lumped at the top of her blanket.  Gatra, lying apart from their group but nearby, was snoring softly.

    "How are you feeling?"  Kurt asked.

    "Well enough.  I itch, though."

    "I can get you something for it."

    "It can wait," she said, still staring dreamily at the glowing circle on the opposite corner as her fingers turned in her daughter's locks. 

    For several minutes, they listened to Me'ekra's story, how he and his sister discovered wonderful and new things on the relatively comfortable colony of Cezia.  As children, of course, they thought it was an adventure, that new refugee planet, even if their clothes were in tatters and they were hungry and ill.  They were only there a year before the Unar arrested their parents and sent the children with some other family of imprisoned conspirators to Dajid.

    Their parents had been sentenced to the forced labor facility of Uillar--and the shiver the mere mention gave Me'ekra's audience was equal to the one shared by the two who watched them from afar.

    It could have happened just as easily to us, with Marise sent away, never to know me, Susan knew, feeling her heart shrink at the horrible scenario that could have been.  How lucky we have been...and I hardly ever realize how much.  A decade those poor parents spent on that hellhole, according to Tridl...

    Looking at each other, they knew precisely how well they remembered it, even if they were on that nightmarish world but a few minutes.  And from there...

    "So," Susan said, relaxing into her native tongue, "I guess we're off again for who-knows-where."

    Kurt nodded, turned his eyes back to the congregation.  "Looks like it.  Doesn't sound too bad, this Cezia.  Maybe we'll be able to stay if all goes well."

    "I'd like to," she sighed.  "Gatra would hate it, but that would be his problem if I end up liking it.  I really want to stop feeling so homeless."

    He snorted.  "We were on Dajid six years."

    "You know what I mean," she responded, "and that was no home.  I want to use my knowledge again and stay somewhere where I don't have to look over my shoulder anymore.  I want Marise to go to school if that's at all possible, for her to have friends her own age and a sense of freedom, too.  I hate that she doesn't have that.  I always have hated that."

    Kurt looked at her again, seeing her eyes lit darkly in the glow before her, her skin pale even in the warm light.  Her blink was slow; her mouth, stopped for the moment, was straight despite her emotion.

    "It'll be all right," he told her, catching her attention briefly.  "We just stick together, see what we can't do about it."

    Somewhere above them, an old-fashioned ventilation system activated, filling the long bay with a gush of warm air.  In one dark corner of the area, two former prisoners of Dajid winced at the sensation.

    They could hear the voices all over again, voices nine years old but never dulled in their memories.  What others often called the sear of Uillar was equally fresh, that roasting sun and the dust...that terrible dust...

    It had happened so quickly...much too quickly...

    A grin ghosted across her mouth.  "Just keep it together, right?" 

    "It's always worked before, hasn't it?"

    "For us..."

    It had always seemed to happen too quickly, Susan thought, when they had not been still, those dots of life between periods of languishing, both good and bad.

    Looking back, the quickness was what she remembered most....
 

    Her hands still stung from hitting the hard, red dirt, which swirled around in that open "examination area" like an invitation to death.  Her lungs felt like they were being set on fire every time she gasped a breath.  The sun felt as though it would char her fair skin off.  Pain flared behind her eyes, rebelling the hot, hard light.

    "Who the hell do you think you are?!" their chief engineer demanded as she stepped up to look up at the giant guard, her posture and hard stare as defiant as ever.  "We didn't mean to fall into your territory, and we didn't do anything but try to turn back around.  We are not for sale!"

    "You are in Unar territory now," said the commander, imposing, white-faced--like a demon glaring down at an avenging angel, Nicoletti thought in her terror.  The enormous hand holding her thin neck was strong enough to break it.  She would be dead--easily dead--with just a flick of the officer's fingers.  Worse, those people didn't seem to look like they'd have cared one way or another, the way they had surveyed their captives.  It was definitely up to her commanding officers that time.

    "If you'll just listen, all of this can be worked out," Torres said quickly, visibly reigning herself in, sighing a hard breath.  "Just let us conta--"

    A guard's hand whipped out and struck Torres soundly, making Nicoletti jump back into the grip that held her.  The half-Klingon hit the ground with a bloody thud as the guard moved up to take another shot.  The shock in Torres' face was not like anything she'd seen, nor was the panic Paris displayed...

    Before she realized what she was doing, she heard herself screaming, "Stop!  We'll go with you!"

    "You were going regardless," said the commander.

    "Asshole," Kurt muttered under his breath, resisting every urge to shake off the guard's grip, smart enough not to try.

    Paris rushed up to grab Torres off the ground, but before either of them could move again, the guard struck Paris in the back with a long swing of his rifle butt.  As the pilot and engineer fell together, choking on the dirt, Nicoletti felt herself being yanked back, dragged on her boots, choking in her own right from the pressure on her neck.

    "I'll come with you!" she cried out.  "Please, just let me walk!"

    "Only if I ask it of you, drask," growled the guard.

    She whipped her eyes back to the wall.  Torres and Paris were but heaps on the dirt, unmoving, the guards reaching out to them...

    "Keep it together, Torres!"  Bendera suddenly yelled, more angry than insulted at that point that they had to go out like that.  "We'll do the same!"

    Nicoletti felt tears sting in her eyes, partially from the hot, stinging dust similarly filling her already depleted lungs and partially for the terror of being separated from the others as she was.  Well-trained as she might have been, there was nothing like the experience itself--and that one was kicking her in the chest full force.

    "Just keep it together!"  Bendera yelled again, just before Paris and Torres disappeared from their view.  Then they were gone.

    Turned suddenly, they found themselves side by side, staring at the ship that had brought them.  Unceremoniously shoved onto a small stone depression in the hard red dirt, Bendera managed to be quick enough to catch Nicoletti in his strong, lean arms.

    Clutching his sleeves, she didn't try to straighten herself at first, but collected what breath she could before looking up to him.  Breathing firmly, he gave her a sharp nod.  "We'll be okay, Lieutenant," he said, not really feeling it, but wanting to believe it enough that it showed in his tone.  "We'll stick together and see if we can't do anything about this, right?"

    She gave his arms a squeeze, finally coming out her shock enough to think clearly again.  He was right.  They would have to come up with some kind of solution...if that was at all possible.  Considering they would not be at Uillar, they'd have a better chance at doing something.  Once they got to the bazaar the Unar commander had mentioned--wherever that was--there might be a chance to. 

    Looking up, she tried to meet his eyes, though the harsh sun was burning into hers at that angle.  "Just keep it together," she agreed.

    She met them completely when they rematerialized in the same stark grey cubicle they'd inhabited on their short journey there.  Her hands dropped to her sides, but he still held her, as if making sure she wouldn't fall completely.  Feeling her tense up as the engines somewhere below them activated with a decisive whine, he held her attention, not knowing what to say, but wanting to be sure she was still there.

    It wasn't the first time he'd been to hell, after all, though he had to admit, those Unar were possibly as scary as any Cardassian he'd encountered.  Worse was that they actually were in control of that place.

    Yeah, you just keep it together, yourself, he thought, wondering what the hell he was in for that time.  One thing was clear right off, though:  Nicoletti was probably in a lot more danger than he was.  Superior officer didn't matter much at all right there and then--and for that matter, he wasn't an officer, just a Maquis in a black and yellow uniform.  He'd definitely have to look out for her, the way she was reacting.

    Nicoletti drew a breath as the world slowed down again, trying hard to think about what had just happened to them.  It was unreal.  One minute, they were pulling out their equipment to mine the plasma field, just as Lieutenant Torres had planned; Paris made yet another one of his usual quips then asked Torres which stream they should aim for.  She looked at the readings again and pointed out a stable signature.  But just as he began to approach it, another plasma stream ripped out of nowhere and dragged them into the rapids of the field.  They skidded over the plasma eddies like pebbles rolling down a washboard.  What seemed only like a few seconds later, they were skipping over the skin of an asteroid, nauseous from the distortions that had turned their systems upside down and inside out.  Before they could catch up with themselves--remember they should breathe, much less control the fires sizzling all around them--they were in a brig, and then on a place a guard had called Uillar.

    Now we're going to be sold...  To what?

    She drew a slow, deep breath to collect herself that time.  In a way, she didn't want to know what was coming, considering how the man called Hychar had looked her over.  He'd done everything but lick his lips.

    Suddenly noticing the pair of concerned eyes before her, she nodded.  "I'm all right," she told him.  "Just a little off guard."

    "Okay," Bendera nodded, finally letting her go so she could sit on the thin wall bunk.

    "I think the first thing we need to do," she whispered, at the same time firming herself with another breath and a quick mental recollection of what basic survival training she did have, "is to assess any way we can get out of this immediate situation.  If we're going to a bazaar, there'll be other people there.  Maybe we can get help from them."

    He agreed with a nod, taking the seat by her.  It was obvious, really, but he let her think aloud, since it'd probably help her to.

    "When Voyager is able to come after us, we'll need to be able to contact them.  If their other installations have anything like the force fields back there, we'll have a lot more trouble."

    "B'Elanna and Tom won't be able to," Bendera agreed again, but cursed his comment, seeing Nicoletti freeze.  "Look, they're tough.  I happen to know B'Elanna.  She'll do more than get by--and Tom's no fool, no matter what people try to make out of him.  They'll hold their own.  They just won't be able to contact Voyager.  So, yes, we have to stay able to do that if it's possible."

    She believed him--or at least she wanted to.  "So it's up to us.  And the first thing we need to do is see if we can get away from..."  She waved a hand in the air.

    "Worst part about it is not knowing what to expect," Bendera said.  "Living in the colonies when the Maquis was forming taught me a lot about that.  Best thing you can do is just to take things one minute at a time and keep going.  As soon as you stop, you're in for it."

    Nicoletti grinned at that.  "That sounds like something they taught us in survival training," she said.  "But they also told us when to stay still to get our bearings, figure out which direction to go.  God, I hated survival training.  I had to take it twice"

    "Great time to tell me that, Lieutenant," he joked.  She didn't smile, but she didn't look embarrassed, either.  "Look, even Starfleet can't train this into you--and God knows what I learned I learned on my feet.  You're right, though--you have to know when to stay tight and get your grips.  Keep it together, see what we can do when we get to it."

    "Agreed."  She leaned back to share the view of the bleak grey wall in front of them.  Why she couldn't think up anything nice and official to say just then--even channeling all her professors and commanding officers wasn't helping--was beyond her.  Much as they trained young officers to handle captive situations, giving her name and rank and looking for options in a territory she knew absolutely nothing about wasn't going to do much good.

    Bendera was right--they'd just have to keep moving...after they were released from that forced stillness, which for the moment, she didn't mind, and she eventually closed her eyes against the maddeningly dull walls....
 

    "What the hell is that?"  Popping up from his place against the wall, Bendera's eyes shot wide as the hissing echoed through the cell, and steam began to creep from the corners.  "Nicoletti!  Wake up!"

    She was already awake, staring at the corner where a nozzle had appeared to allow in the white, gaseous vapors.  Her heart beginning to thrum in her chest, she remained still--forced herself remember that same, once failed survival training:  When there's nowhere to run, don't waste your energy.

    The gas seeped steadily.  Gradually, it filled the space of the ceiling, began rolling down the walls.  Bendera had already moved himself instinctively to the ground in the middle of the cell.  "You bastards," he muttered.  If they really were going to be sold, he knew the Unar wouldn't kill them--but wanting to scare them or make them miserable was a sure possibility in the mean time.  He never put the same past the Cardassians.

    Nicoletti didn't follow him to the center, knowing with a certain dread that the fumes wouldn't stop until the room was filled.  So instead, rigid in the bunk, she yanked her tunic up to filter her breath. 

    Suddenly, despite her acceptance of a moment before and as the chalky gas began to sting her tongue, throat then lungs, she somehow realized that she didn't want to die.  Oddly enough, the thought hadn't occurred to her until she knew the fumes here invading her, when she began to choke, couldn't get her breath back, couldn't breathe again without taking more...

    Never in her life had she consciously known that she didn't want to die.

    The cold, chalky mist poured over her and she burrowed her head into her tunic.  It crept within her tightly shut eyes, drawing tears.  "Please..."  she heard herself whisper, drawing more tears still, a deep shudder of fear.  She heard Bendera coughing, but didn't look over as she started coughing, too, feeling the spearing mist invade her uniform layers and trickle down her skin like a swarm of gnats, creeping into every pore...

    Then it stopped.

    The vapors were allowed to sit a moment; then they were sucked swiftly away, leaving the two prisoners trembling and coughing up phlegm from the chalk left in their lungs and throats.  When they finally dared to open their swollen eyes again, they found each other's stunned facades--brutally clean.  Their skin was pinkish and raw, their eyes bloodshot.

    "What was that?"  Nicoletti gasped.

    "I have no idea," Bendera answered, looking at his hands, his uniform, softer after the...whatever it was. 

    Whatever guess she might have voiced froze in her mind with the materialization of a bowl in the corner.  Looking at Bendera, she suddenly realized it had probably been more than a day since they'd eaten.  He realized the same soon after and crawled over to make sure it was what they thought it was.  Experimenting with a chunk of the white substance, he nodded to Nicoletti and moved to share the bowl with her.

    Not that it was good, the plain little lumps of nutrition--if they were even that--but it was filling.  They ate it numbly with trembling hands, not daring to look at each other.  Instead, they retained what dignity they had with their silence.

    Some time later, the gases were turned on again.  And again...and again....

    And again...

    And again...
 

    "Damnit!  Why don't you people cut it out!?" she finally cried after they lost count, well over a hundred activations and who-knew how many days later.  Even their stories to distract each other had died quickly off, their plans useless and their nerves as raw as their skin. 

    They'd sworn after the first several times that it was a trick of some kind and they had to overcome it, not let it get to them.  After several more, Bendera made her promise not to give in, tried to bolster her as best he could--and several more after that, he stopped checking on her.  He himself didn't have it in him by then but to smack the wall to counter the pain, cursing between his gritted teeth.  As for herself...

    Nicoletti sucked another hard breath despite her seared lungs, sore enough with sobbing, and yelled again, "You want to kill us, then just kill us!  Do it!"

    The gases began again...
 

    Yet another umpteen activations later, she was silent when the steam began to hiss from the ceiling tubes.  Sitting on the grate floor, slumped over the hard bunk, she shuddered through her coughs and waited for it to end.  Somewhere nearby, Bendera was coughing, too.  She didn't look.

    She didn't care.

    Feeling an irrational surge of despair and utter powerlessness, Nicoletti simply buried her tears in her sleeve.  She couldn't do anything else about it and stopped thinking even about that.  It didn't matter; none of it mattered... 

    Why am I giving up?  What kind of officer am I that.  But I'm not an officer anymore--not here.  No, I am,!  I am, I am, I am...but not, not until we...no, not here...  "Oh God, please...just...do it..."

    Her thoughts turning too hard inside her to make any sense, she pushed it all away to simply let the gases stop, only to hear them start again and again.

    It was all useless by then, resisting it.

    One of those times, it would end--or they would end.  She knew that, too.  Something would have to end one of those times.
 

    "Up drask!"

    Her limbs trembling, her breath coming in short, hard gasps, Nicoletti pulled herself to her feet beside Bendera.  She belatedly realized they had been beamed straight from the cot she had occupied to what looked like another shower area, a light grey slab rock room with slightly raised pools at either end and a door at the middle, slowly filling with other non-Unar. 

    At least three quarters of the others looked like hooded apparitions, Bendera thought, still trying to stop his own trembling with the welcome distraction of new information.  The Bajoran occupation and its victims flashed back into his mind at first sight of those ragged, huddling people, who didn't speak or resist, only waited--probably knowing there was nothing they could do, he figured.  Before he could get a chill from the idea that those people's state was what was in store for him and Nicoletti, he felt a hand grab him at the upper neck, and then heard Nicoletti screech a short cry.

    Just as she reflexively arched away from the guard's grip, as she was led closer to the middle of the room, Nicoletti caught the eyes of a tall, copper-haired woman with a river of ruddy freckles on her cheeks and jaws.  She was plainly dressed in a long shirt and trousers with a wide belt tied on her ribs, like the others by her, but was also staring intently at the two of them.  And, having examined them, she unobtrusively brought herself nearer. 

    Nicoletti couldn't think to interpret what the woman was thinking for the feeling of her heart hammering through her chest, the blood draining from her head...

    Bendera had noticed the young woman too--and frankly, if he'd been in a DMZ dive, he'd have beelined right over to her, not the other way around.  What he would have done to be in a DMZ dive, though--and not just for the lady...

    "Do not fight the routine," she told them when she was close, and then silenced when the guard holding Nicoletti immediately ordered her to.

    Bendera caught it--and somehow knew that the woman, though not much over twenty, knew her business.  Unashamedly letting the Unar do what they would, the strength of her stare convinced him to hold himself in check.  On a sudden urge, he played a cough--covering his mouth with his comm badge-filled hand, and then sucking the piece into his mouth.  He pressed his lips over his slightly parted teeth and kept his tongue far back into his throat to manage his urge to gag on it. 

    Seeing the woman across smirk at that, he nodded with his eyes, hoping she understood as well.

    He'd have rather fought his way out--but if they didn't check his mouth, keeping his badge would be the next best thing.  So he let his arms fall to the side when the grip on his neck loosened slightly.

    Suddenly, Nicoletti felt the Unar practically rip her tunic from her vapor-scorched shoulders and arms, and then her turtleneck.  "Don't!" she gasped, seeing her familiar black and gold then grey, land on a quickly growing pile in the center, seeing the glint of her pips and badge disappear under someone else's coat.  "No..."  Not that, oh God, not that...

    His neck released, Bendera tried not to look towards Nicoletti as he was forcibly bent over.  He could hear her crying out and trying not to, and then an "umph" when she hit the hard grated floor.  He hit it a moment later to feel his boots, socks, trousers and shorts yanked away from his body, and then the cold, uneven surface pressing painfully on his genitals.  Flashes of stories about Cardassian interrogations and tortures swept through him and he nearly swallowed the comm badge for it.  Only hearing Nicoletti struggling by him kept him from resisting.

    Guess this is one of those times we stay still, he growled to himself as he felt the hand on his neck again, standing him up.

    "God no, please, no," Nicoletti was whispering between her teeth, and he would've whispered something back if he could have.  "No, no, no.  No!"

    "Up, drask!"

    "I am not a drask!"  Nicoletti finally shouted, on her bare hands and knees, not moving from the ground, feeling as if she'd rather have a heart attack from the panic before following those hairy, rough-handed guards to wherever they were--

    With a hiss, the Unar grabbed her hair and dragged her up anyway, turning her towards a tub filled with what looked like a liquid form of the white gas they'd been exposed to in the brig.

    She suddenly forgot both her nudity and the sharp pain in her scalp as she tried to scramble back from what she was powerlessly nearing.  Even as several other women silently entered the shallow bath, she could already feel the liquid searing her raw, red skin and shrunk against it, kicked back, flailed her arms.  The large guard didn't seem bothered, pulled her swiftly across without another word.

    "No!" she screamed only seconds before she was unceremoniously shoved into the white pool, landing flat on her stomach and forearms.  Whatever was in that water was even more heinous than she had expected:  She heard herself screaming and curling up before she realized she actually was.

    If there was a hell, she knew she was burning in it. 

    Her arms quaking, her body following soon after, she'd have gladly gone back to Uillar to prevent what she felt there, like acid crawling into her very bones, making her head throb and spin, her stomach lurch and tears roll like lava from her searing eyes.  Any thoughts of Starfleet discipline and dignity, things she'd thought a couple weeks before to have had pretty nicely under her belt, along with handling herself in captive situations--all of that had fled her for the pain and terror that had taken over, as did every sensible thought she might have had in any other situation.

    When she felt a long bristle brush press hard against her back, she collapsed to her hands and knees again, her back arching with sobs.

    What seemed like an hour later, she was tossed back onto the grate floor and allowed to dry.  She couldn't move, refused to even let another puff of air waft against her, and so she lay shaking and crying, wishing she could just faint like any normal human--and wondered why she hadn't by then.  By all rights, she should have.

    A gentle hand touched her head and she jerked forward, sucking a breath.

    "It's just me, Lieutenant," Bendera said, shaking the spit off his communicator while fighting his own trembling.  His skin felt so brazed, he might as well have been one huge cut with salt on it.

    "I can't move," Nicoletti whispered hoarsely, feeling herself begin to cry again just to hear herself saying it.  She couldn't stop it or the convulsive tremors consuming her.  "I...can't...they...  I can't move..."

    "You will have to," said the woman who had spoken to them earlier.  Kneeling before Nicoletti, just as naked but oblivious to it, she bent down to meet the trembling woman's eyes if only to try to strengthen her with her stare alone.  "You have survived the ritual cleansing--which is well enough considering they have already been stripping your skin.  I have felt your pain the first time and understand your turmoil."

    "The first time?"  Bendera asked.

    She nodded.  "The first time, when you are not Unar, they strip your skin to purify you for the baths.  The pain will pass, but you always remember it.  After that, to enter the bazaar, you need only bathe."

    "You're here willingly?"

    "I have purchases to make," she told him, looking them both over, particularly the trembling, tearful woman.  She sighed, deciding.  "But I suppose I will be making different ones than planned."  Leaning even closer, she whispered, "If you want to survive with your wits in tact, stay silent and let me purchase you.  I could see by your clothing you are not from this region--but worse, you do not know the way about this, which itself is deadly.  When they open the doors, I will have you purchased into training.  It will be done quickly and we will leave immediately.  Obey me and you will live."

    Nicoletti looked up into the woman's serious stare and drew an unsteady breath, trying to make her brain catch up with what the young woman had just said.  A few seconds later, she just nodded.

    A few seconds after that, the guards brought several stacks of clothing into the room then left again.

    "The drask clothing is there," the woman said, pointing.  "I will supply you with better when I can.  For now, wear them and say nothing.  I mean this--nothing.  And act confused.  They will demand your compliance if you fight, but seek you to be trained if you are only ignorant.  It is the way of our lives here--unless you are clever and play their game with your own rules."

    Nicoletti slowly pushed herself up to a hip as the woman and Bendera walked away to the stacks.  Numbly examining his slim, firm frame, she couldn't help but notice the difference between him and the other humanoids taking the "drask" clothes.  Though well postured and highly observant of what was happening there, most of them were malnourished and sickly pale.  All of them had thin blue markings on their temples; a few had more on one of their hands.  They had been silent throughout the "ritual," and obediently dressed themselves without any show of emotion.

    The woman who would buy them was not emaciated like the marked people, but slim for her height with a patrician profile beneath a mop of long, red hair and rosy freckles meandering beneath her cheekbones and jaws.  While dressing in her previous clothing with seeming indifference, she snuck a small, supportive smile back to Susan.  Then she whispered to the others nearby.  Looking back again and over to Bendera, they gestured minutely with their fingers.

    It finally dawned on Nicoletti that the woman might just be the chance they needed--and then she wondered why it'd taken so long for her to understand that.  Shock, maybe...most likely.  Her more cautious side in her was screaming she was deciding too quickly on all of it, though every other nerve in her wanted to, just looking at the other horribly thin drasks and feeling her own skin still crawling with the feeling of the brushes.  She knew they needed a way out...

    Any way out.

    The mere thought of being away from their captors made the risk worth taking, made her mind collect.  Yes, it'd be the best option, the officer in her said as it slowly came back to her. Escape the present danger, assess the situation and make new plans.

    Bendera's face spoke of the same buried hopefulness as he came back with their "clothing," and politely dropped her small stack on her legs as he passed behind.  She silently thanked him for that, though there were definitely no more secrets between them.

    Once she had clumsily donned the sheer tube of a dress and tied the accompanying sarong over it--that with the helping gestures of their mysterious friend--Nicoletti gave Bendera another nod, much like the one she'd given him in the brig.

    "I'm okay," she told him, hoarsely, but so wanting for sincerity that she held his searching stare until he finally let her be again.

    Her eyes fell when he turned, however, as if he alone had been holding them up. 

    The rear door of the washing room opened and she didn't move to look, even as the rays of sun fell across her back.  The two large officials stomped in, throwing hard shadows across the room and silhouetting their hulking frames as they moved into the center of the open space.  She only saw their boots.

    "Drasks--line."

    Compliantly, the thin, marked people filed in next to each other.

    "Act confused--remember?"  Bendera whispered to Nicoletti, who blinked, her attention regained.  She turned the wrong way and took a couple steps.

    "Drasks!  In the line!"

    Bendera pointed for her and she played a look and a nod, hurrying into the end of the line, where she bumped into the person before her.  "Sorry," she said.

    "Nizha ye zal," the woman whispered kindly.

    "Silence!"

    The woman froze and Nicoletti clamped her teeth together so not to make another sound--also so not to get the woman she had used for show in trouble again.  Her efforts by then were in vain, however, as the official strode forward, yanked the marked woman out of line and threw her onto the floor.

    Only Bendera's hand, pressed to her thinly covered back, kept Nicoletti's mouth closed, her teeth, chattering by then, tightly pressed.  Instead, she told herself repeatedly to breathe as the Unar walked slowly around the emaciated woman's compliant body. 

    "Mines," he told a guard, who whisked the woman away.

    With a jerk of his chin, the official moved back to allow the traders to come forward.  They only glanced at the two unknown people then went on with their usual business.  The red-haired woman gave them a glance over, too, but after seeing the others there, visibly checking her purse, she sighed and gestured to them. 

    "These are untrained," she told the official, her head bent while still observing the two drasks with a steady frown.  "I will train them for a standard charge in the house of Kichyrn for repurchase in one Antral revolution.  I am Yasis Onistra and my trades are known here.  My cousin, Aldrun Kichyrn, has served Unar capably and for him I make this trade with your approval."

    The Unar looked over to the two's wandering eyes, the female's trembling, the male's fumbling; then he looked back to the ugly yet compliant Antral woman.  "You would return them to this location for repurchase at fifteen kibo above the standard novice rate," he stated.

    "Your command is respected and will be gratefully followed," she answered and offered him her purse.  When he held out his hand, she poured her oblong kibo bars into it.  In return, he gave her a square, black crystal, which she hooked onto her breast pocket.

    The official stepped to them and pulled two black cuffs from his pocket.  "Training," he said and locked the rings tightly on their arms.

    Bendera popped his attention back to the Unar and the convincingly irate young woman.  He wondered how many times she'd done that before.  She was acting her part to the hilt, looking pissed off and resentful, with no hinting glances to reassure them that time.  More, she silenced anything he might have said with a decisive flick of her fingers.

    "You will follow me," she commanded.  "Deter from my path and I will lose forty kibo for having snuffed your miserable forms from existence."

    She'd have made a good Maquis, Bendera mused as he replied with a single, slow nod.

    Turning on her square heel, she led them out of the room and through the bazaar.  Far less than they had expected, it was nothing but the barest of open kiosks with antiquated parts, poor, blank-eyed vendors and a throng of Unar at every corner.  The sun above, dry but cool, did nothing but hurt their eyes and make Nicoletti shiver when a cold wind whipped down into the tight square of short, flat buildings.

    Looking over, Kurt felt some relief to see Nicoletti seeming more alert and examining the stalls and the people they passed.  Now that they were seemingly out of the Unar's hands, she looked to be coming back to her senses.  Even her face had gained back some color. 

    Soon enough and without any warning, they came to a gate.  Giving the guard there her chip to examine, the young trader gestured to a small, pill-shaped freighter waiting by.  "This is transport," she said loudly.  "You will take your first lessons with my cousin's crew and in my aunt's house, the remainder.  Do not make yourselves a waste of money, else you can eat your shame in the waste yards of Gamich."

    Spinning again, she brought them to the long row of steps that led up into the upper midsection of the craft, which Nicoletti first noticed were heavily rusted.  Stepping aside, the woman let them board first, as if to be careful they wouldn't run away, and then hopped up after them.  Before her feet were on the deck, she punched the button for the door.  It ground up and slammed shut as she skipped forward to the center corridor.

    "Take us from here!" she called forward.

    "Starting this instant," came a smooth baritone from a bleeping bridge about five meters to their right.  He spoke again, but into a comm.  The belly of the ship answered.  It chugged lazily to life and grew into a steady roar a few moments later.

    The woman turned back to Nicoletti and Bendera, finally allowing her grin to appear.  "I congratulate you," she told them triumphantly.  "You are officially fugitives of Unar."

    Bendera audibly let out his breath.  "Thank God."  He would have hugged her if he didn't have to steady Nicoletti, swaying slightly as the internal gravity readjusted.  "Anything's better than property."

    "I understand that well," she said, pleasantly plain as she held her palms upward with a deep nod.  "I am Yasis.  The man you just heard is my cousin, Aldrun, captain of this ship--which is assigned to standard ore transport, but, as you will see, is a bit more than that.  You will meet the others who work in the engines later."

    Fighting her dizzy relief as she realized that they had escaped, Nicoletti straightened and tried to show some sort of dignity for a change that day.  "I'm Lieutenant Susan Nicoletti," she said, her voice still trembling, but trying.  "This is Crewman Kurt Bendera.  --Thank you for helping us."

    "Rather long names," Yasis commented and gestured to the short corridor. 

    "We've been separated from our ship and the others on our team," Nicoletti continued.  "We would be very grateful if you could help us contact our people."

    Looking back, the young woman gave them a long stare.  "I had a thought at first sight that you were not of our region.  We have only heard ancient tales about crafts going though the Barrier.  You are from outside of it?"

    "The Barrier?"  Nicoletti asked.

    "A shield of plasma which surrounds our region of space," she explained as she took them toward the bridge.  "It is impenetrable with our ships, so we stay away from it.  But you got through."

    "It wasn't exactly our choice," Bendera said, "but yes, we did.  Our ship will probably follow us, if it hasn't already.  They'll be looking for us.  But in case these Unar find them first--"

    "Which is likely," Yasis said.

    "Is there any way we might send an encrypted message through subspace--contact them if they are here?"

    Yasis nodded.  "We can work on that," she told him.  "The Unar are pests in their patrols but arrogant enough in their power that they do not normally look for anomalous signals, so you do not have to do too much.  But I would tell you now that any signal would be dispersed in the plasma fields--as are most ships when they stray too near."

    "Voyager could get through it," Bendera told her.  "We just need to let them know we're okay and where we are."

    "That may be done, if we are able to repair our main relay."

    "We'll help you with any repairs you need to make this happen," Nicoletti promised, "and we'll pay you back--generously."  The moment she finished, she grabbed a bulkhead as the ship suddenly lurched to take off.

    Yasis smiled broadly and took her arm to escort her the rest of the way forward.  "That would be a pleasure, in light of what payment we require.  You might have noticed this?"

    If Nicoletti hadn't known better, she would have thought the bridge at the head of the transport was a storage closet.  Barely large enough for its two forward chairs and the machinery crammed into it, the auburn-haired captain had to duck to look around--and did so directly at Nicoletti, who stood in the thin doorway, staring back at him.  Her eyes briefly widened as she straightened.  Another moment passed and he released a soft breath.

    He did not avert his deep green gaze as he asked softly, "Where is the laridium?"

    Yasis bit her lip.  "They were out of it?" she ventured in her light lie, letting her glance jump toward the other two.

    There, the captain rolled his eyes.  "I would curse you had I no reason to trust your instincts, little cousin," he said, turning back to his console.  "So make me trust you again."

    The young woman garnered her strength with a quick breath.  "Do not call me a liar: They apparently are outsiders to Irllae--and for whatever they are, they were having great difficulty," she told him, tactful for the other woman's sake and nodding when his stare widened to reconsider the two.  "I could not leave them as such for the Unar, Aldrun, their being so ignorant of their hatefulness.  Had you gone, you would have done the same.  Dorchan and Malhid and the others at home--Kebis, even--will probably curse me to the dust of my body, but it was our earned money--and mostly my earned money for my service at Tralbil--not anyone else's."

    "And so...?" he started, intent on his work again as he set their course.

    "Cousin, we can collect our own plasma, which is a hundred times superior to that dung Unar use."

    "It is also a detectable upgrade," he reminded her.

    As Yasis sighed, Nicoletti bit the corner of her lip in thought then moved forward a step.  "Detectable by what?"

    "Unar scans, of course," the man answered, quietly confident and slightly condescending for the silly question.

    "What kind of scan?" Nicoletti pressed then added, "I'm an data engineer, Captain.  My friend here is a systems technician.  We can help you mask your plasma output ratio so that they would have to be looking for you personally to know your trailing signature.  Meanwhile, we can look for our ship using the same equipment."

    The captain and Yasis returned their stares to the outsiders.  "It is your trade?" Yasis gaped.  "You are true technicians?  Oh, my instincts be damned for finer luck!"  Laughing, she shook her head, touched both their arms in thanks, hopping in delight.  "You would help us honestly?"

    "It's the least we can do for your saving our necks," Bendera answered, surprised that she had to ask twice--and then he remembered when he was on an equally battered ship, how he felt about the blind offers of favors.  "We'll do what we can.  Fair trade."

    Yasis turned another look to her cousin.  "Well, Aldrun?  May I keep them?"

    Aldrun laughed, easily relenting.  "Welcome aboard, man and lady."

    "Lieutenantsusannicoletti and Crewmankurtbendera," Yasis corrected then snickered to see Aldrun not catch the joke and stare back at them with a raised brow.

    Nicoletti didn't smile.  "Nicoletti or just Susan will do," she said, "since we'll be working together for the mean time."

    "Kurt's fine," Bendera added.

    "Kurt, Susan," Aldrun nodded as his eyes roamed over the female portion of his guests again; then he gestured to the seat by himself.  "Kurt, who is dressed well enough, will join me and learn my systems.  During this time, I will take us where we can mine plasma.  We have six gruvnu before we are expected at Antral for reassignment.  Yasis, take our beautiful yet inappropriately outfitted Susan aft and find her some clothing; then show her our engines." 

    His simple and assured command given and another glance the lady's way, he turned back to his work.

    "I have a change that might fit, though a little long," Yasis smiled and took Nicoletti's hand--then held it more warmly to feel a jerk at the casual movement.  "It is well, Susan.  You are relatively safe and my cousin and I are of a good and clever Antral family.  Well, all Antral are forced to be both clever and mercenary since the Unar forced their 'plan' upon us.  But it remains:  You have nothing to fear in us."  As they moved through the rustic corridor, she laughed again with disbelief.  "Engineer!  I almost wish I were Desalian, that I would have spirits to thank."

    "I'm sorry?"

    Shaking her head, she turned them into a small bunkroom.  "Only an expression," she said and walked across to a nearly empty closet.  Reaching in without much decision, she pulled out a long, faded red blouse, a waist sash and a pair of brown fitted trousers.  "This will do well enough."  With a shrug, she handed them to her guest and bent into a small trunk.  Digging under a couple thin blankets, she tossed a slightly worn bustier onto the other clothes.  "We will adjust the hems later, but roll them now.  And for now..."

    Yasis reached over and unclasped the band enclosing Susan's cold upper arm.  With a smirk, she pulled it away and tossed it behind her, where it clinked into a corner and bounced away unseen.  Susan looked down to the red indentation it left behind, nodding her thanks.  She had almost forgotten about it being there, but was glad to see it gone.

    "Better, yes," Yasis said surely and gave her new friend a nod to continue.

    Seeing the Antral lady was not poised to leave, but moved around her to pull a slate from the wall, Susan shrugged to herself and began to carefully change out of the clothing she had been assigned. 

    "You said you were a part of a team," Yasis said as she prepared the bunk and breaking what she thought was an uncomfortable silence.  Though she seemed better just then, Susan had been affected by the cleansing without a doubt.  Yasis could still see the woman's fingers trembling.  "Did they escape?"

    Susan's answer was quietly put.  "Actually, they're part of what we need to look for, too.  The Unar captured us all and separated us at the prison they took us to."

    "That is not uncommon."  Yasis hopped down from the end of the bed to open a trunk.  Among some more blankets and underclothing, she extracted a long tube.  Tapping Susan's hand, she squeezed out a fat string of amber oil.  "To soothe the cleansing, friend.  You will need only use it a few times.  It is very effective."

    She looked blankly down at the oil then began to massage it into her arms.  True to Yasis' promise, it numbed the pain almost immediately.  "Thank you."

    "Maybe we can devise a trade," the young woman offered as she went back to setting up the bunk above her own, "collect some funds to purchase them when they are shuffled.  The Unar stir their drasks when they feel the mood to reassess their power.  Where are they interred?"

    "They called the planet Uillar," Susan told her then blinked to see the Yasis' jaw and freckles visibly flush.  "What?"

    She sighed a deep breath, shook her head.  "Any other place but that," she whispered.  "I am sorry."

    "Sorry?  About what?  --Please tell me."

    "None but a Desalian," Yasis said, "for their physiology, has survived the conditions at Uillar.  Even the Unar take treatments and undergo several ridiculous cleansing rituals to serve their duties there."  She lowered herself to look into her new friend's paled face.  "Again, I am sorry, but it is unlikely you will get them back."

    "God, what else can happen here?"  Susan whispered, shaking her head to feel her throat tighten.  "I'm supposed to be handling this, I know, but I can't.  I don't know what to do, and I know less now because one of the things we need to do isn't going to make it."  Feeling Yasis' long, warm fingers rest upon her shoulder, she looked up to her again.  "Are you sure?"

    "I wish I was not."

    She swallowed her tears for her officers--tears, shock, horror, everything that had never been allowed to fade since the moment they were first captured and had well begun to wear at her.  She and Bendera might well be the only ones left.  Or at least soon, they would be if they couldn't find Voyager soon.

    Susan turned at Yasis' gentle nudge and allowed her to spread the healing oil over her raw back.  "We need to find our ship," she said.

    "When you are dressed, we will begin that immediately," Yasis told her and eased her around.  "In spite of my jesting, I do understand the term 'lieutenant'--and that you serve under another.  It is how the Antral once worked, too, long ago.  Did you serve under the other two?"

    "Yes," Nicoletti said.  "But they...well, I guess you could say they're friends, too.  I don't know them very well, but we're all a part of a ship trying to get home.  We have that much in common."

    The young woman held Susan's sad gaze.  "Then I am sorry that you have been forced into this place," she said.  "I will tell you of the plight of Irllae, though it will not bring you any comfort."

    "From what I've seen..."  Nicoletti started then peered at the lady, at least five years younger than herself--and thirty years older for the presence she held in place of her giddy laugh.  "Your people, at the bazaar.  You trade for servants there.  You run a slave trade?"

    Yasis nodded, none too proudly.  "The Desalians commit themselves to labor to feed their families.  Unar put their conditions upon them when they conquered them--after we first were conquered.  It is complicated, Susan, but for this moment I will say that we needed Desalia's help before, and for their pacifism and our lack of technical superiority and numbers, we are all subject to Unar's wills.  Now, we still need Desalians, in more ways than you may think.

    "This is not a good place, where you have found yourselves.  It is full of pain you probably cannot imagine, if the ritual scrubbing had been your worst trauma in life."  With a long sigh, Yasis helped Susan to sit and handed her the tube to apply the oil to her feet.  She then sat beside her, touched her shoulder again.  "We will work so to make your comrades proud of your efforts and vindicate their plight," she promised.  "And if we are very fortunate, your ship may come in time to find you and your friends themselves."

    Susan's hands stopped on her knees.  "I hope so," she said.  It was an empty statement.  She honestly did want to hope, but after what she'd seen and been through so far, she couldn't help her pessimism, nor her shame.  She indeed probably had little idea what those people had lived through.  But that was what she had to work with, so she silently resolved to simply do what she could.

    Naturally, it would not be so simple.  The moment she stepped off the last rung to the engine room, Susan turned to see five filthy, freckled "mechanics" and an engine that whined and churned instead of pulsed.  A steady stream of coolant hissed from open injector brackets, corroded housing tubes and tape-bound wiring hung together like hammocks under every juncture and the charge relays crackled, making all the monitors--such as they were--flicker...

    If she hadn't already had enough shock, Susan would have cried--fell down on the floor and cried like a child. 

    The desire to do just that settled soon enough, though--along with a good deal she couldn't puzzle out and simply shut aside.  Instead, she stared at the clunky engine, the half-lit systems, the makeshift panels with manual switches and the sooty deck.  She didn't even want to see the drive chamber or the reactors. 

    Releasing her short breath, Susan swallowed.  She closed her eyes for a full second; then she opened them again. 

    "I need diagnostic equipment," she muttered.

    When Yasis retrieved it and put it in Susan's waiting hand, she nearly dropped it for her trembling.  "Go get Bendera, please," she said tightly, clutching the scanner against her sinking gut.  "I need help reconfiguring your relays.  Then I want to clean this place up."

    Yasis nodded.  "I will help you, too," she said, offering a grin when Susan looked at her, "my friend."

    When Yasis was gone, Susan looked down to the alien tool to figure it out....
 

    A month later, she barely had to look at it.

    "Did they finish the injector refit?" she asked, tossing the recharged scanner onto the bunk so she could pull on her trousers.

    "Last evening," Yasis answered, "after you retired.  I think we will have the finest ore bucket in the region once you and Kurt are done telling us how to run our ship."

    "You asked."

    The outsider lady had met her quip, even if dully.  It was the way about her, Yasis had learned as she came to know Susan.  She was a rather plain-hearted woman, though polite and extremely intelligent.  Her sleep was more often disturbed than not, but she spent her days productively, with tasks laid out and followed through in quiet automation.  She did have small breaks in her concentration, though they were always inspired by others who whispered she might break if touched the wrong way. 

    She noticed that Aldrun brought out Susan's wits, though, which was undoubtedly a good thing.  Kurt watched after her, too, made himself obvious and gave her a pat on the back and some cheer in the way of support or thanks.  For them, Susan did return a small smile--sometimes.

    "I will see you below?" 

    "I won't be long."

    With a nod, Yasis slipped out to let her friend finish dressing. 

    Susan barely felt as though she'd slept.

    As she dressed for yet another day mining plasma, she ticked the numbers off in her head.  It had been a month, plus the time it had taken from when they had crashed in the shuttle to when they had met Yasis. 

    Just what I signed up for, she sighed, somewhat bitter but not really frightened anymore.  The routine helped that--as it always had with her.  The figures she droned into herself almost every day she woke up in that uncomfortable bunk feeling dirty always helped somehow, too.  Rational, predictable, answerable...  So that makes...almost six or seven weeks since we left Voyager?  She could barely count it anymore, and wondered why she bothered.  Antral time was a pain to calculate around her natural clock, this in addition to those ships, that place, their situation...

    The antiquated power refinery, even with her and Kurt's improvements, were unnervingly slow.  The other systems in the ship could likewise use a century's worth of upgrades.  After hearing what they had about the occupation, though, they knew it would stay precisely that--a century old ship without much chance of anything but better care.

    She still wondered about that woman in the baths--a Desalian woman, she knew by then--and what might have happened to her.  From what she already knew about Desalian service, the woman had probably sold herself to feed her family, only to be committed to a camp where she would have no payment and no release.  Yasis said not to feel guilty for the woman, as it was likely the guard simply didn't like that Desalian's appearance and used Susan's mistake as an excuse--and a way to hurt Susan, too. 

    Susan couldn't forget it, though, and always felt ill when she remembered what she'd done.

    Torres and Paris were probably dead by then...dead on a planet only Desalians could survive.  Maybe that woman had gone there.  There was no sign of Voyager--anywhere.  No word at all.  They couldn't scan the space, of course, not with those useless and barely operating short-range sensors, which incredibly worked on charge-tube plasma relays.  Susan still shook her head when she looked at them.  She had read of such technology in her history courses.

    In her worst moments, she had checked to see if the Antral crew might have been blocking their signals--and didn't know whether to be disappointed or happy that they couldn't have done it even if they wanted to.  She also knew the nebula they'd been in wasn't affecting it.  The radiation wasn't that unstable to cause such a disruption.  Kurt's comm badge, they concluded, should have also been unaffected.

    In the past week or so, she had started to neglect checking on it.  She cursed herself every time she remembered and hurried to the panel--then cursed again to find nothing.

    Tying the closures of the red longshirt Yasis had given her, Susan stared at the wall, knowing numbly that they weren't getting out of there.  They were stuck there, on that ship, in an alien underground.

    Susan missed what the Antral called paradise desperately, would have done anything to get her old and easier life back again, replicator rations, dull diagnostics, Torres barking at her, more reports than she could finish, followed every few nights by a visit to the holodeck with her friends.  Even the battles with the Kazon would be a comfort at that point for knowing eventually a sonic shower and a comfortable bed awaited her after fixing a ship that was worth the effort.  She could practically feel those smooth, clean sheets and a comfortable pair of pajamas every time she closed her eyes and ignored her oily skin and the heavy odor of engine soot in her borrowed clothing.  She could feel the peace she once had in sleeping.

    But those simple comforts felt father and farther away from her.

    Janeway would have come for them by then.  Even without the plasma, she would have had Voyager repaired within a couple weeks.  Or maybe they thought they'd all been killed and moved on and left them there.  Nicoletti could see how they could come to that decision.  Captain Janeway would have hated it, but if it were for the best, she would have acted thinking for her surviving crew.  It was a Starfleet attitude that Susan understood, even if she hadn't been practicing the same policy of late.  Not that it mattered there.  Not anymore.

    At the same time, Susan hoped she was only being too pessimistic.  As she left the small quarters for her more recent routine, she knew her pessimism was merely the truth.  Any lingering hope was forged simply out of her need to survive and look forward to something in that dead-end situation. 

    Meeting Aldrun in the corridor, she offered her usual dim smile and nod.  As always, he bowed deeply and welcomed her to the morning.

    "Nice to be here," she replied and continued to the stairs that led down into the deep belly of his ship, even if a stupid, nagging part of her wanted to turn back around and apologize.  Aldrun had been courteous and tolerant of her coolness.  He was also downright chummy with Kurt, which annoyed her for a reason she couldn't explain. 

    She took herself back to her work despite all of that, and did what they would need to keep that rustic collection of parts together--though they would never be what she wanted them to be.

    Aldrun noticed this every morning he came to the engine room, humming unconsciously to himself as he examined the stations.

    His casualness was deceiving, as he truly was curious to see what latest thing had been done to his ship.  While it tinkered through one of the string nebulae near the Antral home system, the two had done an enormous amount of work on its systems--more than Aldrun might have dreamed of any crew, much less an accidental charity of his cousin's. 

    Indeed, what the outsiders had done merely with what they had on hand and the plasma they collected and refined was stupidly miraculous to him.  Ironic, that, for the two in Antral eyes would not have been extraordinary at first glance.  But Aldrun had been watching them, too.  Kurt was quick to think and strong for his build, the captain could see, and he had a contagious humor that people followed.  Susan, though a hand shorter than his cousin and delicate in gesture, was remarkably astute, creative and adept at shutting off every sense to concentrate on her near-constant work.

    He wished that he could give them access to everything the underground possessed.  Perhaps, if the outsiders' luck were very poor, then someday, he would be able to take them to a ship that was not already assigned to Unar ore transport--to ships the Unar were not aware of.  What good things they could do in their misfortune--though indeed their lot was a pitiful thing--could be a great progress for Irllae.

    Shamefully realizing precisely how much the Unar had purposefully retarded Irllae, Aldrun pressed himself into their service, wanting to know everything they did, asking them to show him everything they were doing, asking the lady to explain every detail, to instruct him in their ways.

    "What now, Captain?"  Nicoletti asked, willfully pressing her shoulders down as he looked over her work.  She could practically feel his breath on her neck as he hummed a tune in a purring baritone--and as always, he was slightly off key to her well-tuned ear.  He did it so often that the annoying measures often followed her to her sleep.  "Are you afraid we'll sabotage the ship?" 

    Aldrun chuckled.  "If this is sabotage, then it is the finest I have known."

    She peered back at him.  "Not that you would know the difference," she returned, but sighed at her insult and how that reflected on his manly features.  "Sorry."

    He still felt it.  "You believe I am not intelligent for that you have had more opportunity in your fewer years?"

    "No," she said, soft for her shame.  She had quickly learned how frustrated the Antral were, and that just in the crew of ten on that ship.  Their situation, knowing the Unar had confiscated almost everything their people had ever achieved but their lives and basic culture, really was pitiful.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean it like that.  I...I forget sometimes."

    "I forgive you," he said gently.  "This is not your home.  I understand that you speak from ignorance as easily as I am ignorant.  Now, Susan, please tell me what you are doing.  I want to learn more, everything you can teach and my ignorant mind can grasp."

    With a short nod, she did just that.  Helping them might as well have included teaching them to keep up her work--things they could have done themselves but simply hadn't been taught to.  More, when she thought about it, she did want them to know all they could about the systems they had to use every day.  They never had that opportunity, even with the means at their fingertips, living in that place as they had to...  As Kurt and I do now, too, she recalled, and then stifled the resulting chill.  "Bring me that spectrometer and I'll show you what to do with it."

    He chuckled to himself, but said nothing, suspecting she would not be amused.  "Yes, Susan," was all he said.

    At another terminal, Kurt and Yasis shared a wise grin and turned quickly before the other two noticed.

    Susan caught it, though, and smirked imperceptibly.  They were like two kids on a grand little adventure sometimes, laughing at in-jokes and teasing the adults. Worse, Bendera was four years Susan's elder.  She hated him a little for his ease.  Certainly, he had kicked and growled at the empty signal they'd sent out and checked every time they got the chance--he more often than she did, in truth.  He still examined his badge to see if the ferranide charges were working. 

    But once he had gotten into the small routine--wake, eat bread and drink rizki, work, take dinner, talk a while, sleep--Kurt relaxed, and he had even taken to telling them about his experience in another war he had fought, far away.  It was a fight the Antral only wished they might have and listened to word for gruesome word.  It always ended the same, wondering where Voyager was, if their friends and their remaining away team were still alive. 

    Still, like most of the other Maquis she'd known on Voyager, Kurt rolled with the punches, so to speak.  He was in a place with people he liked, doing something to help what seemed like a good enough cause and made him feel useful.  As for wanting to get back, he had already admitted that he needed to get over it and move on.  If the chance came someday, he'd take it.  Until then, he'd make what he could of the relatively good thing they had there.

    She had done the same if not more--but felt nothing behind it, even after she knew she would never go home....
 

    "Susan, we have to start considering it," Bendera told her.  "I know it's not easy, but if Voyager's not here yet--"

    "I know," she said, cutting him off without thinking to.

    "Maybe sometime we'll be able to get out of here and catch up with them," Bendera offered then looked at the Antral captain.  "Until then, we do need a more permanent arrangement."

    "I would not argue this," Yasis said to them and her cousin.

    "You want to stay here, with us?" Aldrun asked, kicking back to lean against a wall.  "If so, I will of course have you, even unto Antral.  Aside from being good company, you have helped us a great deal.  I would be foolish not to admit to that advantage; however, you have become our friends as well, and for that, too, I would protect you.  You will always have work and camaraderie on my ship, even if you likely will never see your potential here.  We simply do not have the technology you enjoyed before."

    Bendera held the captain's measuring stare.  "Much as I liked the idea of being around modern ships again, I can handle it.  --Susan?"

    She shrugged.  "I guess we don't have a choice."

    "You would have to be seen as Antral, however," Yasis said suddenly, looking at them both in turns.  "I fear our own people would not accept you even if they thought you were from the Borderlands.  Even as orphan Antral, some will be paranoid about your foreign status.  Worse would be their fearing the Unar possibly discovering you and taking their usual liberty with us all in that event.  And if the Unar do catch you, they will take you both for service without question, if not worse."

    "She is right in this," Aldrun nodded.  "We can keep you on my ship, safe and anonymous among my crew, but if we are taken for inspection, there would be nothing for us to do for you without getting the entire crew killed.  We might be punished only for harboring you."

    "So much for the bright side," Susan muttered, her stomach already shrunken at the word "inspection."

    Yasis looked at her, motioning to her hair and fair skin.  "Even if your coloring appeals to them, if you are seen as Antral, they will not take you as a whore."

    Her stomach turned yet again for that thought, though she did ask, "Why not?"

    The Antral's lips twisted derisively on that thought.  "They do not like the reactions they get from our 'secretions'--and I am thankful for it."

    "Where's the pen?"  Susan smirked, but then said, "No, if that's a guarantee, I'll take it, even temporarily.  I don't ever want to go back to that bazaar--and I definitely don't want them touching me--ever."

    Aldrun gave her a long look and continued to until she met it.  "You never will, Susan," he promised.  "I will make certain neither of you serve in that capacity.  Yasis can bear that bazaar for she was born to this place.  But you should never return to it--even if you are ostensibly Antral.  There is more appropriate work for you to do, even if quietly."

    "Thank you," she said, meaning it as much as she knew he did.  Beguiling as he could be, she had come to know Aldrun always meant what he said.

    Yasis let her hands fall onto her knees, settled with the plan she'd already decided on.  "So, we will refine a jolt more plasma to charge up the surgical laser--if I can find the thing?"

    Aldrun nodded, but then considered it.  "We have no anesthetics on board," he said.  "We will have to wait until we can slip into Antral."

    Yasis was almost defeated--but then suddenly smiled.  "But cousin, whatever became of that tisaluo we found discarded?"  Looking at Susan, sitting upright in her chair, her still unfinished meal in front of her and her lips pressed flatly together, the younger woman crossed her arms and considered her friend.  "In truth, Susan, I think we all may like to have some wine."

    Susan looked back, her expression unchanged.  "You mean non-replicated wine?" she said then shook her head.  "I've never consumed alcohol.  It might not be a good idea."

    Bendera gave her a half-meant grin.  "Anesthesia, Susan.  Think of it like that.  Frankly, I wouldn't mind a dose right now.  And trust me--you could use it, the way you've been operating."

    She gave him a stare for that one, but finally sighed and shrugged an agreement.

    Two hours and two bottles of "Unar urine with a sweet touch" later, Kurt and Yasis' laughter was bouncing off the rusty walls and pummeling her in both ears. 

    The drink was truly a poison, but Susan cringed her way through half a glass of the wretched stuff so Aldrun could get the laser work over with--which she consequently didn't remember him doing.  By the time she finished the glass, she forgot that she had emptied it--and didn't notice Yasis slipping more in.  She could barely recall her own name by the time Aldrun was ready for Kurt.

    Not that her name was important anymore, she thought in her increasing stupor.

    Kurt and Yasis, however, had exploded into evil little plots for their enemies, leaving them howling as they became sillier.  Yasis hadn't stopped giggling since refilling Susan's wavering glass and encouraging her to drink, wickedly enjoying the sight of the engineer losing her usually staid grip on the world. Meanwhile, Aldrun went to work on Kurt's face.  The former Maquis was likewise feeling the drink so well by then, the captain might have sawed straight through his skull without hurting him.  Aldrun was careful anyway.

    "Maybe the Cardies and the Unar aughta get together--co'pare notes," Bendera chuckled, cocking a grin behind him.  He was too inebriated to move otherwise.  "Maybe give each other some examples...howta' make everyone's lives hell?  Invasions, rapes, deceptions, psychotic ambitions on howta' take o'er the un'verse."

    Yasis snickered even as she swallowed another mouthful of the wine.  Her feet propped up on the end of the chipped stone table, her boots off, she turned her slim foot on its side to play with the worn-out surgical laser and settled on punting it away when she failed to pick it up with her toes.  "I concur--but only if our furry natives visit your side."

    "Since I won't be around to see it?  Sure.  I'm buyin'."

    "Ah God, I'm gon' vomit," Susan moaned.  She was sprawled on a long wall bench, trying to scratch at the swirls of pigment spots permanently burned into her jaws and cheeks.  But her hand couldn't get up that far. 

    "Hey, Nicoleopard!"  Bendera called out, snorting at Yasis' query of what a nicoleopard was.  "Help us plot tha' Cardie accords!  You're Starfleet, know all 'bout this crap. --Or maybe yah don't."

    Drawing her bleary eyes across the room for help--any kind of help--she only saw Aldrun, silent and very still, sipping steadily from his glass now that his work was completed.  His stare locked on her, he smiled appraisingly to see her face.

    Susan groaned and let her head fall again.

    "You know, you people help it--the Unar," Bendera told the young woman next to him as he let his hand slide over her shapely leg.

    "As opposed to letting them roll over us in the same method as Desal?"  Yasis laughed, turning her knee a bit, so that his fingers went where she wanted them. 

    He gamely only drummed his fingers in that direction.  "Ya know what I mean," he insisted.  "By doing jus' what they want ya to, you're as ruled over and controlled by them as anyone."

    "The men of my people are too arrogant and cocksure to even consider the Unar rule over them!  Cej!  They would rather sell their mother to whoredom!"

    "Yeah, but you keep sellin' people, the Unar'll always have a workforce--and they'll always be strong.  Gotta take 'em out where they breathe."

    "The demons do not breathe--they eat and shit their own noxious gas.  --And I do not sell slaves--nor would any in my family.  Had you not been there, I would not have remained for drask purchases but moved on for lariduim, for we are mine agents.  But this is not the point."

    Aldrun still said nothing, still did not break his stare from the top of Nicoletti's head.

    "I mean it," she mewed loudly.  "I'm going to lose it right 'ere."

    "Shut up, Nicoleopard," Bendera returned.  "There's one in e'ry bar.  --Just swallow it an' take it."

    "Me?!" she screeched, having heard enough...even if he'd just started.  Susan pulled herself--barely--to her elbows.  "Swallow it?!"

    "Yeah.  Get over it an' just relax for a change.  Wha's done is done.  Time t'move on."

    Nicoletti gargled a laugh.  Her lead lolling, she tried her damnedest to focus on her crewmate.  "I've been swallowing it," she told him, sucking down her bile for more and wondering what she was saying even as she was saying it.  "I always wind up in not wha' I thought, as if I ever really thought 'bout anything.  I wan' one thing, I got another--an' I took it.  All I ha' that was mine was Starfleet--an' even then they said I'd be better in engineering than the sciences.  An' look where that landed me!  Stuck in this God damn, dirty, awful place the res' of m' life.  Listen to 'em, Susi--they know wha' ther' sayin'..."  She lowered herself onto her face again.  "Damn him.  No, I miss him.  I miss...Dad.  I'll ne'er see him af'er all this, an' it's his fault.  --So go screw y'rself, Kurt!"

    Yasis' mouth was between a smile and a smirk as she observed her very flaccid friend, collapsed again and moaning on the bench.  "I thought you would like to loosen your nerve, Susan," she said.  "But it seems I should have you drunk more often.  It is more than you have said since you came here."

    "I'm gonna vomit," was her reply.

    "Very well," Yasis snickered, pulling her feet off the table.  "Come, Kurt, and you and I will plan the accord of bastardry while I cut your hair.  I do not enjoy your hair."

    He rolled his head back.  "Wha's wrong with my hair?"

    "You are taking after a Sureshan--and that is bad."  She flicked her fingers at her cousin's dark auburn tufts, cropped close to his scalp.  "That is handsome.  Yours looks as does a rabbit's.  I cannot have that."

    "Oh.  A'right.  Shoul' we bomb the talks, tho?"

    She laughed aloud, even if it made Susan groan again and futilely bury her head.  "I like your initiative!  You are an Antral truly--even if you will never be one.  Is that possible?"

    Smiling boyishly, he drew himself up from the table to accept her outstretched fingers.  "Who cares?" he said softly.

    "Certainly I don't," she giggled and hurried them out, crashing softly into the jamb before remembering she had to open the door in order to exit. 

    Susan sighed heavily in relief to hear they were gone.  "Yes," she breathed to herself, "who cares?..."  Groaning again, she rolled herself onto her back and exhaled deeply--then swallowed, hard.  She really didn't want to throw up.  "God, I'm drunk," she whispered, her eyes rolling back into her closing eyes as her entire existence spun in heavy circles.  "I need to get to sickbay.  Doctor, I need a...cup of coffee...an' anodyne relay..."

    Aldrun watched her for some time after before pushing himself to his feet.
 

    When her eyes slowly opened again, she saw the familiar rust red walls of the bulkheads.  Her eyes drifted shut again--but then flew back open.

    The bed she was on was soft...and it was not the room she shared with Yasis.

    "Cuuv," whispered the Antral captain from her side.  Sitting on the floor, his head rested in the crook of his elbow on the end of the bunk, he still watched her, his sleepy green eyes so steady, he looked ready to hypnotize her.  His fingers straightened to stroke the cloth at her hip.  "My cousin and Kurt occupy your quarters tonight, so you will remain here, Susan.  Please, rest yourself.  You were very drunk."

    "I still am," she muttered.  She felt worse than she had when she first came through the Barrier, and she couldn't for the life in her remember anything but the first sip of that terrible stuff Yasis was so thrilled to find.  "You're not, though."

    "I have taken tisaluo several times."

    "You don't seem like the type," she said, not sarcastically.  For all that he may have been, he was always calm, thoughtful, even when he was bothered.

    "I am not, truly," he admitted.  "Men of my people are often expected to show their magnitude in such ways.  Yasis and I come from quieter blood."

    She snorted softly.  "Are you trying to seduce me again, Captain?" she asked, knowing it was a stupid question, considering she was lying in his bed.  More, everyone on the ship knew that he had been paying particular attention to her--attention she had allowed, even if she wouldn't have thought to do anything about it when...

    "Yes, I would like to make love to you," he replied frankly.

    Nicoletti's eyes did not open.  "I'm too tired," she said.  Even if you'll be thinking about it now, she told herself as suddenly and before her better senses could push it away.  Had she been on Voyager still...but she wasn't there and it was true that she really didn't want to move.  Her whole body felt like it was still floating--starting with her stomach.

    "You are too tired for even life, it seems," he commented, boldly pulling himself up to lie beside her.  He stared down into her reopening eyes, noting the darkness of the blue, so exotic and pure.  The plainness in them did not discourage him, either, even if it was strange to see in such a lovely woman.  "You never have taken your own chances, clutched to your life for what it is worth, even when you had all and more than your heart desired.  Have you?"

    Her mouth pursed.  "I guess you're going to tell me I should now?"

    "It is not my place to put words in the mouth of a lady," he said politely.  "But I hope you would indulge me."

    She forced her eyes to open more that time, if for anything then to be fully conscious and believe that next crazy thing that was happening.  "You want to have sex with me--now?"

    "As I said before, I would like us to make love.  I want to give you some joy that is lost in you.  --Yes, Susan, I see it, along with a beautiful, intelligent woman.  You have yet to feel it, however."

    She almost laughed, shaking her head.  "I'm drunk, tired, half mad--and now I don't know how to live because I'm not passionate.  Well, maybe it's true.  But maybe I think this is just too insane to deal with right now."

    "Perhaps you would prefer an insanity of my making," he purred mischievously as he placed his large, warm hand on her belly.  "I would not have you without your wish, but you deserve to be pleasured as a woman should be, to live as a woman should, even in these times."

    "I don't know what kind of woman you're talking about if you think sex is all a woman is living for."

    "It is not--but it is a good thing to live with when done well," he tenderly boasted.  He could feel her muscles quiver and surge against his hand, and practically smelled her resulting heat.  "I would like to try to give you that.  Though you are not Antral, I find you very alluring."

    "A nice specimen, hmm?"

    "A beautiful woman of alien extraction whom I find compelling."

    "Aldrun, I'm tired," she sighed, though she felt his hand, pressing gently, heard his warm words and gestures boldly search her reactions, as he had since they came aboard.  Looking at him again, she couldn't deny that he was attractive...and wise to her... 

    God, I know I'm still drunk...

    "Then you should have little to do while I give what I have to you," he replied, unbothered.

    ...though the bed was comfortable, and she didn't have much else but a life on that hulking ship with one outfit of clothing and no hope of leaving, of returning to anything she knew and had realized belatedly how much she'd taken for granted, like the Alpha Quadrant, Earth, her father, to whom she'd written a cursory note just before leaving.

    But somehow, considering the man above her, it began to fade, the doubts, the memories...the pain...

    "Okay."

    Aldrun's brows rose; then his stare narrowed.  "Look into my eyes and say that, Susan."

    She did and suddenly felt a shot of sobriety to find his sultry gaze practically melting into her.  He was serious, of course.  To her surprise, she felt all her reasons to deny his suggestions dissipate in the warmth of his presence.  She had allowed his nearness; without wanting to be, she had been attracted to him, and Aldrun had been good to her and did seem to care about her feelings and well being...

    "Okay."

    His hand slid up to the knot clasps of her blouse.  "Tell me, Susan," he said, his deep stare still nailed to hers as he managed apart the ties.

    She blinked.  "Tell you?"

    He pulled another tie apart, moved his cheek to brush against hers.  His lips flicked up when she sighed.  "Tell me," he whispered to her ear.  Another knot gone, and then the last, and he spread her shirt apart then turned his fingers down the clasps of her bustier, finding her skin. 

    She shivered.  "Tell you what?"

    "Tell me to explore your every pleasure," he breathed, his humming baritone lulling her even as her heart jumped, "to discover you, as we are different.  Tell me to bare you to your skin, to drink your arousal, to make you my woman...to bring your body alive, Susan--and mine in turn.  Tell me you wish to move away from what has held you.  Tell me you do not want to be tired any longer..."

    Her fingers touched his neck and ran down under his shirt to hold his shoulder, silencing him.

    "You're good at this," she whispered, her eyes fluttering as his hand slid around and over her breast.  The rush of blood from the resulting wash of arousal almost knocked her out again.

    "Thank you," he replied.  Again, he stroked the healthy swell, appreciating its softness, and he would have moved on were it not for one curious reaction.  Pulling his head away, Aldrun looked to confirm what his fingers had discovered.  "It is...erect, as if to give milk," he noted, circling her nipple with a fingertip to see her respond, her lips part, feel her heart, high in her chest, beat faster.  "Is this pleasurable to you, Susan?"

    She nodded, quivering at his examination, and then gently smiling at his curiosity.  It was crazy, insane, happening too quickly--so quickly, she would have had to think to remember each thing that had preceded that, preceded them, her and the quietly roguish captain, gentle and wanting to make her feel better, for her to tell him her desires.  With but a touch, she was reminded how different their races were--though she could already feel growing heartily against her outer thigh one indisputable similarity.

    There were a hundred things in her recent memory that could have disrupted what was going on there, but she didn't think about it, only drew a deep breath and pressed approvingly into his touch.  Drunk still or just pleasantly affected, it felt good, and she felt she deserved some pleasure for a change, which he was all too willing to give. 

    More, the look on him just then as he began to "discover" her, so gently, pleasantly...  The rest slipped quickly away from her for the sweetness in his face and the assuredness she somehow felt in it.

    So, when his cheek stroked hers again, she turned her head, hesitantly at first, to touch her lips to his.  He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, silently querying about that other pleasant surprise.

    "You did say you wanted to learn from me," she said and almost matched his broad grin...

    Waking up the next time, warmly enfolded by a long, muscular frame, she didn't know what time it was and didn't care.  The rawness she felt on her flesh that time was indeed a vast improvement, as was the sensation on her neck--Aldrun's smile.

    The rest--the longing for home, the feelings of powerlessness and the lack of progress in that awful place, the anger at what had brought them there and the memories of that bazaar--did return.  But it became increasingly temporary, once she knew how to distract herself from it. 

    Though silently aware that she had begun with him in such a manner, Aldrun supplied her need without shame or hesitation.  With time, he knew it would be more than that.  The beginnings were there.  With generosity and sincere affection, there would be love.  Humans were not so different to his own people, he suspected.

    He was correct....
 

    "What is the time?"

    "Time enough for you to remain, my Susik."

    "I should--"

    "No, no, my precious.  Remain.  Remain."

    He began to hum, softly, a tune she had taught him and he had learned so well.  Melodic but deep, it was like a lion's purr burrowing into her core as his steady breath drifted over her skin.  His large, smooth hand stroked her tenderly as he began another verse, his song vibrating his chest, against her back, so warm...

    "But we might be expected--"

    "Nowhere, my sweet flower.  We have no assignment this day.  Remain...with me."

    "Aldrun...ahh..."

    His repositioning her legs from behind stilled her instantly--and more than willingly, knowing rather well how much she liked that very Antral position of lovemaking.  He often had her greet the morning with it--caressing the rest of her flesh into a state of complete arousal before driving her to a surprisingly guaranteed orgasm with his long, gentle rhythm and purrs in her ears that were nearly as pleasing.

    For all the Antral's usual boasting, Aldrun was damn good at pleasuring her womanly body:  Waking up in that traditional position never failed to make her live, indeed.

    For that matter, her abdomen had grown to the point where traditional human positions were uncomfortable.

    They had argued over other traditions, however.  Antral women typically did not join their men after they became mothers until the child was in school--and even then, most did not.  Though rulers of their house, wives were expected to bear and rear their children in good order and forsake all other work until the youngest child had at least five years. 

    Susan, having established herself firmly in their two years on his homeworld, had followed the "ruler" part and remained unmoved on the other.  Frankly, she wanted her work as much as she had come to need Aldrun.

    Even Susan's "brother" tried to explain it to the man, knowing his friend was both concerned and frustrated with the very stubbornness he had encouraged in his woman.

    "She was born and raised Human," Kurt told him privately during one of their ore runs.  "No matter how good a wife she is going to be to you--which she has been already--she will always have that.  You would be a fool to make her give that up."

    "I only think for the child," Aldrun said, "whose loss would be far greater than any other."

    Knowing how protectively Susan held her belly as she walked around the house, even while discussing business or evading the typically sharp "foreigner" comments from visitors to the family's public hall, Kurt knew that was right enough. 

    "Regardless, she will hate every second of being forbidden from doing what she loves, Aldrun," Kurt said honestly, "and she will hate you for it, too."

    Aldrun grinned.  "Yes, she is...foreign.  And a careered woman is indeed the woman I love, you are correct."

    "Then let her be a little foreign," Kurt told him.  "Do what you have to to protect her, but let her keep being the person you know.  She is happy as she is--and you have helped her have that.  Do not deny it when you have already allowed it."

    "My mother will not approve of her working with an infant."

    "She is having your child.  That makes her the head of your family unit as far as the child is concerned.  You only have to approve it and Mother Kebis will have to make her own decision on how to handle that for the Kichyrn family as a whole."

    Aldrun's smile grew.  Indeed, his mother was already sold on his woman--and more so since they learned from the midwife exactly what Susan carried in her big belly.  "True."

    Satisfied, Bendera left his friend to his work on the bridge a few minutes later, only to be met by Yasis in the corridor.  Smiling brightly to him, she leaned up to rub her nose in the dimple of his smile.  "You did beautifully, lover."

    Kurt returned the nuzzle and took her around the waist.  "Just trying to keep us all together," he shrugged and walked with her to the bays, which they still had to load for their next ore transport to the Unar depot at Monichik.  Just another day, really.

    Sometimes, when he and Yasis talked about it, he knew all over again how strange it all was, the changes they'd gone through over the last couple of years.  In his eyes, it hadn't been all bad, either.  It was in some ways like being home again, working on trade ships and returning to a proud, intelligent but thoroughly frustrated family.  No matter how much time had passed, the insult of being under the dominion of another race would not be abated. 

    From his own upbringing, Kurt could understand that. 

    There had been changes, of course:  As merely a man on Antral, he was required to act like a brute in public and defend his "woman" against any slight for both their sakes--and her family's.  Being several centimeters shorter than the average Antral man was no help.  He kept his hair cut close to his head, managed to get a tan in the cool Antral sun, learned the language and about all the city's families, rogued around for supplies and equipment every chance he had and had sex more often than he ever thought it was natural to...though that generally wasn't a curse.

    He still didn't feel different--just more extreme than he'd ever been.

    Similarly, Lieutenant Susan Nicoletti, someone Bendera had once seen as purebred Starfleet, had also allowed the change upon herself, if not more.  Kurt suspected from the start that she'd given up in that brig, long before they gave up on Voyager coming or Torres and Paris surviving Uillar.  She'd known, but just didn't want to admit, that they were stuck. 

    Thankfully, she'd made what she could out of everything that came after.  Getting involved with Aldrun, then arriving at Antral as his partner in both work and body offered her a high place in the family.  From there, she took everything step by step, accepting the support of the people around her like a crutch at first, and then moving forward on her own as she got her bearings.

    Antral in itself took some getting used to, naturally, their old-fashioned, gender-related power structures, similar to some Earth cultures centuries--if not millennia--ago.  Though the men held the power in all offices of government and trade, the women, particularly the eldest woman in the house, held the power of the family absolutely.  They did not hesitate to wield it.  Aldrun's long-widowed mother and Yasis' aunt, Kebis Kichyrn, held her position like a mighty sword in the shadow of Unar occupation, proud and sharp to anything that crossed it.

    Their lives mainly lived in the great hall of the once fine house, Kebis' voice echoing within it may as well have been the voice of God.  More, she knew it bore no question, and she often reminded them from her seat at the head of the hall that the family roles were what that held their family and people together through those dark years.

    Considering the state of Antral, Bendera had to say she was right.  The once beautiful, architecturally sublime world was little more than a huge mining facility.  Though the Unar did not use their people as they did peoples like the Desalians and the Koba, the Antral had been stripped of their technology and their databanks, limiting both their knowledge and mere ability to learn any more than what the Unar wanted them to know.  They were lucky if they could get their hands on an extra power chip for the house lighting.  They could not find work without Unar approval, and even then they were forced to make their livings in the slave and ore trade without any profit, but just enough to eat decently, continued possession of their dwellings and, well, their lives. 

    For such a proud people as the Antral, this continuing humiliation only grew worse with time.  Any of their traditions, no matter how ancient, was like a lifeline to what was left of their culture.  Kurt had learned from his friends and "family" there that most the peoples in Irllae had done the same, grown firmly traditional in order to keep their cultures going--though some to a fault.  Kebis had definitely used it among her three sons and one daughter for everyone's good, however, even if she could be rightfully willful about it.

    Conversely, Yasis, who was known from puberty to be infertile, would never have the power that came with the honor of childbearing.  Of course, it gave her the freedom to go where she pleased, too, which Yasis never thought of poorly.  Considering the lack of pressure on them to bear children, Kurt would have had it no other way.

    Conversely, Kebis Kichyrn, having received communication that Aldrun was bringing home a woman, had taken one look at Susan Nicoletti and kissed her soundly on the mouth, thus making the orphaned, foreign Antral girl her own child.  "To the Unar latrines with any dissenters," she announced and began arranging a series of introductions for the newcomer to the family with the help of her relatively mild-mannered daughter.  Though the women's wills shocked Susan at first, she did gradually acclimate to the role of second daughter, the eldest child's committed woman behind the matriarch's natural born daughter. 

    Interestingly, Bendera could tell from the start that the wise-eyed mother knew their freckles were fake and that he and Susan had a great deal more education than they professed to.  Kebis didn't ask and pretended not to care what Aldrun had been up to.  The matriarch's firstborn had finally gotten himself a woman he wanted to keep, who bore a sort of beauty that was admired on Antral, and whom she liked, so she designed for them to marry and bear children immediately in proper Antral fashion.

    It took a year for both to happen.  However, Kebis had taken to Susan's quietness and assured intelligence so dearly that she blamed Aldrun for the delay.

    By the time Kebis had gotten what she wanted, Susan could easily grin about the matriarch's ambitions.  Against custom, however, she continued to work on the junky old ship in spite of her pregnancy and argued with Aldrun each time it was suggested she stop, insisting that she would be miserable locked up in the house as a "breeder."  It was, in fact, the only disagreement they had, and it persisted for months.

    However, though Aldrun continued to harbor his concerns, he did bend to his woman per Kurt's advice.  He loved his lady too much not to, had already spoiled Susan with whatever he could fairly gain (and sometimes what he could get by untoward means, Kurt knew), gave her more than enough respect and stability to regain her former confidence and some.

    Susan even took to music again, a pleasant surprise to the family once she figured out how to play the ijades Aldrun had found in a scrap heap and she had repaired.  Music soon filled the spaces between dinner, talk and memories on many nights in the great hall, with all the family gathered, warm, wise and fiercely knit with love, devotion and desire.

    Though haunted and intellectually frustrated at times, Susan knew that she had started over pretty well, had made the best of her situation.  Kurt, her standby and "oldest friend," was also glad to see she'd taken some control back to herself after those several weeks where he found himself wondering about her sanity. 

    With her ascension to motherhood a few months after his conversation with Aldrun, he didn't doubt it at all....
 

    "Her name is Marise," Susan gasped.  "For my mother, Maris.  Marise."

    Kebis smiled proudly to her daughter as she took her third born grandchild into her hands.  "Marise of the Kichyrn family," she said.  "You have done well, little Susik."

    "Thank you, Mother Kebis," she managed and let her head drop back onto Aldrun's chest.  He had kept her steady in her shuddering crouch, sitting on the edge of their bed and holding her under the arms as she screamed for hours in possibly the greatest pain she had ever known.  Even the scrubbing at the bazaar at Horaaet couldn't compare to the searing pain that went on and on in waves, making her feel as though her entire body was going to split in half.  It was a day of agony she would never forget.

    That time, however, it was different and she knew it.  That time, she wanted that pain, had waited well over two thirds for it and got the ultimate reward--her daughter, a tiny girl that Kebis was taking out of the room to the hall outside, where the others waited for the child's presentation. 

    For it all, Susan smiled, truly smiled, and deeply felt it as she let Aldrun pull her backwards and up onto the bed so the midwife--a Desalian servant sworn to discretion--could finish the unusual birthing and heal her wounds.

    "My precious," Aldrun whispered gratefully, "my beautiful Susik.  You are life to me, pure life." 

    For appearance's sake, he did not cry, but pressed his cheek to hers and closed his eyes, laughed gently when he felt her smile press against him.

    Outside the door in the family hall, bared of ornaments since the Unar invasion but alive with family and friends who had come for the birth, she could hear her baby still gasping and crying as the others silenced to hear the matriarch.  As it had been when they celebrated Refevan's birth, Susan knew that Kebis was holding the baby in her long, expert fingers, above her head as she announced, "Marise Kichyrn is now given to our family by Susik and Aldrun.  Give praise to my third grandchild, my first granddaughter, who will be strong and fine among us!"

    "I am the proud one," Susan whispered to her husband in his tongue.  She stroked his cheek with her own.  "You have helped me feel real, Aldrun--you and now Marise.  I have never been more alive."

    His returning "kiss" brought tears to her eyes through an exhausted, thankful smile....
 

    She had her father's dark green eyes, his tawny complexion and freckles--though pale--and his funny, pursed mouth.  From her mother's side came her wavy, chestnut brown hair, bone structure and relatively small frame.  It was commonly boasted by Kebis that Marise would be a beauty to behold in all of Irllae and would attract only the finest of men--or at least the matriarch swore she would personally see to that.  And, though strong and vocal, Marise took to walking much later than most Antral children. 

    Kebis teased that it was for Susik and Aldrun never allowing the child's feet to touch the ground.

    "Eah-wa!"

    "Eawa naisil pon," the mother encouraged with a giggle.  Her baby girl had a determined look on her face that might have rivaled Kebis that day.  Her tiny feet struck each step about the same way, too.  "Aud Marise naisil dir Eawa."

    Susan and Kurt were kneeling on the hardwood floor of the hall, "passing" the toddling, tripping Marise between them.  Yasis clapped and laughed along from her seat nearby and Kebis grinned up from her sewing. 

    It was then that Aldrun walked in with a fair-haired Antral man.

    Glancing up as her baby landed in her arms, Susan smiled brightly at her husband in greeting.  Looking by him, she knew immediately the swagger and posture of Novren Pridalar and gave him a moderately respectful nod.  She had met Aldrun's boyhood friend and the self-instated leader of the underground already. 

    Yet this was no ordinary visit, she could tell with another look to Aldrun, who strode to her, his coat like a noble sail as he lowered himself to face her.  His hand rested on their daughter's curls as he brushed his cheek against his wife's, seductively, as always, but laughing too, once he was there.

    "Desalia has risen," he choked in his joy and laughed again to meet Susan's widened eyes.  "The Allanois Regency is resurrected and has called its people from their living grave.  We are going to fight the Unar."

    "What?!"  Yasis gasped and stared at Novren as she slid from her perch to her feet.  "If you are jesting us, Novren, I will kill you with my bare hands!"

    "Silence yourself, maid," Novren said.

    "Be easy, Captain Novren," Kurt warned, still digesting the news but not too shocked to protect Yasis properly.  "She might not have a child, but I am still the man who beds her--and can make or break your ship with a plug you will never see for your ignorance."

    "It is the truth," Aldrun promised them all.  "The underground is preparing as we speak to prepare to fight the Unar.  Novren's people have had news from the Desalians themselves that they are going to begin sabotaging the workforce--just as you have said we should, Kurt.  But when they are ready, we will all fight together--for our freedom."

    Aside, Yasis laughed happily--and Kebis echoed it.  "The day has finally come!" the matriarch declared.  "And we will overcome our enemies, without doubt or dishonor!"

    Susan smiled, too, easily caught up in their excitement.  Living on Antral for over three years, she and Kurt had become equally interested in such a rebellion.  They knew well that Desal and its former capabilities--and its numbers in and out of Unar service--were the key to any possible success.  With that about to happen now, she was sure the whole of Antral would come alive to revolt for their freedom--and that alone was a thrilling thought.  Better still, she and Kurt would finally get to do more than they could ever get away with before, once they were able to break off from the dreary, Unar-assigned ore trade routes.  Susan's brain immediately starting listing things they should do, supplies they should collect.  "When will the fighting begin?"

    Novren snorted.  "As usual, the Desalians want to wait unto their eternities.  The workers are starting their infestation now, to inform the people already there and collect tactical information about the Unar sects.  But our leaders will not be meeting with the Desalian regents for another two seasons, when they have rebuilt the ships they have at Cezia and Irllae is organized to their satisfaction."

    "Rebuild their ships?" Yasis asked.  "Desalians?  They are even more grounded than Koba and willingly so, we had thought.  Have they found their histories somehow and relearned?  How could they know how to resurrect such technology--and for that matter, make it effective?"

    "There have been many stories about this young Allanois and her family," Novren admitted, "but no answers.  It is known, however, that she is a true regent and family head."

    "Then she carries the memories of those who preceded her," Kebis nodded.  "In the old day, before their pacifism turned against them, it was a tradition for well-educated houses to pass the sum of their lives and those before them telepathically to the next generation, so not to lose their histories.  There were entire houses of clerics dedicated to this practice once, who held and recorded memories of countless Desalians.  If this young regent has such an inheritance, it is not unlikely that she would use it--and pass her knowledge to others."

    "However it is," Novren continued, looking at the four of them, "I will need you to regroup at Leberrad.  Many of our underground ships will be going there to plan and organize.  Your wife, Aldrun, is very astute, as is her spoken brother.  We will need their services in a greater degree than ever, in spite of her status in nursing your child."

    Susan straightened, pulling Marise up onto her hip.  "For Antral and our freedom, I believe I could sacrifice some of my domesticity," she deadpanned.

    Kurt snorted.

    "I will miss Antral and our family," she added, "that is a plain truth.  But I will do whatever is necessary for the resistance.  --Though not without the company of my child.  Marise goes where her father and I go."

    Novren glared at her.  "Your infant, Lady Kichyrn?  Foolish, foreign woman!  Little wonder people think on your questionable birth, as you would be such a mother--"

    "Much more than your wife," Kebis cut in with a glare of her own, stopping Aldrun's ready reply, "who remains childless seven years though she waits in perfect fertility--Captain."  Before he could speak again, Kebis held her fingers toward him.  "Do not curse me, Novren Pridalar, in my house, nor on this day.  No place, especially Antral, will be safe when the fighting begins.  Susik has every right as mother to keep her house whole and under her eye.  I grant my second daughter and my eldest blood child Aldrun that right.  --So silence your whining."

    Kurt wiped his eye, chuckling beside a hardly restrained Yasis.  They always enjoyed Kebis--especially when her observations were not pointed at them.  Looking at Susan, though, he could see that she really did want to go, she wanted to fight alongside her husband, to free their people.  Her deep blue eyes held steadily to the cocky leader's, all but saying, "What she said," when Kebis finished.

    He would cheerfully have challenged anyone at that point to call Susan Nicoletti Kichyrn "foreign" again.

    "Very well, Lady Kichyrn," Novren muttered. 

    "Yes," Susan said firmly, "it is."
 

    One season later, she clutched her child so tightly against herself, she was afraid she would crush her.  Marise cried and kicked, but it only made Susan hold her more firmly and press back against the wall to save her neck.  There, her heart had stopped, her blood had drained, her entire being was caught in the middle of a tremor as the watched her husband pull himself from the floor of his ship, a trail of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

    She could not even cry for being so frozen in her terror.

    When Aldrun stood, his head was bent low before the Unar who had decided to inspect their ship.  Hundreds of runs between Antral, Leberrad and Tralbil, and they had chosen that day to stop them for an inspection.  Susan cursed Novren Pridalar a thousand times inside her mind before her beloved Aldrun spoke a word.

    "My woman and crew are ignorant," he croaked, "but yes, I have succumbed to the greed offered to me by the savvy traders of Koba.  I took on improvements so that I could make more assignments and thus better my existence greedily.  This is my doing and now my shame, Commander Ogakosb."

    "For this, Aldrun Kichyrn," the hatefully pleased commander replied, "you are hereby stripped of this ship.  Your 'woman,' her spawn and your crew will be hereby sentenced with you to the internment camp at Dajid--indeterminately."

    Aldrun closed his eyes, burying his wish to kill the officer before him, fighting his pain and the stark humiliation--the worse of which he could not tell.  But within the fog of his indecision, he heard his daughter's crying and clutching, his wife's soft, gasping breaths, unspoken pleas and utter fear...

    "I accept our punishment at my own disgrace, Commander.  This ship is yours, as it has always been...and which privilege I have abused."  Aldrun barely got the words out despite his reasons for saying them, but it worked well enough.  The Commander let a pause stand for nearly a minute--which with Unar was a good thing.  They struck immediately when displeased.

    Finally:  "You and this...crew, for being Antral contractors of former regard and for your compliance, have five minutes to collect items for living on Dajid.  No more."

    They desperately grabbed everything they could fit into their arms and over their shoulders before being transported into a brig--the sight of which sent Susan into a fit of shivering she had not felt since...

    "It is well," Yasis assured her as Kurt tended to Aldrun's broken torso.  "Dajid is a soft labor facility.  There are Unar there, but it is internment for the families of criminals."

    "But what of Aldrun?" she whispered.

    "He being injured, he cannot be of use to them in a forced labor camp," Yasis hedged with some effort, knowing what a blow to an Antral heart meant.  She had seen the same paleness on other occasions, seen the gradual descent that followed such a bruising of the Antral coronary sac.  The commander knew precisely where to kick Aldrun, Yasis knew, feeling a deeper fury than ever before to see her noble cousin now bearing it.  But she didn't dare explain, nor express her heart, feeling Susan's shuddering begin anew and seeing her shake her head jerkily.  "Susik, you are Antral and a mother.  They will not touch you or Marise.  Our internment is an easy one.  We will be safe."

    Susan drew her eyes out to the grey walls, to the corners.  The room had no tubes.  One wall had an open grate door.  It wasn't the same sort of brig.  She had her baby, finally asleep for all her crying, in her arms.  She had her husband, injured, sitting painfully up against the wall but able to meet her eyes with a small assurance. 

    "Yasis is correct," he whispered, hoarse yet tender in his pain.  "It is well, my Susik.  You are provided for and will not be harmed."

    If she hadn't felt so deeply before, she believed so surely just then that she loved him.  Aldrun, who like Kurt had protected her, but had also adored her, done everything he could from blind love alone to make her feel pleasure and happiness.  How he had succeeded, in so many ways in but a few years, was too much to say.

    Sometimes, she still wondered why.  Perhaps she'd just been too glad to accept what he'd given to think when she became what she never imagined she would be as a Starfleet officer--a faithful wife, proud mother and dutiful daughter-in-law.  He had pressed her into it in the beginning, maybe even taken advantage of her condition at the time in his desire to make her better in the only way he knew how.  But that mattered little to her, as she knew what it turned into...all and everything they became, and made.

    Susan loved him completely, body and soul, would ever be grateful for her husband, to the end...to that moment, disgraced by Unar for their sakes, going down without a fight for them...for her and their child.

    Feeling her heart swelling again to see his beautiful eyes, so gentle...always so gentle to her, his little smile to spite his injury and horribly paled face, then hearing him breathe, "Come, my precious," Susan crawled to him and huddled herself and Marise as near as his injury could allow.  Finally, she let her tears fall.

    Feeling Aldrun's large, warm hand weakly touch her soft curls, hearing him begin to hum a song to her for comfort, she descended into sobs.

    She knew her husband's physiology well enough by then.  She knew...
 

    "My Susik..." 

    Aldrun reached up to stroke her pale, tear-streaked face.  Having lingered for seven gruvnu, he had finally bid farewell to his crew, to Kurt and Yasis, and then to his sweet little Marise, which in itself nearly was the end of him.  Only his wife and the healer remained in that little chamber room then, with the cool rain of Dajid pouring outside, numbing the air with its patter.  Thankfully, with the healer's arts, he was also largely numb in his weakening state. 

    "My lovely Susik...you must let me go now."  She shook her head.  "It will happen even so," he whispered.

    "I cannot.  Aldrun, I just cannot."

    "Then come to me, my Susik..."  He tugged her hair tenderly, bringing her nearer.  "Put yourself to me, as you did that second time we made love....  Do you remember it?"  Her little laugh and nod made him smile slightly, too.  "Bring yourself on top of me...as if we were making love.  Let me find death in joy, of remembering my worship of you...and knowing that you still live, and will live."

    "Aldrun," she wept, "I cannot lose you, too.  I cannot..."

    "You must," he said, his eyes shadowing as she looked at him again.  "You must, for Marise--and thus for me.  She is...what we are and always will be.  For Marise...you must continue, bravely, as my mother did...when they murdered my father....  And you should find another--"

    "No," Susan told him outright, cupping his face in her hands.  "You will be my only husband."

    "But take a lover," he said, trembling with the words, but meaning them.  "I would never wish you to be alone, or barren.  You deserve pleasure, Susik.  Take it...when you are ready.  Know I approve, and allow yourself to remain...a beautiful woman, if only to spite them."

    "I do not need to spite them, Aldrun," she said.  "It is a waste of time compared to what I can do."

    "You," Aldrun stated, "are far greater than they will ever be.  You have defeated their purpose by living and growing among us...in your perseverance despite their aims to crush you.  Even in my death, they will not conquer us."

    She sighed.  "Perhaps."

    "Come to me, my wife," he breathed.  "Obey me in this.  Put your body to mine...and let me feel your warmth...your precious life, one more time...please."

    Susan finally, carefully, moved to straddle him, holding herself up on her elbows above him.  The smile that found him at that and the gentle pressure she offered, made her gasp another cry.  She still held his eyes, though.  "You are my husband," she told him, "and the father of my child.  You will never die, in my mind."

    "I must," he whispered, "if you are ever to live in joy again.  You must allow me to go and promise you will live, for Marise...all that is left of me.  Please let me die...with contentment.  Promise me you will live, Susik, always live."

    Susan collapsed almost completely atop him, her cheek to his, her fingers clutching, holding her tears if but for a minute, and that only for him.  "I promise," she said for his ear alone, and then, meeting his dimming eyes once more, she tried with all her strength to smile.  "I will live, despite it all...my Aldrun."

    With what strength he had left, he put his arms around her and pulled her cheek back to his.

    She remained with him like that long after his arms had fallen away and his breath had stopped.

    It took the Desalian healer to finally pull her away....
 

    They were not well liked there from the start, those well-dressed traders who came with their fine belongings and a healthy, coddled baby, and then immediately asked for their help--demanded it, in fact.  Not only the Antral and Brijan, but also the Dajidians had no sympathy for them in that.  More, none of them appreciated that half-mad Antral mother who refused to work--making trouble for the rest of them while her husband slowly and uselessly lay dying in their quarters.

    Her family did all they could to point out the baby's needs and argue that the mother was incapacitated alongside her dying husband--and by Antral right did not have to work when possessed with a small child.  Kurt and Yasis and the others on the crew immediately offered to take her portion of labor. 

    It was with that show of generosity that a Desalian man living in the Dajidian quarter approached them and pointed out the Desalian residences, suggesting Kurt and Yasis to go beg for assistance in that corner.  They would find a healer among those people, he said then wished them well as he left them.

    The man had seen the lovely young woman holding the child on her hip and supporting her invalid husband's head as they entered the camp.  He could not have imagined what she must have been going through, locked in the family's allotted apartment, knowing her husband's doom and worrying for her baby, but he did pity her and respect her family for protecting her.  Not even a lifetime at Dajid in Desalian disgrace could have embittered his blood so much that he could deny the lady some comfort, even if it must be procured from his grandparents' penitent people.

    It was a young woman called Y'dri who came at Kurt and Yasis' request for a nurse.  She sadly told them what they already knew--she could not treat the wound.  However, she could alleviate his pain with the natural remedies she could procure, and with ancient Dajidian medicines to compliment procedures she had been taught by the elder Desalians among them.  The remainder would be only what was meant, she consoled them, as she regretfully had not the equipment or the ability to perform the internal surgery he required.  To the family, what little she could do was far more than they could.

    Without complaint or desire for retribution, her infant daughter in a sling or on a blanket in the corner, Y'dri of Maha'aje remained as Aldrun's nurse and Susan's handservant throughout the man's descent, which consumed nearly a season.  She remained after his passing, as well, when the wife remained too weakened to function beyond nursing her daughter, crying and sleeping.  With Kurt and Yasis working through the days, they had formally employed her, knowing Susan shouldn't be alone.

    As the widow would not even leave the tiny residence they occupied, Y'dri agreed.  For weeks, she labored to make her lady eat, to neaten and arrange their small quarters, to clean and cook, sew clothing for the toddler and cloaks for the family and to help the lady with her hair--but indeed, mainly to be near.

    "Bring yourself, Susik," Y'dri said.  She knelt by the Antral lady, who steadily watched her child sleep.  Y'dri often came into the quarters to find the lady pinned to the chamber's opening.  "You must bring yourself to the other room now, to give your child's spirit peace while retired."

    "I do not want to move," Susan replied dully.  "You do not need to stay.  I have eaten."

    "Gye, I must stay," Y'dri countered softly, "as my work as a healer is incomplete in your continued lethargy."

    The tears, still too easy, too sudden, reappeared in Susan's eyes as she finally nodded and left the room, pulling the curtain as she left.  Y'dri would persist, she knew.  She was good at that--like Aldrun had been, so easy and certain.  Sitting on the pillows Y'dri had brought them for the living space, she stared through her bleary eyes at nothing on the opposite wall.  There was indeed nothing for her to see.

    "I miss my husband," she whispered.  "I miss him more than I missed home.  Home!  It seems so unimportant, nothing to me now; I can hardly believe I missed it at all to think of how I long for Aldrun....  How I hate the Unar for everything they have taken away from my child and me.  Y'dri, I feel like a part of me is missing, but there is nothing to fill it this time.  I do not know what to do, to do anything anymore.  I miss him so much it hurts--physically hurts.  I feel a kind of pain I have never experienced.  I did not feel anything like this even when I came to this awful place and knew I could not return.  That was nothing--nothing compared to...to this emptiness."

    "Ka," the healer said, "good Aldrun is in all ways but Desal your spirit's partner."

    "How can I keep going like this?  How can I just 'move' when I feel like half of me is gone?"

    Y'dri did not answer at first, thinking carefully before answering.  As it was with Antral, she knew her own belief in the matter would not be accepted, but she knew no other words to give.  So finally, she said, "The living world is not made to be easy, good lady, as is known too well by you.  It is made to design us, to shape all that we know." 

    Seeing Susan's eyes pull up at that, Y'dri smiled gently.  "Ka, it is the way--and while not your way, it is believed by my people that all which is in the living world is but preparation for tsa'aitsa, the realm of spirits among the stars.  Your good husband--in my belief--lives there now, in wait without time, free of the bonds of physical life.  He now stands with his ancestors and shall stand by your side again when fate calls you to him, and bliss shall follow between you for eternity."

    The woman's soft words were as tender as they were humble, non-assuming under a pair of round, hazel eyes that seemed to melt into her with a deep sense of caring.  She still shook her head at the implication.  "I wish I believed, Y'dri.  But I do not.  I am sorry."

    "No apology for your way is needed," the lady said, still kindly enough to make Susan rake down her emotions again.  "Yet perhaps you would bear belief in your Aldrun's living spirit here--in your beautiful daughter, whose spirit was made of you both.  His good words were heard when he spoke to you of this, and he was most wise:  You must bear your life for what remains of him--his memory, which must survive, and for Marise.  Else all he gave you which you treasure shall have been in vain." 

    Y'dri took Susan's wet face in both her fair, callused hands.  "The living world seems at times designed for strife, dear lady, and yet our lives must be lived, pure, in truth, not only for the past or for what we bear now, but for what shall follow us." 

    She stroked Susan's cheeks lightly with her thumbs, an Antral show, she knew, of sisterly affection.  "You bear tiredness now and have well earned your rest.  Yet you must heal and survive as is good Aldrun's passing wish.  You shall, I would believe, with your own near to you, your child's sweet spirit by you and with your own goodness to open your path.  There shall be healing, Susik, with time and love."

    The Desalian woman lowered her hands and brought Susan into her arms.  She held her there, stroking the mourning lady's hair until well after she was asleep. 

    The next day, Y'dri took her lady to be outside for the first time in weeks, to feel the sun....
 

    It was some weeks later that Susan brought herself to the work detail--more truthfully, she woke up feeling a sudden need to work again, to be busy.  She immediately learned the labor and performed it silently with Marise in a sling--thoughtfully made by one of the Desalians when Y'dri, free of her duty, mentioned the lady's intention.  With little interference from the guards and some freedom within the routine, the mindless work proved somewhat comforting. 

    Even so, it was months after that before she finally made amends with the other slighted workers there.  She did it only for Aldrun's crew, Kurt and Yasis, and especially for Marise.  She couldn't care less about the others' selfishness, even in light of her own.

    Two years later, she took up the ijades again.  Yasis had taken it from their ship's quarters when they were captured, but Susan had not touched it until Marise found and asked about it.  Taking it into the court after dinner one night, she played an old minuet from her childhood with trembling fingers, breathing against her stirring heart.  Finishing, she smiled at her daughter, told Marise how much her father had loved to hear the music, had held her from behind with his cheek to hers as she taught him the song, hummed it softly in her ear.

    Moments in her life with him that she would never forget.  Moments when she knew her happiness.

    "Like when I am with you, Marise," she said softly.

    Watching nearby among the other inmates who had gathered at the pleasantly unusual sounds, the "exiled" Desalian man they had come to know as Gatra felt his breath catch to watch her.  Her deep brown curls, plaited at the sides and rolling comfortably around her shoulders, shone red in the firelight; her fair face, dusky blue eyes, so sad but smiling tenderly to her child, remained in his memory long after he turned away to return alone to his quarters.

    He watched her every time she played thereafter....
 

    "You want to what?" Kurt's eyes narrowed at the humble man's question.

    Gatra placed both his hands flat on the battered table they shared, a symbol of his sincerity and respect.  "I ask your permission to approach your cousin with intent to give her company--nothing more unless she expressly wishes it.  This I promise, at pain of your punishment."

    Kurt shook his head in disbelief, but turned when he felt Yasis' hand on his arm.  Sitting by him, she pulled a section of her hair behind an ear and leaned towards him.  "Why?" she demanded.  "While a great resistance surges over Irllae, we have been rotting here past four years.  Now you crawl from the shadows panging with love?"

    "I wish to believe she has mourned her husband well enough."

    Yasis rolled her eyes.  "You, judge her readiness?  A Desalian without respect for your own people, judge the heart of an Antral?  You have stared at her--yes, I have seen you, Gatra of Ella'omb, and so has she--for much of this time.  More, I must ask, as she is a woman of her own standing:  Why approach us?"

    "It is polite to do so--even amongst Antral," he said.  "I most respect her enduring love for her husband, the father of her child.  Her talk of him, however..."  Gatra looked plainly at them both, his fair brown eyes unblinking.  "She touches my being.  Even should she never reciprocate for her own self-bonded spirit, I...I feel a need to be near her, to possibly give her some happiness, if I can.  Yet I would not wish to do a thing either of you would disapprove.  In the same four years, I have seen your closeness to her."

    Kurt leaned back to peer across at the man.  He knew Gatra wasn't a bad man at all.  Despite his coolness towards the Desalians in the camp--who respected his distance accordingly--he was thoughtful.  The very fact he was there was proof of that.  He had sent them to Y'dri when Aldrun was dying; on another occasion, he had bribed some guards for antibiotics and a bioscanner when one of the Desalians was having labor complications.  He helped to get things done when he could, acting as a go-between for the several races there.  In his daily manners, however, he could be thoroughly rude to the kindest people in the camp--his own people--because of politics played out over seventy years ago.

    On the other hand, Susan might well give him some of her own manners, and that in a manner he knew Susan had always been good at.

    So, Bendera gave Gatra a blink then a flicker of a grin.  "Hurt her once and I will rip you apart appendage by appendage."

    Surprisingly, Susan accepted the company--in the form of friendship, in walks with Marise and dinners with the family.  She took full advantage of his desire to be solicitous to her and tossed him away when his manners were bad, particularly in front of Marise.  She would not hear him be cruel to the Desalians.  Though she usually didn't approach their side of the camp unless she or they were in need, she knew how much Y'dri's service had given Aldrun comfort at the end of his life, had helped her in those first dark months on Dajid, and what a dear friend she had been ever after, all done without asking anything in return. 

    She understood how Gatra's accounts of his grandparents' exiles from their homeworld by a "mad regent," his parents' deaths and his being treated like a pariah afterwards would train his current behavior.  But those problems were not hers to deal with.  Gatra's complaints meant nothing to her.

    Faithfully, he renewed his attempts, penitent and solicitous.  Compared to what she knew of her Antral family, of Aldrun, it seemed sometimes like groveling.  Gatra didn't seem to care.  Then again, neither did she.  She held her position regardless of how pitiful he became.

    She shrugged about yet another quarrel she'd had with Gatra as she leaned back against the wall, not long after tucking Marise into bed one night. 

    "If he wants my 'company,' then he will have to think about me.  I am not about to disrespect Aldrun by taking a lover who does not know how to hold his stupid tongue in front of my daughter.  --I cannot believe I am talking about this in such a mudball of a camp."

    "Better than talk about work," Kurt grinned.

    Yasis snuggled back into Kurt's arms.  "Who would have suspected, Susik, that you would be so Antral in the end?"

    Susan smiled slightly.  "Or maybe just me," she said.

    "What do you mean?"  Kurt asked.

    "Before we ended up out here," she said quietly, twirling the end of her worn sash around her hand, "I never really took my own life into my hands.  I could speak out and cut someone down when I needed to, but I never really took control of the larger issues that affected me.  It was too easy to let other people have it."  She looked directly into Kurt's eyes, then.  "Since we came here, we learned pretty quickly how stupid it is to live like that."

    "Yes."

    "Aldrun taught me how to really be my own person--encouraged me to, even when he disagreed with it.  And I never knew how much it meant to do that until...until later."  She shrugged again.  "So if Gatra wants to get on my good side, he will have to do it my way--and then maybe I will bend a little.  I have earned the right, especially since he is the one who wants this."

    "And you do not?"

    She sighed.  "I have missed being with Aldrun.  I know I will never stop missing him, and yet I think I might get something out of it.  Aldrun thought I should."

    "Perhaps more than sex will come of it, too?"  Yasis asked, ironically hopeful.  She also missed her cousin, whom she had alo considered her dearest friend.  But Susan was still alive and young.  For that matter, Gatra, healthy in frame, dark-haired and olive-skinned, was not at all a sore thing to look at--even if he was a chore to listen to.

    "Well, he does have some nice qualities.  I would like it if I did."  On that, though, Susan grinned despite herself.  "But I will take the sex first and judge that before I decide."

    Laughing at her uncharacteristic humor, Kurt reached over and patted her leg.  "Good for you."

    So, a year into their friendship, she accepted Gatra's additional advances.  This change surprised him at first, and then made him boyishly nervous, wondering if they should continue their affair on that course, if she was ready.  Having definitely become unaccustomed to that sort of uncertainty in a man, Susan just shrugged and let him get over it.  She was in no rush.

    He got over it soon enough.

    The first time they made love, she cried, not for anything but for having expected the same pleasure that she had so treasured with Aldrun.  She had unconsciously expected Gatra's hands to feel the same, his rhythm to be similar, his scent and sounds to be familiar.  Gatra was not a poor lover, but he was different enough for her to know he was not her husband.  She missed Aldrun all over again for it.

    With time and Gatra's incredible patience--one thing Desalian she knew he had inherited--she did come to enjoy him more, even appreciate his many efforts to please her, in lovemaking and in public.  He was always good to Marise, who, having to spend her childhood in that camp with poor food, pitifully few clothes and no real society, became Susan's only true concern and subject of planning.

    Surprisingly, Gatra was a fairly good teacher, too, and often made up for his deficits by assisting Susan and Kurt with the girl's education.  One of Susan's pastimes in that largely cloudy, boring place was to watch them count Antral figures aloud to a song he had translated from Desalian.  He also taught her a little Desalian so she could talk with Y'dri's daughter in her tongue.  Iseli, a year younger than Marise, could already speak Antral well, which doubled Marise's determination to return the favor.  Gatra laughed at the girl's wills and started by teaching her name.

    "Ma-ri-sey," he said, pointing to the corresponding letters in Antral, then Desalian, "means, loosely, bright against the wind."

    "It sounds like a strong name," Marise said and looked back at her mother.  "Would Grandmother Kebis approve of it?"

    "I know she would," Susan told her.

    Marise gestured an affirmative.  "Then I'll learn it!"

    "My honor, Lady Marise," Gatra returned with a gracious bow of his head.

    Marise giggled.

    It never failed to make Susan smile, seeing her little girl and a man who had come to care for her sharing such times.

    She still cried herself to sleep some nights, ignored him and treated him coolly even when she approved of him.  She needed the distance on occasion, when her moods grew dark or her memories and longing revisited her.  She needed time to collect herself and made no compromises about it.

    She allowed Gatra back when she was ready.  Though the work and the routine of their days didn't bother her much, Susan knew that having a considerate lover was something she shouldn't take for granted.  And though they all knew, through Yasis' astute and well-placed ear, that they would not be on Dajid forever, Susan did believe that Gatra cared enough about her to possibly be a part of her life for some time yet.

    She still dismissed him utterly when he acted up, though.

    She had on Tridl's ship, too, even if he had been worried for her and apologized for his rudeness with Y'dri.  Still, Susan would not bend when it came to his attitude about the Desalians, who were so kind about it, so uncritical, it hurt to know them sometimes.  Susan still thought about that woman in the inspection line, the one who had been sent to the mines over nine years ago.  Knowing Desalians as she had come to, Susan knew the woman would not have blamed her or felt angry for her "fate."  Susan felt it instead and made her apology in the only way she knew how--hoping that the woman did survive, wherever she was, hoping she somehow had found her way home.

    Gatra would simply have to be a man and deal with his own contrition instead, Susan concluded.  With their escape from Dajid and present course to Cezia, he would have to whether he liked it or not.

    So as the Desalians in the opposite corner continued to tell stories about the little world and all its nature and joys, as the warm air rushed in from the ventilation ducts, Susan settled her shuddering, breathed through the memories that invaded her as they so often did with such small reminders.

    "Just keep it together, right?" she said, without much emotion but a passing grin as she continued to stare at the hypnotic light, flickering steadily across the bay.

    Kurt shrugged.  "It's always worked before, hasn't it?"

    "For us..."  She sighed.  She would never let go of some things, and other things she chose not to, she knew without complication.  Those choices had been hers to make, and she made them.  "I suppose we have done what we could," she said.

    Kurt reached over and touched her hand, which still stroked Marise's thick curls.  When her stare found his, he held it.  "More than that, Susan.  Now that we're free--finally--we'll be able to do even more."

    Her smile was small, but it was there.  "I guess you're right."

---

    "Yet despite the unique form of the branches, it should be no surprise that they may find shape when brought together..."

---

    Upon finally exiting the belly of Tridl's hulking ship, they only had to look at each other to know they could stay there without regret.

    True to Me'ekra's promise, the silver grasses swayed easily in the warm, gentle breeze.  The white sun was pure and bright, not too hot, and the air smelled so fresh and dry it almost made them cough.

    "Susik, look there," Yasis said and they all turned to see the expanse of Dviglar.  Susan and Kurt's jaws dropped.

    A base--a real base--was plainly visible at the end of the landing zone.  Approaching it, they saw a central building in the middle of the gorge, which connected directly to the communication arrays arranged on the surrounding ridges along with an enormous deflector dish.  Upon further examination, they realized the latter provided a shield grid for Dviglar--and possibly the surrounding area, too.  Around the rest of the gorge, buildings made conveniently of old hulls were burrowed in the rock faces; all were lit with activity.   Into and between these structures some very swift-footed and healthy Desalians passed, along with a portion of Antral, Brijan and Koba.

    On the plain beyond the rocks, an entire fleet of small ships sat in rows as far as they could see, swarmed by people and maintenance equipment.

    Susan felt her entire Academy education wash back into her.  Real ships.  Real technology.  It was like a dream...

    "If only Aldrun could have seen this," she breathed.

    "He would have been ecstatic," Yasis agreed.

    Marise nodded too, knowing all about her father and his career as a trade ship captain, how he had planned to be a resistance fighter.  But seeing the other people in the gorge, her thoughts came quickly back to the present.  "Do you think there are more children to play with here?" she asked her mother.

    Susan laughed.  "I am certain there are," she said, teasing her girl's cheek.  "They say Desalian cities are very crowded.  I believe we might find a few pretty little girls in the town."

    Straightening her back, Susan looked around the base again, and then at the fields, feeling her heart respond to the savannah's beauty, her skin drink the warmth and light.  Turning back once more, she noticed Captain Tridl returning from the main building and gathering up Y'dri and Me'ekra and their families.  Nearer by, Kurt was collecting Aldrun's crew, telling them to follow them for the time being, until they all could be housed.

    In that same view, she saw Gatra, standing near but keeping a polite distance, as she had not forgiven him yet.  He had nowhere else to go but with them, so she finally thought that maybe she should let him off his usual hook a little sooner.  He obviously was going to need the support of friends, uncomfortable as he looked just then.

    "I like it here already," she announced, for him and the others.

    "Does that mean we will stay, Mother?"

    "Yes, Marise," Susan said, only glancing at Gatra's reaction.  "If things go well, we will find a place to live until Antral is free."

    "Good," Marise smiled.  "For I like it here, too.  I feel sleepy, though.  Like I ate too much again."

    "The gravity is slightly stronger here," Susan explained.  "You might have headaches, too.  --I will explain that to you later."  As Susan petted her nodding daughter's head, she caught Tridl's attention as he neared.  "What news, Captain?"

    "It is Tsi'omad, Lady Kichyrn," he informed her, brushing at his coat as he jogged up to them.  "I always forget their public days here.  Dalra and Miztri remain in the city, and so we will venture there now."  Setting them off toward a break in the rocks, he continued, "The others of Dajid have gone ahead or now arrange to return to their homeworlds.  If you would like to come as well to Azlre, I can help you arrange your settlement--and food for the child, hmm?"

    Kurt came back into their circle and, grabbing Yasis' hand, set his stare on their immediate destination--a thin clay road at the base of the gorge.  Nearing it, however, his stare rose as the bright white rise of Azlre appeared on the horizon, its steeples and tenements like cutwork against the deep cobalt sky.  "Wow," he breathed then glanced back to Tridl.  "I think we'd all love to come back to Dviglar later, though."

    Tridl laughed and nodded.  "I doubt they would deny any more help in the resistance.  --Y'dri!  Me'ekra!  We go now!"

    Nodding, the siblings and their families collected their bundles, hurried along and followed with their eyes hungrily roaming over the changed landscape.  Even the grasses, they told the Antral crew leading them, seemed more abundant than they recalled.  The world had fared well in their years away from it.  As Iseli and Marise ran ahead, Y'dri's eyes turned to Susan's smile while Me'ekra told a story about yet another adventure he'd had in those fields.  Nodding to herself, she leaned into her mate's arm, her own mouth upturned with satisfaction.

    After a beautiful walk, with goats--or joth, as they were called--in the path, and a good deal of friendly greetings at what Tridl pointed out as Azlre's south gate.  Within the city, vendors handed small fruits to the newcomers as they passed several small gatherings and glanced at displayed wares, and they stopped for long drinks of fresh water at a busy public well.  Finally, they crossed through the city and entered the main square.

    Not only Dalra and Miztri resided there, they were told, but the regents of Desal, their siblings and Cezia's elders also lived in the Adavill District, which along with most of the other districts in Azlre had undergone several improvements since the war began to turn for the better.  Many of the grand buildings, Tridl pointed out, had been restored and whitewashed when a new influx of citizens required the rooms within them; the amber-toned flagstone streets were re-laid in the past year and young trees and vines had been replanted.  A half block off the far end of the square, the west gate had been reinforced and repainted. 

    "And quite good, too, as they were very much against replacing it," said the captain.  "Desalians cherish their history as dearly as food!"

    Just south of the road leading to that gate, the high-domed silag sat.  A glorious restoration made from much toil and latent talent, it bore the finest examples of local white granite slab and patterned glasswork.  It also now housed the prichava, whose dual duties in the two Cezian cities had inspired her to begin training apprentices.  Much to the others' surprise, the sight and the news had stopped Gatra in his tracks. 

    Shrugging at their surprise, he explained, "Some matters of being even disgrace cannot erase from a Desalian."  His eyes turned back to the beautiful structure.  "I have never been in the presence of a consecrated silag before.

    "Now you are," Tridl replied with but a glance back at the man.  "Welcome to Desal."

    Near the center of the busy, well-tended mall, the dais had been resealed and surrounded with climbing flowers.  Nearing it, Tridl pointed farther down, towards the east end of the square.  There, he told them, the city's main clinic was also somewhat in new condition.  With the war, some additions to the rear ward had become necessary, and the elders had finally decided to incorporate the tenement beside it and more space behind.  The original clinic remained only as a lobby, with housing above and a kitchen, bathing and lavatory space behind.

    "You will learn your way around with little time," Tridl told them all, smiling widely as they passed around a few humming vendors.  "But we will cross here.  Someone will know where Dalra and Miztri are--and I will likely meet my contractors soon."

    Yasis narrowed her eyes.  "So you were to be paid for this," she sneered.

    Tridl sighed with affect.  "I was contracted five years ago, woman.  Certainly, I am not a bounty hunter, else my booty would have been here earlier."  Concertedly making his company with Me'ekra and Y'dri then, Tridl left the others to follow them.

    Susan didn't mind, truly enjoying the sights of the beautiful city and feeling her hopes rise in a way she hadn't felt in a very long time.  Too long, she thought, seeing both well-looking Desalians and various Irllae traders going about their business or talking on corners, like in any normal city.  For a moment, she would not have thought those peoples were waging a war for freedom nearby but for the scarcity of their surroundings.

    Liking that, she rubbed Marise's hand against her hip in a small surge of excitement.

    They stopped just past the dais, where Tridl hopped ahead and bowed deeply to a petite, round-eyed and brown-braided woman, whom he introduced as "Sashana'i of Cezia, Regent of Desal," and then smiled proudly to watch the humble and grateful introductions cycle through all the Desalians but Gatra.

    The regent noticed his exclusion, and so once she had succeeded in pulling her fellow citizens up from the flagstones, she turned a welcoming smile to him.  "And you, good man, standing by our Antral friends, may I welcome you as well as Desal?"  She moved near, slowing when he pulled up his chin as a gesture to stop--a Dajidian gesture, her memories quickly told her.  "You need not draw back.  We all are one in life and among all."  Glancing to the Antral contingent, she tried another approach.  "I am Sashana'i of the Allanois."

    "Gatra," he replied, "--of the Ella'omb."

    To his and the others' surprise, the lady's eyes seemed to unfocus briefly then clear as she regarded him anew.  "By the spirits," she whispered and reached out to take his hands then press one to her temple in a deep and grateful bow.  "We have been blessed this day to have another of our cruelly forsaken returned to his people.  The Ella'omb, an honorable family of artists, much known and adored among our memories."

    "I did not return," he replied, not bothering to acknowledge the hard stares in the corner of his eye.  "I happened by here in our liberation from Dajid."

    "All the more blessing of fate, good Gatra," Sashana'i stated, "that the curse of my ancestors should haunt me.  As the heir to the Allanois, I have taken their crime unto my spirit and endeavored throughout my life to absorb what I might of Desal's natural redemption--including making reparation to all of those who were criminally and cruelly scorned for their fine intent and true spirits."

    Gatra blinked, taken off guard by her progressive humility and ready sincerity.  She remained bowed low before him for several seconds after she finished, as well, a gesture of deep regard.  Her small hands were dry and warm around his.  "I...  I thank you, lady."

    Sashana'i bowed again to accept it and pressed his hands against her chest in a further show of gratitude.  "My house is yours should you require it," she promised "my food your plate and ears for your speaking. --Ka, good man, this is truth.  You may ask any upon Cezia of this and it shall be known as one knows their own spirit."

    Stepping away, she again embraced Y'dri and Me'ekra and their own.  "I shall take you to your parents," she told them, "before installing a house for Gatra and his own.  --Ka, this shall be tended to, friends.  As for you, Tridl:  Shall you take yourself immediately to gloat to Be'i?"

    "I must go to the clinic in any event, for..." he nodded tiredly to Yasis' stare, "Yes, yes, woman--for payment and perhaps that Bakali may have time to see to these inmates' health.  The others arrived have been similarly instructed to go there."

    "You shall find my siblings both, then, as their duties and Tsi'omad have retained them this sun.  Their generosity would be assured when they know how you have blessed our dear friends in your duty."  With a snicker, she picked up a couple of the dirty satchels by Y'dri's feet, whipping them out of reach before the woman could protest.  "We shall meet again soon, I should think.  When Miztri sees what I bring her, a sedative shall be required!"

    With no more delay, the regent led the family away, talking and spoiling the children with bead pins she pulled off her scarves with a free hand.  Gatra had to snap back to his senses before excusing himself to take a closer look at the silag.  He caught Susan's satisfied grin as she turned away.

    Indeed, she would not deny for a moment that she had enjoyed the regent's graceful speech as much as Yasis and Kurt had.  More, aside from the payback value, maybe it would be all right.

    Gatra had, after all, thanked an Allanois.

    As they continued with Tridl across the square, Susan let her eyes fall on their destination, a two-storied, whitewashed facade with several long thin windows, slate shutters and vines bearing vermilion fruits crawling up to the roof.  In front sat a long entrance patio, where a typically lithe, petite lady with long, brown curls braided back in her scarves stood at her work.  Her finely embroidered beige gown and thin blue leggings appeared to be good quality for a Desalian, Susan noticed with a cursory glance--though certainly, Cezians on the whole seemed all but alien to the Desalians in the camp, or even serving in Antral households.  Airing out a small carpet, the woman chatted and laughed at an undulating heap of cloth.  Her small feet, wrapped below the ankles for the warm, breezy day, skipped over a wayward tassel before she stepped on it then stopped in front of the heap.

    "Ba'ela, abrrosk ill ye'a mechi'irr!" she called, laughing again when a curly-headed boy climbed up from the cloth pile, growling like a dog.  Crossing her arms with the carpet still in them, she leaned closer.  "Ab Ba'ela ya'eshiv tola jallim."

    "Nali ka!" the little boy responded, hopping out of the pile to take the cloth from the lady.

    When he trundled it inside the open clinic doors, the lady turned to pick up a thick, knotted blanket.  Glancing over at the approaching group, she stopped.  Her hazel eyes widened as she looked again.

    Her fingers released the blanket when she focused on them:  Tridl, an Antral woman, a little girl--and then the other two again. 

    Her full, red lips fell apart.

    Yet as Tridl straightened to address her, Susan and Kurt both looked elsewhere.

    The corners of her mouth twisted up into a grin.

    Stepping down from the patio and onto the flagstone street, she tried again:  "Bendera?"  He glanced up.  "Nicoletti?"  She jerked her eyes down from the rooftops.

    They looked at each other then at the lady again, only half-realizing.  Indeed, it did take that moment for them both to interpret the Desalian woman's features, her mouth, her skin, the shape of her eyes and face, the color of her hair...the remnants of what had been her brow ridges...

    Before they could respond to her, the woman looked aside to the frowning trader.  "Tridl!"  she laughed;.  "I shall have your head for not alerting me!  And yet, the remainder of you shall always enjoy a place at my table for this."

    "B-but...Be'i," he said, furrowing his brow as he gestured back across the square, "I have brought Y'dri and Me'ekra--they are being taken to Dalra and Miztri now.  I knew not of..."  He stared over at the Antral family and suddenly recalled the names she had called them.  "These are the other ones?!"

    Yasis scowled.  "You mean to say we were also to be for your collection?"

    "Not you--but them."  Tridl shook his head in frustration.  "But Be'i, why did you never specify they were Antral?  I might have found them sooner!"

    The clever, responding smile on the woman's face was what Kurt would have called priceless Torres--if it was Torres.

    "Perhaps this detail slipped my memory," she replied, relishing in Tridl's consternation. Her attention returned to the newcomers, however, when she continued, "Tridl, house yourself in great comfort at Dviglar and bring what debt you gain to my name.  I will have them know it lies with me, and know our debt to you will be delivered presently.  These passengers will now come into my family's care."

    Taking that properly as a dismissal--or, better, desirous to leave sooner rather than later--the trader bowed.  "My honor, Be'i," he managed with some remaining dignity.  With another bow to the others, a few parting words, he turned to head back.

    "Is solid, with my eternal thanks," she called to him, barely restraining her amusement.  When Tridl disappeared into the street, she took a full breath and turned her head.  "Toma!  Tsave y'aballosk!"

    Kurt snorted.  Nine years hadn't dulled his memory that much.  "Toma?"

    Her eyes lit as she moved into the sun, she closed the distance between them, hugging Bendera tightly.  "Ka, my old friend," she said and looked at Nicoletti.  "And you!  You are just as I would have wished."

    Susan coughed a laugh.  She still couldn't believe what she was looking at, the scarved and scarred, marked and exceedingly happy woman.  To her memory, the chief had never smiled like that.  "Lieutenant Torres?  I..."  Shaking her head, she finally gave it up.  "It...is good to see you."

    She could not stop her snickers, even when she embraced the lady before her.  "Be'i," she told her.  "I am called Be'i now.  And it cannot be said how good it is to have you with us--finally.  Finally, you are brought to us."

    Susan finally had the presence of mind to reach up and hug her former officer back, though she still hadn't caught her breath.  "We thought you were killed on Uillar."

    "There were many chances for that," she said, pulling back to give Susan a straight stare.  For a moment, she offered a grin to the girl on Susan's hand, greeting her silently and with a touch.  "We nearly did pass there a few times.  Yet we were brought to Cezia after nearly a half-year, upon the scourge which collapsed the Kahseht sect, who had domain in that territory.  We have resided here since our arrival, recovering, taking a home and family...rebuilding a small fleet of ships for a conflict you might have heard about."

    Kurt's eyes flew open again.  "You?!  I should have known!  Damn!"  He laughed and looked at Yasis, who had keenly watched the scene from his side.  "Yasis, this was my comrade in the Maquis--Lieutenant Torres."

    "The engineer--your superior," Yasis smiled, finally understanding and giving the lady a nod of greeting.  "You are not what Kurt has said of you, I think."

    Be'i returned the gesture.  "It seems, my Antral friends, a long meal lies before us."  She almost said more, but her stare turned inward for a moment.  "Mes va'a ka?"

    Though she had not turned back to point him out, their eyes all turned up to who was obviously "Toma."  In his long, light tunic and pajama trousers, with his indigo markings and and intent expression, he took in the sight without much surprise.  But a genuine grin creased his older, tanned face the moment he focused on them.

    Without breaking his stare, he took the hand "Be'i" drew up for him then pulled it around the dangling ends of his headdress to kiss it.

    Susan's brows drew up at that, though she couldn't be any more surprised at that point.  "Paris," she said in a breath.

    His lips twisted at her greeting.  "You are late," he quipped.  "Were you lost?"  But immediately after, he opened his arms to embrace his old friends, squeezing them tightly when he got them.
 

---

    She held Susan around the waist like a sister, reached over to smooth Marise's hair and pinch her pretty cheek as they continued into the clinic. 

    Grinning to the others, he had them follow after, guaranteeing they would have all they needed as they could procure it.

    Shameless in her pride, she introduced their son.

    He introduced his elder-mother with due respect and warmth, and then secured them a space for their treatment.

    She collected the equipment and vials she knew they would need, turning back an amazed smile before preparing them.

    They might well have been any other set of strangers in it all, which was stranger than possibly anything Susan and Kurt had known yet.

    He welcomed Gatra when he arrived a few minutes later, but only shrugged at the man's frown and silence.  "All one in spirit is not always so in wits," he commented.  Purposefully ignoring Gatra's reaction to the insult, he turned his attentions back to Kurt and Yasis.

    Kurt, unusually uncomfortable in that new place as it was without Gatra's help, gave the man a shrug.  "You did say you wanted to go inside the... --What's it called?  The selak?"

    "A silag," Toma of Azlre clarified, not looking back.  "Ka, a visit there may be helpful, I should think."

    Bakali, busy with a rash she discovered on the Antral child after treating her gravity sickness, gave him a brief smile as her assistant's quick scan of him was handed over to her.  She glanced through it and nodded.  "You are a free man, Gatra of Ella'omb, and free of apparent physical malaise," she said then continued her work.

    Susan said nothing, but instead turned away to hold Marise's newly healed hand.

    Gatra left without farewells, only a slight bow.

    The regents entered some time later and Be'i broke away from the others' treatment to introduce her "siblings."  Seeing the friends for who they were that time, Sashana'i embraced and kissed them fully, welcomed them to her home, thanked the spirits for their deliverance from Unar.

    "As I have said to your friend Gatra," she said, holding both of Susan's hands in hers and looking from her to Yasis and Kurt in turns, "your needs, whatever they may be, shall be tended here--especially as you are family to our own."

    "I shall find you and your crew housing by the next sun," Aratra promised.  "It is difficult, particularly since the war has freed so many, yet not impossible.  There is always movement amongst our guests and it is good work for us during our rest."

    "House yourselves here with our blessing in the interim, good Children," Bakali assured, "and we shall take Dalra and all his own for our evening meal, as well, should it please.  I should think he and Miztri would find themselves beyond such worldly matters as housekeeping this happy moon."

    "Your invitation shall be brought, Nali," Sashana'i said.

    "My thanks, Child.  --So then, a partial harvest shall be required, Toma."

    "Then it shall be brought, Nali," he returned, bowing properly to his elder.  Donning a long coat, Toma took his boy's hand and started out, repeating Be'i's list of "nado'ev, chisak, mial, dir, kimne'oll, harisde...and perhaps I would send some friends to watch over our errant guest?"

    The two adopted Antral noticed their former superiors' eyes meet at that question.  The two smiled slightly, and then took a simultaneous breath as their stares briefly melted into each other's.  Then, Be'i looked back to help her 'nali' with the remaining treatments.  Toma turned again, his coat hem catching the breeze coming in the door as he left with his son's hand still in his.

    Susan and Kurt looked at each other, blank-faced.  They might have expected it, if they'd expected them to be alive.  But in truth, it was the last thing they'd have imagined.
 

    There was wine and good company, aromatic breads, fruit, greens and cheese, a warm fire and soft pillows all around the room; the air was filled with easy talk and longer stories in the Desalian fashion.  Friends and families sat reunited and young children played games in the corner by the window, engaged even after a full quarter.  It was small and humble, the flat above the clinic, no more than what the residents needed and just enough to fit that party of eighteen, and yet it was more welcome than they had enjoyed since they left Antral.

    Be'i and Toma of Azlre, born at Gahahol--or that was what the regents wryly said was a "poorly kept secret in Azlre and a well-accepted chronicle elsewhere."  But maybe they really did belong to their names.  Still, it was difficult for their former crewmates with their memories of one forthright Maquis and one reforming rogue, both of whom they had last seen bleeding on the red dirt of Uillar, failed miserably in their attempt to protect their people.

    Without exception that evening, the bondmates had been warm and funny, comfortable with their 'family.'  As they chatted before and during dinner, they spoke of their spirits genuinely.  They rolled their food in their bread with two practiced fingers.  They lapsed into the Desalians' untranslatable speech without thinking and apologized when they remembered.

    They were thrilled and grateful to see their friends alive and truly saddened to hear of the difficulties they had faced.  They spoke for some time about their own adjustments, their gradual coming together and their life afterwards--even laughing about it at times.  Later, more quietly for the children's ears, they spoke on the war.  It had not been on very long, but it was as violent as any war rightfully was, sometimes messy, other times a creator of great heroes, often tragic and a good cause of their present mood--hopeful but sober.

    Be'i became fast friends with Yasis, who could meet her every pointed comment with one of her own, laughed often and good-naturedly.  Toma fell in love with Marise and Iseli, and took to teasing them throughout their meal, to the girls' delight.  When they had finished, he pulled out games for them and Ba'ela, who according to his parents was so active, he could probably be connected to the city generator to keep it running smoothly.

    Despite their otherworldly feeling, still present, Susan and Kurt had honestly enjoyed Y'dri and Me'ekra's still teary, thankful parents for some time.  Dalra and Miztri were surprisingly true to their children's loving descriptions and plainly dear to Toma and Be'i, too. 

    Upon Kurt's curiosity, they all soon after descended into laughter over Dalra's witty recollections of his frustration with the two passionate outsiders who took their food in his overhang and openly challenged his ways.  They also smiled at Miztri's descriptions of their simple, dogged will to survive despite their constant injuries and illnesses.  Aratra recalled as well how the two had argued like hungry gasks--and from the first sunrise, when Sashana'i had been forced to literally throw Toma out of the shack to silence them. 

    "I'eva tsa!  No more wood on our pyre!"  Toma finally laughed, hugging his lady close as she leaned back against him.

    "Ka," Be'i added.  "It may be believed we are not always all our charms."

    They were both humble and proud, they had family in the regents and the city elders, they had fought successfully with their ship for five years, and though firm in tone at times for the war, they were so...gentle, honest, accepting...

    So Desalian.

    Even Kurt, usually easygoing about the unexpected, blinked every time he looked at them.  Susan could only watch and try to relate their new ways with the old, try to picture them like they were while looking at them there.  It always took her much longer to accustom herself to situations, she knew.  She felt better to know she wasn't alone in it that time.

    As the conversation shifted back to Dalra and Miztri and their re-expanded family, Bakali's invitation to train Y'dri and Gavasi and Me'ekra's expected baby, when she felt she might leave somewhat unnoticed, Susan took herself out to what Tom and B'Elanna had called another downtime project...  Toma and Be'i, she reminded herself yet again with a smirk.  But then she wondered if she could judge them for being so different after everything she and Kurt had done in their own time in Irllae.  Then again, she and Kurt at least seemed somewhat like they used to be.

    The project turned into a pleasant little patio off the top of the staircase and above the clinic washroom, with a few simple wire shelves of herbs against the wall and a tall pot of white-bloomed vines in the far corner.  The space had always been there, but needed reopening and repair.  "Like most things on Cezia," Toma had told her when he pointed it out, "it all makes itself done eventually."

    In any case, she needed a bit of quiet.

    Standing at the balcony, Susan looked out to what she'd been told was the north side of the city.  Roofs of shorter buildings that rolled down slightly with the land to the city walls stood in her foreground.  Beyond that was a plain of grass, backed by a range of mountains, all lit eerily blue in the light of two moons.  When the wind stilled, she was certain she heard joth balking.  It reminded her of a resort she'd visited before going to the Academy.  It was in the Ukraine, and she had been the youngest winner of the Drinar prize for excellence in computational theory...a million years ago.

    She breathed a deep breath, felt the dryness permeate her waterlogged lungs.

    "So much for not going native," came a voice that still seemed like a faraway memory, and even then, it was so oddly accented that it took Susan a moment to recognize it. 

    "You did it well," she finally replied, managing a small grin.

    Be'i stood in the doorframe a moment longer, looking at her old comrade almost as a stranger whose face she knew.  It was truth--it had been nearly a decade since they had seen each other, after having known each other only a year and not closely.  Her journeys with her bondmate had been so often, seeing Nicoletti and Bendera in their memories, that they had almost expected the same people to arrive on their doorstep, if they ever did.

    Susik.  Be'i grinned to herself at the sweet-natured nickname.  In Antral, she knew, it was a particularly rare dewflower, much prized and beautiful.  Whoever had nicknamed her that--and Be'i did not have to guess--certainly loved his lady.

    Susan did look good for having lived in a family internment camp nearly six years.  Her hair fell nicely around her shoulders, and though a bit too slim, her figure knew she had borne and nursed a child, too.  Given the chance to replicate some new clothes, she had chosen a style decidedly Antral, a fitted violet longshirt and brown trousers, a colorful sash that covered her ribs and tied flat on her back and short, fitted boots.  Susan's choice both complimented her and pleased Be'i in its own way.  It was good to see she and Kurt both had come to embrace something in Irllae.  Moreover, they had found themselves with mates, Kurt with Yasis and Susan with a good husband, regrettably passed.

    She wondered how well they would continue to embrace Irllae if they knew about the time...

    They would have to know soon enough.

    "Am I disturbing you?" she continued in their native tongue, thinking Susan might be more comfortable with that.

    "No.  I just needed to get some air.  It's beautiful out here."

    Be'i nodded and joined her, sliding the door closed behind her.  "When Toma expanded the loft for our son, I insisted on this repair.  We had always thought of utilizing this space and I long had craved a place to have some quiet.  The view is good, and it remains cool most of the day.  Naturally, Ba'ela likes being out here, too, when I'm here.  So, I gave up on the quiet part."

    Susan smiled.  "He's a beautiful boy."

    "Zhra'i ka.  He was a...pleasant surprise." 

    "A surprise?"

    "It's easiest to say without talking until dawn that we learned precisely when subdermal implants finally lose their effectiveness."

    "They held on longer than mine," Susan said lightly.

    "But your husband was Antral," Be'i returned.  "Then again, I shouldn't talk, since mine is Tom Paris."

    Susan laughed.  "It took him a while longer, but sooner or later he would get it and to hell with the rest?"

    "Even if he didn't know what it was," she grinned, but hen she shook her head.  "No, he was as surprised as I had been.  We expected to require an effort in order to conceive, and we were glad for that, considering everything happening here.  Desalian bonding effects aside, we simply didn't anticipate Ba'ela's sudden appearance.  Though, we were never sorry for him.  Zhra ya a'tsozh--he is our spirits' greatest blessing, as they say."

    "Yes," Susan said, pleasantly surprised yet again at the other woman's invocation of the Desalian spirits.  Odd as it might have been, it seemed to suit her, the way she said it...the way she looked.  "I can see that, in you both and in him.  Ba'ela seems like a very happy child."

    "That is his father's nature--brutally optimistic, and I'm thankful for it."  Seeing her smile at that, nodding with understanding, Be'i moved beside her.  "And your Marise is a beautiful little girl, with much of her mother that I can see."

    "She has a good deal of her father, too, though I've been the only parent she remembers."

    Be'i paused respectfully, seeing the tinge that came with the statement.  Susan recovered easily enough, though a lingering bittersweet remained.  Be'i knew she would never understand such a pain, as she could never be a widow, but she did feel for her.

    "Would you like to remain on Cezia, Susan," she asked quietly, "or do you want to return to Antral?  I am curious of your plans and what I might plan for you."

    She thought about that for a few seconds.  "I think I would rather remain for the time.  I'd like to be with Mother Kebis, have Marise grow up with her father's family.  But as long as the war continues, I can't justify returning to an unsafe place."

    "We'll set up a secure communication for you if you like," Be'i acknowledged, "but I can ask my assistant Latsari to send your family the news that you're safe in Azlre before we retire.  She is in Dviglar now."

    "Thank you."  Susan's eyes roamed over the mountains once again.  "Tridl said Antral is still in danger, though, being so close to Unar."

    "Antral will be the next secured area," Be'i nodded.  "With the Iaskeb's safety, it should not be too difficult to push the front back to Gozhor."  She snickered.  "If anything, the Antral would do it alone--and with pleasure."

    Susan grinned.  "I can understand that.  We lived there for three years before Desal joined the resistance; it was all we talked about some days.  I have to admit that I didn't expect to hear this much after being at Dajid.  The Unar there didn't look very worried or anxious."

    "That was Unar trying to keep face," Be'i told her, focusing on the view.  "Or if they were not worried, they should have been.  We strike their deployments at every turn, work to get ahead of them and push them back--and have from the start.  As we speak, their supply lines in Onast are being disrupted--starting with Dajid.  Toma and I should be leaving for more of that offensive in four more suns, when the Azallis is repaired."

    "It almost seems like a dream," Susan whispered.  "We had some news of the resistance, but only from what Yasis could sneak out of the comm system at the camp.  We didn't have any idea how much had been done since we left Antral."

    "I'eva tsa, we have been as persistent as fate has been generous," the other woman nodded as she pulled her evening coat more warmly around her.  "They hold onto the Tyrralm fields, the surrounding territory and Desalia-Four, but the pockets are crumbling one by one.  Unar will not continue much longer.  They were not prepared for their slaves' revolt or our sabotage, and they never managed to recover enough to succeed in decisive battles afterwards."

    "How long, do you think?"

    "We try not to predict it publicly, but I would guess it should take less than a rallkle to push them back into their territory.  We have recently re-drawn our plan.  If their Onast forces continue to fall as predicted, then we should have them well encircled in a third of that time."

    Susan turned to the serious face of her former chief.  Her profile, so different for her injuries, also bore a different yet oddly similar intensity to match her tone.  There, it was...quiet, assured, oddly knowing...or maybe it really had been longer than it felt all the sudden.  Despite her accent, her tone was familiar in her desires at least.  "Kurt and Yasis want to join the fight."

    "We thought they might.  Toma and I will take them on our crew, to see what they might like to do."

    "I'd like to help--but remain here."

    "With Marise.  I understand.  It's more difficult than many would realize, to leave Ba'ela, knowing we may never return."

    Susan nodded slowly.  "I couldn't do that.  It must be difficult."

    Be'i blinked at the obvious observation.  "Our son needs us and we do not like leaving him.  Even with twice daily communications, we think about him all of the time when we're in the field.  Thankfully, he has Bala and Bakali, who love and take very good care of him.  We're needed in this fight: We are the ones who taught Desal how to fight.  People look to us as teachers and as guides, particularly for our association, being claimed Allanois.  Toma and I need to do what we're doing, too.  In a way, we created this war, and we intend to finish it."  Be'i paused before adding, "But I think you might enjoy Dviglar.  I can tell you from experience there is always much to do there."

    "And the technology to do it?" Susan returned, laughing lightly when the other woman's proud little smirk appeared.  That was definitely familiar.  "You and Toma did a lot and it shows.  I couldn't believe it when we saw it earlier--a real base.  And that deflector--"

    "Originally the Unar's, actually," said Be'i.  "We stole it from what was left at Uillar."

    "Nice revenge, wasn't it?" Susan commented.

    "We thought it was...an appropriate balance of fate."

    Susan laughed again, sighing it out to the view.  It was good to feel so relaxed, and even confident about the future before them.  When she last knew the woman by her, it had often been much the opposite.  "I have to admit, I'm impressed.  When I was told we were going to Cezia, I imagined the poor, pastoral descriptions I heard on Antral, goats and temples and hooded natives."

    "Cezia is still that," Be'i admitted.  "Desal is still humbled in many ways--sometimes to a fault.  I won't lie about this.  But it's also returned to much of its roots, with the necessity of freedom and living decently.  They had accepted not having that.  With any blessing, that will not happen again."

    "How did you do it?" Susan asked.  "Of all the people on Voyager who wouldn't have had the patience to deal with what was going on here--even I couldn't accept some of it.  But Desalians...all these people, who for years ignored Antral and the others then let itself fall to the Unar..."

    "Desal was not as thoughtless as you make it seem," Be'i told her.  "They always felt terribly for the plights of others.  At the same time, they were trapped in their own philosophies and a confused and misguided regency.  When Desal was conquered, the Unar capitalized on that.  The result, I think you have seen well enough.  As for the fight, Sashana'i and Aratra would have eventually raised Desal, as there was not a single person here or elsewhere who didn't want peace and the natural balance in Irllae to be restored.  The population was trapped in their beliefs, yet Desal has always cared about the plight of our neighbors--often more than themselves."

    "But you said yourself that you had started the war," Susan said.

    Be'i's lips turned slightly up.  "Toma and I...sped it along, gave them more ideas than they initially would allow themselves.  We pushed people with improvements here on Cezia, restoring some technology in repairs and upgrades to some of the city systems.  Even then, it was an Unar attack and a particular response to it which strung us to the end of our patience and brought us to publicly ask to make a fight.  That's when Sashana'i jumped in and formalized Desal's right to commit war.  The day after Bala and Bakali approved, we were at Dviglar rebuilding a salvage yard."

    "Well, after this much time, I guess you would..."  She left the sentence open, nodding back to her previous thoughts.

    "We had adopted Desal, the people and our family, and we felt some responsibility for the attack," Be'i filled in.  "We taught them everything we knew on their level as much as we could, from the basics to doing battle and defending themselves, as they never had done any of that before.  The mechanics of keeping a ship up was easier than teaching them how to be mercenary, to destroy life and property without provocation.  We needed to bring Desal to where it could fight.  And when the war ends, we will all have more of learning and teaching to do."

    "The confiscated records," Susan nodded.  "I heard of the same on Antral.  Aldrun told me often how horrifying it was to lose it all, not at first, but when they realized they could not just open a file, or look up a thing, or make a repair--or teach except by word and hand.  I can only imagine how it must have been."

    "It devastated all of Irllae."

    "But not the Desalians as much, I heard," Susan pointed out.  "They were always known for their oral records."

    "Don't mistake tradition for simplicity, nor acceptance for peace," Be'i warned.  "What is left when your scholars and word painters fare worse than the technology, are not stolen but exterminated?  But a relative few survived to pass on their knowledge outside of Desal's homeworld.  Many are still in hiding, secretly passing on the spiritual training, but nothing more than necessary, just enough that they can perform bondings, give the kraja and counsel the ill.  It's helped keep Desal true to its ways, but it's not a complete education. It's not known how many true scholars exist now.  There are but a scant few receiving full training even now.  Unar almost destroyed all those living records."

    Her correction had been quiet but firm, and Susan accepted it.  "I apologize.  Y'dri and Me'ekra were always friends to me and the others on Dajid, but I don't know Desal very well."

    Be'i eyed her.  "I can tell our good Gatra is not a well of information."

    "He doesn't like to talk about it."

    "Ke'atse.  He didn't seem to want to be here, and he looked angry with Toma, though they had never met."

    "He's nervous about being around Desalians again," Susan told her.  "I don't know if I can blame him too much for being cautious, but he does grate my nerves when he takes it out on the wrong people.  I'm handling that less and less well, lately."

    "He must have some goodness if you've kept him as a lover."

    "Off and on.  As soon as he starts looking like a nice guy, he says some things..."  She shook her head.  "He can be so self-righteous, I wonder why I ever bothered.  But he's good to Marise and me and, yes, he does have a good heart.  I'd give him a chance if I were you."

    "I haven't cursed him outright--yet.  We'll see how things go."  Be'i looked out again, leaned up on the rail.  A pause passed, long enough to turn the subject back from its tangent.  "Those records, all the databanks confiscated upon Unar's takeover...they're all on Desalia-Four, Susan."  She nodded to the other woman's surprise.  "Our agents--friends of Desalians once assigned to labor on the homeworld--found out only recently.  Yet it makes sense:  Only the catacombs there have the capacity to store the incredible mass of data.  It's why they barricaded the homeworld so heavily, made it self-sustaining."

    "That is logical."  Susan watched the corner of Be'i's mouth turn slightly up--an unvoiced thought, it seemed.  "Do the Antral know?"

    She breathed a short laugh.  "They grow aware of it, slowly but surely."

    Susan didn't ask, though tempted, what the Desalians had been up to there--which was likely keeping her own adopted people at bay as best as possible.  She couldn't say it was unwise.  So instead, she asked,  "So what happens now?"

    Be'i shrugged, though her eyes brightened to relate it.  "We have decided it's time to take the homeworld--at last.  With this, Unar should fall with only some more effort.  The tactical layout is in planning; we need a way to get beyond the detection grids and whatever power source they're using.  But it will come soon."

    Susan drew a deep breath.  As crazy as it all had become again, to hear those words coming from her former chief's mouth did nothing but good for her.  She found herself gladly trusting it.  For her recent experience, she knew she wanted to trust it. 

    "Good."

    An easy silence fell between them then, and the two women continued to stare out at the panorama, glowing blue in the moons' light.  It was so quiet, either of them might have said they could hear the little world itself spinning.  Only the occasional echo of an animal or the shifting breeze disturbed it.  For them both, the silence was restful.

    Be'i's eyes were not on the view by then, however, but beyond it as she pondered how she should inform them.  Or perhaps it was a better topic for later, when their old comrades were rested and more acclimated to Cezia.  They had all received treatments for malnutrition, injuries never properly corrected and several viruses typical of survivors of the camps.  They had all bathed, dressed and made themselves neat for dinner, wine and talk.

    Their excitement of being free from Dajid was sinking into reality.  Their shock at seeing their former superiors so different was also dissipating.

    They should naturally be fatigued and should be allowed a peaceful rest, Be'i decided.  The many new things for them to do and digest would easily come after that.  She and Toma had four more suns before they would need to leave.

    For that matter, she could use the sleep as well.

    It would be a full day at sunrise.
 

---

    As he had planned with Be'i when they spooned together the late evening before, Toma took Kurt with him to the market that morning, with his son, Bala and Aratra, to show him around in grand fashion.  The early day routine was one he had come to truly enjoy, and so he was curious to see how well it might fare with the man who had lived with the Antral for so many years.  To his memory and Be'i's, Bendera was the sort who might take to it.

    They were correct.  Kurt, better rested than the day before and with that, quite curious about the place both Susan and Yasis had decided would be home for the remainder of the war, started memorizing the traditionally curvy streets and graceful white buildings.  He asked so many questions, too, that Bala had to take over the answering of them.  Meanwhile, Aratra and Toma waved over friends, both members of the resistance and "civilian" Azlreians, to meet him.  They did so with their usual grace, gratitude and warm congratulations to Toma for finally having found his friends.  Toma shrugged to Kurt.  "You and Susan might have been mentioned occasionally by the fire."

    Once they reached the market, the men went so far as to use Kurt as their sample taster--even down to the last, which Bala all but snuck over from a Maha'ajan vendor.  "Sirril," Toma explained, jabbing Aratra.  "We blame our bonded regent for having that brought here--leaving the most of us with cravings."

    "Only do not speak too freely of it to our bondmates," Bala grinned.  "Or not until they are in their most pleasant moods.  They are convinced we shall grow fat and unhealthy on it--and when happy, they would rather jibe us for our weakness.  Yet it is, in truth, an indulgent fruit."

    Kurt had to take a breath behind the bite.  "Damn, that's good--best thing I tasted since I was on Risa."

    "Speaking of indulgences," Toma snorted.  "Who was she and was she truly as sweet?"  Aratra and Bala laughed and looked curiously to the man for the answer.

    Kurt's brows rose, not surprised at his old comrade, but definitely taken by the Desalians' response.  But then he chuckled, too.  "Faride," he said.  "But it was only--"

    "Not 'only' should she be considered alongside the taste and juice of sirril," Aratra smiled.  "Now paint the words, friend, and we shall walk with it.  --It is the way.  Speak."

    So Kurt told the old and embarrassing story about how he'd lusted after a pretty, blonde-haired Risan girl and was plagued at every turn in wooing her with bad timing, awkward exposures and the loss of his money to a Ferengi, finally losing his patience and accepting defeat without even having gotten to touch her.  Only by accident did he get together with her on his last night there, during which he definitely made the most of their time, in the Hidran Bay by moonlight with a most interesting Betazoid wine and sweet, luscious Faride wrapped around him like a warm, wet scarf.

    "And Yasis knows nothing about it," Kurt finished.  His audience laughed even as they nodded their agreement.  It was not a matter to discuss with an Antral wife, even if it was nearly twenty years ago.

    Still chuckling over the story, one he hadn't told in ages, Kurt found himself indeed in a good mood for the company as easiness about them, even if he noted to the other man, "It's not like it was before--back home."

    Toma's grin was one of agreement, though inward.  "Not much is," he said, using their native language that time.  He and Be'i could see the night before that some of the words were lost on him and Susan, though their translators were of Antral origin and thus very good.  Be'i had also said that Susan seemed to have relaxed, hearing their birth tongue.  "And I think that's a good thing most of the time."

    "I guess you would think that," Kurt said then looked at Toma again, his suntanned face and the deep scar wrecking into his cheek.  His expression was untroubled, his stare set on their direction as they made their way through streets he had come to know by heart.  "Do you ever think about it, though?"

    "Yes."  Toma shrugged.  "We never forgot what we came from--and we couldn't forget it.  We are curious about home, but we don't miss it.  Our families, of course, but not the place--and still we had to let it go either way.  The Federation is so far from here, we knew despite our projects and rhetoric that we probably wouldn't see it again long before we got in that shuttle.  Do you miss it?"

    "Sure I do," Kurt said.  "I don't have anything left back there, really, but I miss being around humans sometimes, miss the idea of maybe seeing Camor again.  Yasis and I have talked about it."  He laughed, recalling suddenly their last conversation about the wonders of the Alpha Quadrant.  "She's Antral through and through, though.  She says I'm better off here, where I won't get spoiled again and I know my place."

    Toma grinned.  "I think Be'i and I would agree with her on that in our own right."

    "I do sometimes too," Kurt admitted.  "There's a lot I've gotten involved with since we got here--like you did.  And there's a lot that I want to be a part of, the resistance especially--like in the Maquis, but knowing something's actually happening.  With so much at stake, I'm still pissed off that we were stuck away at Dajid while all of this was going on.  This time, I really want to follow through, see what comes of all of it.  Then there's Yasis."

    Seeing a deeply felt grin find Kurt's face with that last thought, Toma nodded.  "Ka, she's beautiful, smart and quick like any good Antral."  Kurt's smile grew.  "She has made a good home for you."

    "She's the best friend I couldn't have asked for," he said thoughtfully.  "On the worst days, she can make me grateful I'd gotten stuck in this place."

    "I wouldn't call it a crime," Toma commented.

    Thinking more on that, Kurt looked at him again.  "But I'll always miss home at least a little."

    Toma's eyes turned down in thought, but then came back again to see Gihetra.  He gladly changed the topic to introduce his good friend and fellow captain.
 

    Having dressed herself in her working clothes and gladly allowing Ba'ela to sleep a while longer that morning, Be'i came down from the loft to find a perturbed Yasis pacing circles in the main room.  Hearing the reason for her mood--the elder, Toma and Aratra practically stealing her man away at sunrise for errands--she patted the other woman's arm understandingly.

    "It is tradition for the men to take themselves for our bread and fruit," Be'i told her, and then with a grin, "--and a good one, so that we may speak freely of their particulars before their return."

    Bakali shook her head, grinning.  "My child, you and your brother shall never find change in some manners," she said, pouring hot water into the mugs.

    Be'i continued to regard Yasis.  "And how has my technician been utilized since his controls were rewired?" she asked, knowing precisely how Yasis would take it.

    Yasis laughed.  "Your technician?" she returned.  "Looking at your own pilot's devotion, it is plain you have already honed his navigational socket--if not burnt it to coals."

    "I always did enjoy the ride," Be'i grinned.

    "Had you not, I would worry for you," Yasis returned then gave her a more genuine smile.  "He is a fine man, for what I have met, and more than what I would have expected, for all I have heard."

    Be'i turned a similarly amused yet more hinting look towards the woman.  "I hope my bondmate has not suffered too much talk for all that was known of him then."

    "Not too much," Yasis answered,  "but for every curse there was a compliment, for him and for you, and enough to make me know you were real."

    "As it should be, I would think."

    "True."  With that, Yasis peeked over to Bakali to see how their tea was coming along.  "The smell is good," she commented.

    "And it is complete," Bakali announced with smile as she lifted the tray.

    Satisfied with Yasis' positive turn of mood, Be'i excused herself to check in on their other guests.  Taking one of the cups Bakali had brought and promising her quick return, she took herself downstairs to the front clinic's storage room.  Susan and Marise had been set to sleep there rather than the main room of the flat upstairs to afford them some privacy and relative quiet in the morning.

    As expected, the lady was already awake, though not out of the bed of blankets and soft, plush pillows the elders had arranged the evening before.  She instead held her sleeping child and stared out the thin window to the bright sky.  Her eyes were filled with wonder, much as they had been the evening before, neither sad nor happy.  Perhaps it was only relief, in a calm manner time had taught the cool facade of a girl once called Nicoletti.

    It was understandable.

    Be'i smiled gently and moved herself in to give Susan her tea.  She said nothing, offering her greeting with her expression alone.  With a quiet "Thank you," the cup was taken.

    Without thinking, Be'i reached over to Susan's bag and took out her brush for her...

    The room smelled of spice and tea when they took their breakfast; the sun, peeking through the shutters, had grown white and inviting.  Around the freely patterned floorcloth, they ate far more quietly than they had their dinner, not necessarily groggy but simply beginning their day with a measure of peace and gentle, issue-free talk.  There, it was tea and bread, fruit and cheese, an elderly couple chatting simply, a small boy nibbling eagerly and his parents watching from their places on the soft, old pillows.  Their grins were reflective, either pleased with their view or with whatever they were feeling between each other.

    Susan still noticed that when she looked at them, and after she told herself again not to stare, she decided they were probably both.

    Marise ate just as well then happily curled up on one of those pillows by her mother, who smoothed her curls as she tasted another piece of cheese and sipped on a rather delicious floral tea.  Kurt and Yasis, more awake and doubly ready, had already eaten their meal, memorized the room and by that time were only being polite in their remaining.  They opened their mouths at every pause, taking a quick look at the window or the stairway door with every new noise.

    Noticing this made Bala smile at first; then he laughed.  "Toma, Be'i, you might wish to free these nyvalst of their bearings else they shall fly through the shutters."

    "Somewhat like another set of arrivals I bear fair memory of," Bakali said warmly.  "And my thanks to the spirits they have retained both their wings and their nest."

    So, at their elders' suggestion, Be'i and Toma pulled themselves up and, convincing Susan to leave a more than willing Marise to stay with Ba'ela and Bala for the day, draped on their outer cloaks.  Minutes later, they started out for Dviglar, greeting their friends in the square and others in the streets as they crossed the town for the south gate.  They stopped again not far outside it so Sashana'i and Aratra could catch up with them. 

    Greeting the newcomers as friends, the regents fell in with the five, Sashana'i in particular paying special attention to Susan, who without a mate, had to walk alone.  After reporting her own news of Gatra's stay at Dviglar the evening before, the regent took care to remain very near to her, keep her in idle conversation much of the way.  She even made Susan laugh a few times with her descriptions of some of Dviglar's most common customers, including her own humble role in supplying them with a fair share of work. 

    Be'i smiled back at her.  "Indeed, a fine regent, our sister," she quipped, "worth her skill in the engine room for her precision and tenacity.  Take care not to let her near your hair, however.  You shall be tortured with those same fine qualities."

    "Yet you have at last taken enough instruction," Sashana'i returned.

    Aratra chuckled, rubbing his bondmate's back.  "Past Ba'ela's birth, our good lady at last became busy enough that Sashana'i's words could be heard."

    "But only just enough," Sashana'i replied with an air of mock haughtiness.  "I should still think it yet bears shortness."

    To it all, Be'i shook her head at the sky.

    Toma pursed his lips and whistled a few bars of a requiem. 

    Hearing it, Susan crooked her head and suddenly laughed.  "You rogue!  You would remember that."

    "Does that bring back a memory!" Kurt chimed in, relinquishing all but Yasis' hand as she turned to talk to Sashana'i.  He'd been pleasantly surprised to see how well she'd warmed to the Desalians there.  When he came back with Toma and Bala that morning, he found her with the other women, all talking so easily that she barely noticed his entrance.

    Indeed, they had found themselves taken aback by the difference between those like Y'dri and Me'ekra and the more progressive Desalians there.  Their robes worn pale, their humility and invocations of the spirits as sincere, they yet had life and 'spirit,' as it were.  They joked and had egos, they were determined and quick to think and speak and anxious to learn whatever new came their way.  Kurt could easily say he enjoyed Desal far more in that state.

    Entering Dviglar again and heading to the ship rows, they saw the difference all over again in the activity of those people, their vibrancy and humor, though their submissiveness held steady in at least one respect.  Their welcoming the noble family when they came into the base was surprisingly formal, with low bows and very kind words.  The young regents switched into their roles with a blink, accepting the adoration with grace and gentle kindness and blessing the way of all who approached them.  It was quite a change from their gaiety at dinner and playfulness on the road there.  Be'i and Toma, too, welcomed their fellow citizens to straighten when the attention turned their way, touching their temples in greeting.

    "It's the way," Be'i explained with a shrug as she resumed her pace through the ship rows.

    Thankfully, their crew showed no ceremony when they climbed up into the Azallis and welcomed their friends aboard.  Leading them straight to the engine room, Be'i immediately worked her way around it, asking questions in Desalian left and right to crewmembers who seemed to know better than to not respond efficiently. 

    "Just in case you thought all had changed about her," Toma quipped and added, "Feel free to look around.  We won't be long.  We are still waiting on parts for our deflector, but we like to check in."

    With that, the captain unsashed his coat and joined his bondmate in assessing the continuing repairs of the ship, his tongue returning to unintelligible Desalian. 

    Susan and Kurt didn't mind the chance to examine the systems in the meanwhile.  Though Desalian in origin and standard language set, the equipment in that engine room was so familiar, they laughed with each discovery.  Meanwhile, Yasis was entranced.  She had never seen such a ship in her life and wondered if all the old ships of Desal were as grand.  Hearing her husband and cousin beckon her over, she found herself in a breathless lesson of what a useful ship looked like.

    The same held true for the communications center, with which the two captains were equally pleased.  Busy but organized, they entered to see a hodge-podge of equipment around a well-populated double horseshoe of panels and screens.  The back wall held four larger screens.  On the left were three long rectangles with star charts bearing ship positions and current territory lines and data.  To the right of those displays, the main viewscreen displayed the entire layout of Irllae from the vantage of what Be'i called the "ka'ekle-berr." 

    Whatever that meant, it was incredible.

    "So that's what it looks like," Kurt breathed, moving closer to see every detail of the place he'd inhabited almost a decade, but had known only in a strictly local sense.  The region was small in comparison to vast areas he had known in his life and amazingly surrounded by the same plasma field that had brought and kept them there.

    Oddly, that wasn't such a bitter thing to him anymore.  Even seeing it for the first time since they arrived, it was more a thing of wonder than of ill fate.  He almost wished he were a scientist to see all the notated wonders on that map.

    Cali, the lead controller and second in command to Dalra, welcomed them with a smile and bow, but then pulled her older friends over to gesture toward one display.  "Note his direction," Cali pointed out. 

    Toma chuckled and opened a channel to the ship in question.

    "It seems my bondmate and I must bear you thanks," he said.  "Your snail slime of an agent has finally freed Dajid, to some excellent effect.  Though I see you already capitalize on this."

    "Toma and Be'i of Azlre!" announced the Antral captain over the scratchy comm.  "So, you have emerged a while from your domestic grandeur to hear of my successes?"

    Toma rolled his eyes, laughing at his friend's usual manners.  "I should think, Novren, you would tell us anyway."

    "The Onast Sector's liberation will continue freely in all directions outward but Unar itself.  --And I chase the grey hawk as we speak," he boasted.  "I have him in my sights again.  He will be at this battle.  Best you do not miss it.  I will take him down."

    Be'i bent closer to her friends, who stared up at the configuration display in continued awe and had started at the voice.  "Think of him as Ahab," she told them.  "We always have."

    "We knew Novren," Kurt told her.  "When we were on Antral, he came to the hall sometimes with Aldrun.  He's the one who told us about the resistance here."

    "It was why we left Antral," Susan muttered.

    Toma backed off from the display.  "Would you like to speak with him?" he asked.

    Taking a moment to decide on that, Susan moved forward to the central control panel.  "Novren Pridalar," she said, easily reassuming her Antral tongue.  "Do you remember me?  Susik Kichyrn?"

    "Susik!  Susik is a lady I do remember!"  Laughing loudly, Novren was plainly in good spirits.  "I heard of your inspection years ago.  Where have you been lounging since?  I have missed your ability--and your fine features."

    "We have only just arrived from Dajid," she answered, ignoring both compliments.

    "Well, then, Tridl will definitely be my spitting urn for a time," he returned.  "But your part of that idiocy is over for now.  It would be good to have your expertise with us again, Lady Kichyrn.  --And Aldrun's!  Where hides he?  I would not mind having--"

    "Aldrun is dead," Susan told him flatly.

    "Dead?!  How could he die in that comfortable place?"

    Susan drew a breath, cursing to herself, nodding when she felt Yasis' hand on her arm. 

    Kurt took over.  "When we were captured," he said,  "the commander who stopped us for inspection injured him fatally.  He died at Dajid seven gruvnu later."

    A pause sat on the comm for several seconds.  "Who was this commander?"

    "Commander Ogakosb," Yasis answered immediately, seeing Susan's mouth tighten.  Her surviving cousin had likely tried to put that Unar out of her mind entirely, but Yasis had certainly not forgotten that name.

    Again, a pause, then, "Susik Kichyrn, you need not worry about his vindication.  I will take care of that.  Bastard Unar.  I knew Aldrun from our days in the mines as teenagers.  His strength was legend there.  They will pay for his death if I have to drag them bleeding over my rusty nacelles.  --And you may count that as my contribution to the universal balance, my Desalian friends."

    Toma licked his lips, shooting a look to Cali, nearby.  He correctly guessed that she was just as glad Dalra was occupied that day with his children.  "Would you keep your results discreet this time," he told the other captain, "I would have little to say against such a means of balance.  Your ship's debt to us carries much importance, as does our trust and friendship."

    "As always, Toma," Novren answered magnanimously.  His brutal grin was as easy to hear as it might have been seen.  "I do not forget our trade as I do not forget my own woman."

    "Whoever that might be each kli'ajea," Be'i quipped as she worked on a console.  As the man laughed, she turned a fond look towards the origin of his voice.  "Be well in your wishes, Novren.  We shall join you soon and celebrate this sun's successes then."

    "I await it, good Be'i.  --Susik, I hope to see you soon as well as your family."

    "Until Antral is secured, I will remain with Marise here at Cezia," she told him.  "Kurt and Yasis, you might see sooner."

    "I would see you all well in any time."

    The comm was cut, though Susan continued to stare up at the viewscreen, imagining the man she had known years ago, flying into battle with that next in what was probably a long list of vindications on his mind:  Vindication for Aldrun, who had been so happy and anxious to sink his teeth into a true resistance.  Certainly less bloodthirsty than Novren Pridalar, Aldrun's desires had been just as strong.  Susan could easily remember the long nights she and Aldrun spent together, with her snuggled in beside him as he gestured toward the ceiling and described how it would be again on Antral when they were free someday.  She remembered the morning they set off for Tralbil, how his face glowed with expectation as they walked out to the ship with Marise.  She remembered sharing that happiness as if she'd been born there. 

    Now, Aldrun was dead--but the dream they shared was far from it.  If he had, like Y'dri once said, gone to a higher place and could see it all from there, he would be proud--and vindicated even without his old friend's efforts.  He would be happy.

    "Remind me to thank Novren someday," she told Kurt and Yasis then turned away from the screen.

    With that and Cali's promise to establish a secure communication with Antral by the next sun, their tour of Dviglar continued.  Inspecting the smaller stores and repair warehouses, the observatories and maintenance centers, they came again to the center row, where they would head out again for Azlre.  Though it was only just past midday, Susan was anxious to see Marise and to see about their near future on that world.

    Kurt and Yasis were already sold on "doing some catching up" on the Azallis.  Likewise, Susan had liked the repairs warehouse a great deal, seeing both the variety and precision of work going on there.  Be'i immediately encouraged the idea, as they could always use more ashna'o there, too.  They had some elders, two scholars among them, in fact, who had blessedly good technical skills--a few of the non-scholars had even been engineers before the Unar invasion.  About sixteen in all had come out of hiding and to Cezia at Sashana'i's humble request.

    Even so, a former Starfleet data engineer would understand far better the technology Be'i and Toma had implanted into the various fleets.

    So they walked and planned, genuinely happy and still a little dreamy for even being free to make so many choices so soon after escaping internment.  Things were yet again going quickly--and they did not think to waste a moment.

    In the main row as well, they stopped to see Gatra, bathed and freshly clothed and looking at them with an equally pleased grin.  Though relieved to see him as well as Sashana'i had reported of him, Susan still greeted him without touching.

    "With whom did you stay last evening?" she asked as they started off again to the path to Azlre.  "When my husband's crew returned to Azlre this morning, we learned you also were here for the night.  Sashana'i told us you had as well."

    Gatra politely kept the distance she tacitly proposed, glancing only once to the seemingly uninterested friends of his lady, who walked a few paces ahead.  "I took refuge with Captain Tridl, as Desal's regents did not seem to bear in all enough sway to provide decent enough housing for myself, nor any of you.  So I took the opportunity to rectify that."

    Kurt shrugged.  "We slept at the clinic.  It was no hardship. You would have enjoyed it, too, had you not gone skulking off."

    "In a city like Azlre," Yasis said plainly, already tired of Gatra again despite his smile,  "you cannot expect them to pull a house out of the air.  For that matter, Gatra, we are not at Dajid.  Can you not just be thankful and leave them be?"

    "I did not need," Gatra replied.  "I have already had words with the lady Sashana'i this sun.  She and her bondmate will take care of matters this time, as she was charged to.  --And so, you will not need to stay in a base cubicle again, Susik."

    She sighed, feeling her disappointment even in his thinking of her.  "Gatra, we have been treated very kindly.  I honestly hoped that being here would help you act less like your worst.  I do not understand why you must be so hateful to them."

    His stare thinned.  "I have been exactly what and who I am.  Should I remain here, do you think I would get on my knees for anyone, as remains Desal's preference?  It is tradition to ask of the regency--and that I have done for all of us.  Whether or not they are kind, they cannot be trusted always in action, after all."

    In a manner that made Susan take a step back for all her memories of the woman, Be'i of Azlre turned, stopping dead in the center of the way.  A slight breeze shifted her cloak, but she did not blink.  Catching the light of the late sun beneath her hood, her eyes sparked like fire as they pointed straight at the unsuspecting man.

    "What have you said?" she asked slowly.

    "I have only reminded our regents of that sincerity Sashana'i professed in atoning for the crimes committed against my family and others," Gatra told her.  "It was they who have--"

    Be'i held up her hand to anything further.  Knowing Sashana'i, she likely offered the robes from her own shoulders.  "You bear no right here, Gatra," she stated, "none at all to speak ill of my family and drive them to service not earned by you.  I think Tridl's wine--all the four mivrret he took of it last evening by our reports--has seeped into your better senses and rotted there."

    The woman's insult truly surprised him.  "The benefits of my homecoming are only what the regent Sashana'i gave me from her own free will and wish for--"

    "Given in such kindness that you, like others of a spoiled, petty age have abused," Be'i responded, meeting his narrowing eyes with an even hotter glare.  "Ka, you have learned well of your elders, I would think."

    "And I should believe, Be'i, you have not.  I would think you should bear more compassion as well, being Allanois."

    "Do not dare employ such an attitude with us," she warned.  "I pity the past and regret it--yet only that.  You in this life alone are a different matter and bear rights only to your own conduct.  A great price has been paid by Desal for its sins:  As we have said to Unar, you shall not continue our contrition for your own ignorance of the sacrifice which Sashana'i of Cezia has already borne for her people--of her body and her spirit.  You bear no right to have it paid personally to you.  No other outcast family returning to us has dared to take such liberties--likely for their sense is greater than their arrogance."

    "Do you speak for yourself, or for the regent who has already accepted her fault?"

    "My siblings are kind and shall serve you," she replied.  "Yet your part of it, gye, is not accepted, for your own capitalization on their good faith--a trait of Unar I shall not accept."

    Susan sighed, holding her hands out to them all.  She truly did not want to hear the very fight she'd had with Gatra too many times, knowing its effect.  At the same time, she didn't want him to disappear into Dviglar again.  "This has been a pretty good day.  Can we keep it like that?  Right now--"

    "Now must not be coddled," Toma interrupted firmly, giving his lady's fingers a squeeze to stop her own retort.  Looking to Gatra, he said,  "The feelings you bear, though this may not be believed, are not unfamiliar.  To walk among people who should be your own while you do not feel as such indeed is uncomfortable.  The pain of an outcast is most keenly understood.  Admittedly, my lot was my doing--my foolishness and selfishness served.

    "Yet now you must understand the responsibility one bears to let one's bitterness aside in the face of kindness, to learn from past mistakes and not repeat them.  You have repeated the mistakes of those who cursed your family--and reinforce your exile with your greed for compensation.  That, my bondmate and I shall not allow in our good conscience.

    "Another matter," Toma continued, his searing stare pinned on the other man,  "Should you ever threaten my house again with that brand of poison, you shall shall be called into a public forum by this Allanois--with or without Sashana'i and Aratra's support.  Are you prepared to defend your own family of three generations ignorant of the community of Desal against the reformed Allanois, who have already welcomed you in spite of your perpetuation of the crimes they have rectified?  I should hope you are, for I shall take to that council as I do every other debate of wits I have welcomed already--and won."

    That time, Kurt was the one to be surprised.  Beside him, Yasis held herself another step back.  His head held high, his dark eyes unwavering, Toma was confronting Gatra almost like an Antral would.  Even Gatra was stunned enough at the force of the man's words to shrink at it.  But Toma was not done.

    "It is my opinion that should you bear little preference for Desal despite the generosity of my people, then you may be returned to what soils sprung your form.  Your transportation shall be procured before this sun is set.  We are all one in this life, Gatra, yet you make your place in it.  This is your choice:  Miserable, pitiful complacency which you yourself have cursed, or to accept your welcome among a people who have healed and shall embrace you as part of Desal's spirits' blessing.  Should you require a detailed instruction in the latter, I shall be happy to provide it.

    "Your decision can be considered as we travel home, where you shall undergo the 'base' tradition of procuring food with Kurt and I as well.  I would see you accustom yourself to the ways you seem to be all but completely ignorant of in your poorer existence."

    With that, Toma turned and, taking his bondmate's arm, started them away.

    The walk back was silent, though the regents' siblings seemed as casual about it as they had been that morning.  He kept his hand at the small of her back most of the way, they bowed to their people as they passed through town and hugged their son at the foot of the clinic as if it were any day coming home from their work.

    This, Gatra watched more carefully, feeling the painful silence from his friends as they embraced a happily tired Marise.  She had spent the day with the elder Bala and therefore with many other children who took their lessons in the square.  The good natured old man, fluent in Antral, had thoughtfully procured an alphabet abacus for her to play with and learn from.  Naturally, Susan was thrilled and wanted to see it.

    A part of him, like a boy wishing the company of his peers, wanted to hurry after them as they all started into the clinic for water and bread and preparations for dinner.  Even Susan, glancing curiously his way, stepped inside with Marise, who practically dragged her.  Certainly, he wanted to follow her and the child he had begun to think of like he would a daughter.  He still felt unwelcome for their continued allowance of his indecision--more, a decision that was stuck in his tensed throat. 

    He almost had left when they were gone, turning back to the street with a sigh.  A long, elderly hand upon his arm stopped him, however.  Looking back, he saw the kindly face of the healer.

    "I could not enjoy the opportunity to speak with you this past sun, Child," Bakali said, "and tell you of my remembrance of the Ella'omb family.  They were of fine nature and spirit--and how you take after Tusella, the dear patriarch, with those eyes, like bared earth past the storms.  Even your voice bears his echo."

    Gatra's stare widened.  "You recall them, lady?"

    "Ka, I do.  There in Desal, our well born community enjoyed great intimacy."  The elder woman's wistful smile grew curious to regard the young man again.  "Shall you not share my floorcloth this moon, and allow me to bear their memories?  I would find great pleasure in telling you of my elder brother's friendship with a rather handsome young man called Refdra.  My dear Bala, as well, had taken schooling with Myajri.  We also would paint numerous stories of their parents, most fondly known in their creations of beauty and form, which I would pray each sun yet survives on our besieged homeworld, for their blessed memory alone."

    Gatra hesitated, shaking his head.  "You call them friends," he said, "yet none followed them.  You allowed the Allanois to send them away from the community of Desal."

    "The short reign of Troka past M'hida was an era of most terrible practice, Child," she sighed.  "We in our willing ignorance had seen nothing but our free-spirited friends following their own paths, of their own choices.  My easy ignorance was a great crime, my comfort in a time of suffering--and yet I would also have you know they had not once been cursed; rather our admiration for their strength and freedom remained long after them, liberties to which my nature was not open. 

    "Under those suns, Gatra of Ella'omb, this not seen as a parting from Desal's oneness, as none among us bore oneness in our indulgent wretchedness.  It was seen only as a different path.  Brutally, it was learned what it truly was only when all was taken from us.  Among so many others, we have suffered for our sins.  All my life but Bala and the bags I carried was lost.  All else, my family and Bala's, most of my friends and all my instructors, my infant daughter, Mebani:  All had been consigned to the spirits.  We ourselves were fortunate to remain undetected as scholars, and thus we were permitted to remain among the living.  One hand cannot count the number others who shared our fortune in Azlre.  In truth, however, at times it was wished we rather had been freed to the ancestors, for the despair we bore. In time, I accepted our fate.  Yet I accept far more willingly the blessing which brings your family among us again, good man."

    She slid her hand, wrinkled and dry, down to his healthy one and brought it up to her temple.  "Shall we not share their memories, Child?  Shall we celebrate them, as is the way?  Make content their blessed spirits among the ancestors with all the goodness known of them and those who followed them?  I humbly ask you to share our dinner, good man, should there be no other to whom you are already engaged."

    Considering the raucous table he had shared the night before, the invitation easily tempted him.  Still, he balked.  "Your regents' siblings bear anger towards me.  I should not be welcome."

    "For what purpose?"  Bakali asked.  "You behaved with rudeness when we first met, yet that should be no cause to think they resent you.  They show protectiveness toward their own, yet they are good spirited and forgiving when it is shown your intentions are good."

    Gatra's mouth screwed into a sheepish grin.  "More has been done by me than what you bear awareness of, good lady."

    Bakali laughed lightly.  "This was noticed.  Be'i appeared quite satisfied when she brought herself in."  She patted his face gently.  "It shall heal, Child.  It shall heal.  You bear little knowledge of what healing has been borne on their parts in this city.  My children could not be offended by your doings for long, were your ways to mend.  Bring yourself to my floorcloth as my honored guest, Gatra.  The rest shall unbind accordingly, should you merely permit it."

    Gatra finally let his fingers curl slightly to touch the elder's temple, a small smile appearing on his lips.  "My thanks, Bakali," he said, but then remembered another thing with a blink.  "Our talk would perhaps be put aside for the meal, however, as an amend beforehand may be made.  I believe it should be done to see your offer proceed with any peace.  Toma has charged me into procuring food with him."

    Bakali laughed.  "Good child!  Then it is already repaired!"

    "It is?"

    "What little knowledge you possess of my chosen son," she smiled.  "No invitation would have been made had Toma not wished it personally.  You would be ignored utterly had he truly disliked you."

    Realizing the full meaning of that, Gatra had to laugh as well.
 

---

    "It really was worth it," Susan said warmly as they walked away their meal in the then empty square.  She bent nearer to Be'i to quietly add, "And thank you for welcoming Gatra like you did.  I was angry with him, too, but I'm glad you and Toma could get over it more quickly than I have."

    Be'i smiled.  "Thankfully, Bakali knows how to coax a child.  It was her doing.  --But I am also glad he came."  Peering ahead to the dark haired man, whose form and height were nearly equal to Toma's, her smile creased into her cheek.  "I can tell it meant more to you than you admitted."

    "I suppose it did," Susan confessed with a sigh.  "But thank you, anyway."

    "Gyi'ak," Be'i said quietly, her gaze dropping to the smooth, ancient stone they walked upon that night.

    Hours before, as she stared in the mirror and threaded a bead chain through her long braid, she wondered how they should do it.  Glancing at her bondmate in the reflection, she could see in his expression similar concern.  It had not lessened since that morning, as they planned their day and considered their options.  They had agreed they should see how their friends reacted to Dviglar and their first true day of freedom before deciding how to give them the news.  As the sun began to set and knowing how well the day had progressed, they now needed to decide how to bear the news to them.

    "Perhaps after dinner, when Ba'ela is down for the evening," Toma said quietly, lowering himself behind his bondmate to help her with her ties.  "We might take ourselves out after our meal."

    She thought about it, nodded.  "This might be best.  We would be better heard with the sun behind them and full stomachs eased.  With Sashana'i's arrangements, they could take themselves to their new home to think on it.  Have their items been delivered yet?"

    "Aratra said their belongings would be taken there before sunset."  He pulled the ties against her slim frame, smoothed the ripples they created in the cloth with the flat of his hand.  "I should think we would have heard otherwise by now were they not well settled."

    Unconsciously, she pressed into his touch.  "More furnishings should be procured for them, however, for the time..."

    Their eyes caught again in the reflection, sharing their reluctance.

    When they learned of her pregnancy, the first thought that Be'i and Toma really warmed to after getting over the shock was the idea that their child would be even more Desalian than they had become, both in body and mind.  He would be borne of bonded parents and raised among their gentle, honest people, with more love, freedom, community and, with an end to the war, education than they could wish for.  Having adopted Desal for themselves in a true love of that people, they naturally wished their son to have the same as they had gained there, but in that case, from the start.

    Without any regret, they had given their beautiful infant boy the first marks of the kraja on the day of his birth and a purely Desalian name.  By ancient tradition, it had been derived of family names, which Toma had chosen of Bala and B'Elanna both.  In time, he would know of his parents' heritage, but he would have Desal as his base culture, his roots.  They smiled at the idea that someday, Ba'ela would choose names of honored spirits on the day of his initiation into the novitiate, should he choose that path.

    The immigrant parents had certainly chosen theirs.  That other place, their birthpeople, would have them back if only they could cross that threshold again.  They had known for some time that the choice would be there eventually.  But they already knew that that they did not wish to return there, even when Sashana'i and Aratra had promised in their spare time to work on options for them.  Gracious to their usual generosity, Be'i and Toma allowed their adopted siblings their ideas, as it would make them feel better to do something.  More, it would mean more options for Bendera and Nicoletti if they ever were found and wished to return.

    Suddenly, years later, their old comrades were there, relieved and free, somewhat Antral but very human, too.  The sludge of Dajid had been willingly sloughed off, and though they likely would have some morose reappear for those horrible years, they would adjust to their freedom and health with relative ease.

    Yet if it was not meant...

    They corrected themselves as quickly as they erred, however. Susan and Kurt had the right to know.  They must have the choice, just as Be'i and Toma did.  Sashana'i was still moving on her project, too, and they should be aware of that as well.

    They took dinner freely, quieter than the night before but truly enjoying their elders' many stories of Gatra's free-spirited predecessors and the unfortunate result of their liberty.  For Gatra's grateful hearing of that history, in addition to his change of mind towards them, Be'i and Toma finally warmed to him and began to ask of his plans and desires.  Polite but uncomfortable to admit it, Gatra claimed no trade, though he did confess his lasting fascination with the natural sciences.

    "I have heard that Dajid owns much geology of interest," Be'i commented. 

    "And I bore interest in it," Gatra said, leaning against the pillowed wall with his small cup of wine.  "As a youth, before Unar expanded the internment, I found such pleasure in exploring the crystal caves at Ipinma.  My father would have to bring himself after me each time I was lost in those caverns, lest I be discovered.  Dajid did not require many Unar upon it, yet the Desalians were much watched there.  Many were taken and sent away for service like any other, and so our parents had been most watchful.  I did slip away, however, and found myself lost quite willingly within the formations' colors and cool mists."

    "You sound like an adventurer," Toma smiled.

    "Only a curious child," Gatra shrugged.

    Toma would not let up.  "How curious?  --Tell, Gatra.  We Cezians enjoy stories as well as any Desalians.  Tell us and I shall bore us all with a one of my own in trade."

    Gatra assented, and as he began, Be'i looked across to see Susan rather pleased to hear him speak of something more pleasant--pleasantly surprised, in fact.  She had to admit that the change was gratifying for more than one reason.  Gatra had a well-toned tongue and a thoughtful narrative.  Better, within a few minutes of his story, he had them all laughing.

    "I still at times wonder where my poor little headscarves landed," he said with a sheepish grin,  "and still bear memory of watching them flap and float as far as my eye could see, taking themselves away as would a giant, clumsy bird."  With a chuckle and another sip of wine, he proceeded with the remainder.

    That finer mood lasted well after dinner, as did the stories between them as they slipped out of the living space to walk in the warm, moonlit square.  The men and Yasis well ahead, greeting a few others who likewise had come out to ease their meal, Be'i and Susan trailing behind in their own conversation, they strolled a slow lap, like old friends, well met, comfortable in each other's company with but that day to support them.

    But then, turning the corner past the silag, the bondmates caught each other's eyes and regretted all over again the necessary.

    In that look, they also decided it was time.  They could not put it off, else they might never say it.

    When they finally took themselves back around towards the center, and glancing to see that no one else was near, Be'i and Toma met and joined hands to look at Gatra and Yasis first.  "How much of our birth is known to them?" Be'i asked and offered a respectful nod to their newer friends.  "Forgive us, Gatra and Yasis, for this knowledge is required."

    Taken aback by the other woman's turn of subject and mood, Susan answered, "Gatra knows we were not born on Antral, but little past that.  --I will explain later, Gatra."

    Kurt furrowed his brow.  "Yasis knows everything, as you know.  Why?"

    Toma drew his eyes down.  Gesturing to a step on the side of the dais, he quietly said, "Have a seat."

    Looking at each other, they did as asked.
 

---

    Kurt sighed up to the stars, hazy for the asteroid fields that surrounded that tiny world.

    His heart hadn't stopped hammering since he heard it first, and he could swear he might have walked a hundred circles around that city thinking about it.  Be'i and Toma had eventually made up their minds about the situation and weren't troubled with their side of it.  They'd already had the time to get used to idea--and to decide what they were doing about it:  Nothing.

    If anything could have convinced him of their conversion to Desal, it would have been that.

    Kurt wondered why that surprised him.  He'd seen Dviglar, all their work and dedication there, their ship, which they outwardly loved, their expertise obvious in every nook of that base, their pride in their achievements.  Surely, they lived fooling anyone who would doubt their sincerity because of their being outsiders--just like he and Susan had. 

    But it was more than that.  They had family there, made a family there.

    They would do more for their friends, though.  When the war ended, if he or Susan just said the word, they would build a ship that would break through the Barrier...where on the other side, not even a day had passed. 

    Not even a day, after everything they all had been through...

    It was too much.  Way too much.

    Holding Yasis against his chest as they sat on the square's dais that night, not yet ready to go back to the flat Desal's regent had found for them, Kurt had to really think about it.  Yasis said she would understand if he wanted to go--though she would rather he didn't.  He closed his eyes against her copper hair, washed the day before with herbs he could still smell, and behind his eyes he knew how beautiful she was, how much he knew she loved him.

    He knew how much he loved her, too, when she glanced up and he stared into her earthy green eyes.  She knew what kind of fine ship waited on the other side, with all its comforts and his people, his noble cause still waiting far away.  She knew he had wished he could see it all again.  She had dreamed with him on more than several occasions how they might bring that wondrous way of life to Antral and the rest of Irllae someday. 

    It had been a happy dream, though unrealistic at the time...at that time.  In the long, dark days at Dajid, they had indeed shared that desire, as his life and struggles in the faraway DMZ were nil.  He never had enjoyed the idea of spending his life on a Starfleet ship, either, so it wasn't as if he pined after those days.  On Voyager, one place was much like the other, just trying to stay alive and get home, if only for his friends' sakes.  He had no family to return to, after all.

    But there, having been at Antral and then freed from Dajid, they were definitely ready to help close that accursed domination, to begin the widespread recovery of an entire "universe" of sorts.  The dream had become possible...and a good deal more possible and rewarding than anything his work in the Maquis could have promised, much as he'd believed in that cause, too.

    The future of entire civilizations sat at his fingertips.  The woman who shared her dreams with him was warm in his arms.

    "I miss you already," she whispered, her voice assured as ever, yet etched with a sadness she rarely exhibited.

    "You do not need to," he said as he embraced her again, feeling heavy inside even when he had no regrets.  "Unless you plan to go somewhere else."

    Her fingers clutched him as she finally released her breath.
 

---

    She held her knees to her chest, sitting on the bay of the window in the flat Gatra had become ashamed to accept--and promptly gave away to the others.  He would take the cubicle in the clinic until other arrangements could be found.

    That was before the words Be'i and Toma had needed to bring to them, before they politely left their friends with it.  Returning to Bala's house to collect a soundly sleeping Marise, Gatra also escorted his estranged lover to her new home, which had already been appointed as nicely as possible.  Ignoring the increased guilt he felt for his methods of getting that space earlier, he set the little girl into her new pallet then took himself back to Susan Nicoletti.

    Susan Nicoletti:  Her birth name, her birth.  Gatra somehow cared even more for her then, knowing her origins completely.  Still, he knew he would lose her, knowing she could go back someday.  Unless...

    "Should no time pass there," he suggested, "perhaps you would be able to have both...to remain here then leave when you felt able...or when it would be best for Marise."

    She remained silent for over a minute after he stopped.  Her deep blue eyes, liquid and sober, turned out towards the night sky, which glittered with the refection of what Be'i had called the Sha'ot Zi'ihar, the asteroid field in which Cezia was cradled.  She drew a deep breath through her nose, blinked slowly.  The rising moons were beginning to shroud the field's glow in their silvery aura.

    "I am not a strong woman, Gatra," she finally said.  "I have allowed myself to drift into things, stay where I felt most comfortable, until Aldrun..."

    She paused a moment, and then continued, "He gave me more than I realized, even in death.  He gave me everything, Gatra, even when it was against tradition.  He helped me know and helped me see where I could and should control my life.  With him, I did not see it because he took so much care of me.  But after he died...  He helped me gain what little strength I do have.  He changed my life--as if nothing else here did.  He helped me really know what life should be.  In spite of all that..."

    Susan turned her stare back to Gatra.  "I know you would prefer I stay here.  But honestly, the only thing that keeps me from flying at the Barrier right now and running back to Voyager as fast as I can is Marise.  Who would I be to take her away from the people she has known and belongs to just so we can stay on a ship that is always under attack?  Just so I can have a sonic shower and real bed and the regulations I had always depended on to keep my own life straight?  It would not be fair to her, most of all.

    "But how I would love to go back...go home.  Even then, unless some miracle occurs out there, I will never see my homeworld again before I am very old--if at all.  We are too far to make any use of returning."  Blinking away a well of tears, she shook her head at the milk-hazed view.

    "Your home could be here," Gatra said meekly, inching closer when she looked at him again.  "I am not a strong man, either--nothing like your Aldrun had been, and I would not attempt to mimic him for all the unnaturalness of that vanity.  Moreover, for all my well-known selfishness, I might easily have been turned to dust through Prihar for my acts before this sun." 

    Kneeling by the bay before her, he looked up to her steady gaze.  "Yet I do wish to make you feel happiness.  Since I first saw you in your despair, I have wished to give what I might offer to you and to Marise.  I felt belonging in this place and indeed have been thankful for your mere acceptance.  It brings me balance--and I know it has been some good for you, as well.  I am a man of many mistakes, of many lessons yet to be learned, and yet I have not been completely blind.  More than ever now, I would make every effort to make Irllae a rightful home for you, Susik, for us all."

    Her stare grew watery once more, seeing the supplication in him, the quality of which she had never seen.  Not begging forgiveness that time, Gatra begged for her--was promising himself to her.  He had never professed so much before.

    "Are you asking me to remain here--with you?"

    He gave her a single, sober nod.  "I realize you could never love me as you do your passed husband.  This is known without regret or jealousy.  Yet, I would ask you consider me your partner--your lifemate, should I be so blessed with time.  Our separateness shrinks my spirit--and I know well enough now through the wisdom of the Azlreian elders to not inspire your correction of me.  Rather, should I be accepted, mes va'i, I would seek to better myself further with every breath in this body and always procure your happiness and Marise's.  It is my spirit's joy, I believe, and would be my honor."

    Susan had to think about that, but knew immediately, "I would not marry you, Gatra.  On Aldrun's deathbed, I swore I would not have another husband.  I meant that."

    His eyes lowered.  "This is understood.  I have always accepted his rightful place by your spirit."

    "And yet..."  She touched his chin, not too intimately, but softly enough to bring his eyes surely to hers.  "...I did promise him I would live and find contentment, and you have helped me with that a little."  She paused, sighing.  "We will try, Gatra.  I will try.  I cannot make you promises.  Not until the war is over and I know what I want--what is best--for Marise and I."

    He nodded again.  "I would ask no more of you, Susik.  Or is it Susan?"

    Her lips turned slightly up, though the sadness remained.  "Susik will do."
 

---

    From the steps of her flat, Sashana'i watched the couples slowly draw themselves into the square.  They were looking better rested by the day, were making friends and connections that they would need, making themselves more comfortable in their new flat.  The lodging was one reserved for visitors.  The former Brijan occupants had recently moved, finally able to return to their homeworld.  Finding little else in the district that would serve the family's needs, Aratra managed to secure it before another contingent did.  They were simple quarters--an open sitting and small cooking area with a few small satellite chambers--no more than the average Desalian household in Azlre.  It was bright and clean, however, and enough for them at present.

    Soon, there would be much more available to them all, should they decide to remain.

    To Sashana'i's surprise, those comrades, Susan and Kurt, had indeed decided so.  Kurt had Yasis and a fight he wished to see to its completion.  His thoughts beyond that remained in Irllae, as well. Susan had her Antral child to think about and the memory of a husband she felt responsible for vindicating.

    Complications, indeed, but thankfully Sashana'i had already been preparing for them.

    "And yet," Aratra had said that morning over their tea, "should it be their decision to pass among Irllae, such a wish cannot be denied."

    "What is to deny?"  Sashana'i argued.  "Should it be well-fated, there would be nothing for their presently located spirits to be concerned with, ka?  In relation to their minds' remembrance?"

    "It would yet always be known, within their truth," Aratra returned.  "Their spirits cannot be blinded nor transmuted."

    "Yet fate alone would grant them this understanding," Sashana'i replied, leaning forward to press her hand upon her bondmate's.  "Aratra, this would allow them what we all wish--life here, balance there.  What their spirits shall speak would have been despite any life they might have chosen.  Truth is alterable, even while a spirit bears no change."

    He had considered that closely, staring deeply into his bondmate's bright hazel eyes.  They refused to waver.  Of course, he knew why.

    On a typically frigid night on Uillar, after an equally typical meeting with Maghet, followed by the usual retching and pain, she had reached a point where there seemed to be no hope left within her.  She had felt hope before because of her predecessors' assured memories and the promise her grandfather had extracted of her.  After nearly six years on Uillar, that promise had become increasingly impossible to her.  Even before, in their accepted lives on Cezia, they knew what bleakness still existed, they knew what a thing Dulla had asked of her:  A miracle.  Deep within, Aratra cursed the man for giving Sashana'i such awareness and conscience.

    Despite it all, she prayed.  Lying prone on their filthy, bloodstained blankets, she prayed aloud to the ancestors to send her hope--any hope--that Desal might be saved, lest she sink into despair.  In desperation, she prayed to the spirits directly for that miracle and swore her lifelong dedication to Desal, no matter what the cost would be for her, physical or spiritual.  That next sun, as they walked in the detail lines to the refinery, they happened to look across and see two defiant forms at the examination block just outside the barricade.

    Slowing to view the scene, those people and their words just before they were bloodied and struck down, Sashana'i met her bondmate's eyes and knew...then left him to slip back into the shacks, hoping she might dig up any leftover antibiotics.  There were none.  After meeting the two, she decided, ready or not, that she would return to Maghet for more medicines.  She knew they were the prayers she had begged.  She did not know why, but her very spirit knew those outsiders were the effect of her demand upon fate to deliver.

    Thankfully, Aratra felt this, too, and agreed to her silence about the Barrier, assisted her in that deception.  From there, they looked after the two, gave them their family when Dalra could not, actively taught them their language and eased them into the ways of their culture as they seemed ready for it--something to accept and grow into.  In time, they did accept--everything.

    Ten rallkle past that fateful prayer, Sashana'i's main purpose, aside from the well-being of her people, was the repayment for the fate she had created.  As Desal's hope had grown, so had her need to balance what she had demanded of her ancestors and her siblings had suffered so for in the beginning.  It was not even for them that she wished it, as the two had found contentment and growth.  She most truly wished to repay the spirits themselves for their gift and fate for her meddling.

    With Susan and Kurt there, another layer of debt had been laid upon Sashana'i, though she knew that their very reunion with Be'i and Toma was foretelling.  They were meant to return to each other, to be as one again after having their own time of self-discovery.  That earned, it would continue, and in Irllae, they would gain more life still.

    In the end, if her plans bore fruit, Sashana'i might still see her desire--or at least she could offer the possibility to the spirits' council.

    Fate would choose as it saw fit in the end.

    It was acceptable.

    Rising from the cool step of their flat, the regents moved forward to greet the couples, touch the temple of the child who came with them.

    "We are all to Dviglar this young sun, I see," Sashana'i said kindly and smiled at one of the couples.  "Kurt, Yasis, breathe this air well now, so that it may be sought all the more dearly.  The fronts grow less stringent, yet no more pleasant to leave our home for."

    Susan was looking around.  "Where are Toma and Be'i?" she asked.

    "Likely they remain a moment longer with Ba'ela," Aratra answered.  "We might give them this time to bear their farewells in peace.  Shall we lead them to their ship?"

    They assented, and Sashana'i allowed herself to fall behind the others, by her bondmate's side.  Heading out of the square, she peered back to the little residence above the clinic.  The old, silver shutters at the top eave were open.

    A small smile crossed her lips as she turned forward again.
 

---

    "Where lie they?"  His stare narrowed on the viewport, as though picking up each of the stones in that black and grey garden, waiting for the lizard to run out from beneath one.  "Where lie you today, Unar?"

    Her eyes pieced apart each tick on their sensors.  "I cannot see...  Wait..."

    "The wait cannot be long, else--"

    "Toma!  Bank hard aside!"

    He punched the comm even as he swung the Azallis off from the line of fire that zipped from the rocks.  "Novren, Medrove, Ka'icha, bring our front to advance!"

    The swarm descended but a moment later, pouncing into the asteroid cluster with phaser fire and threshing out the Unar ships lying in wait.  Two did not make it out into the field.  The other Unar ships flew a formation around the lead cruiser and opened their weapons upon the resistance fighters.  Toma yanked the Azallis up and over the sharp green haze, diving high above the offense then pulling around to allow Bolmra their response.

    The torpedo struck the Unar's rear shield bubble--and immediately after, a polaric phaser beam cut through the resulting shield recalibration.  Several more bursts from the Azallis' phasers followed, picking at the defense with ridiculous patience, even while swerving out of the way of another Unar's attempt to distract them.  Medrove expertly paid the Unar the same service, forcing the enemy to duck away from the Azallis' target.

    With a few turns and another repositioning of the Azallis, a final line of steady fire finally pelted through the Unar craft, from bridge to engines, like a steady hailstorm.  Toma craned his ship away and to the next enemy ship without looking back to see if the other craft destructed.  They were too busy to mind if it did or not.

    "The port ship targets us!"

    "I evade it!"  Toma responded and tipped the Azallis through the paths of two other Unar, spiraling them past a fourth to come about with phasers first. 

    "Bolmra--now!"

    So went another day in the field.

    Following the Onast Sector's liberation was a mighty sweep through the domains the Unar had clutched, now with a loosening grip and a finer show of reckless desperation.  It was a glad duty of the lesser-developed races to pull at those fingers where they could, though Desal had found itself in those maneuvers as well.

    The Azallis was one of those ships on a couple occasions, providing a lead line--its very reputation, in some cases.  Successfully, it drew the Unar from their hiding places:  If there was a ship aside from the braggart Antral's they sought to engage and defeat, it would be the former regent's ship which had cursed them so mightily--beginning with the Rywalok, the first Unar ship to fall in the war.

    Despite their attempt for revenge, however, the Azallis, as well as Novren's Grivaban, continued to disgrace their challengers.

    Far past Dajid, through a less populated plain of wastrel belts and plasma strings, it was often but a matter of taking on the patrol ships, which were often poorly accompanied.  Their usual protection had been reassigned to the realms closer to Unar to engage another resistance front.  At first, this region had been a disadvantage to the resistance, as very little was known about it.  Assistance from the recovered scholars and the regents eased their ignorance, however, and provided them with better-detailed maps so they could push steadily through that minefield of smaller Unar regiments.

    Inside the Far Barrier region, they finally began to wedge themselves in and divide the Unar patrols.  There, they came upon a more grievous discovery than anything in Onast:  The resistance was shocked and dismayed to have come across not one, but three pre-warp cultures that had been invaded as any of their worlds had been, mainly for the planets' resources, and abused in much the same way as others in Irllae.  Painful minutes passed in silence on the Azallis when this was reported by a stunned Gihetra.

    Indeed, Be'i, Toma and Kurt barely knew what to say to that at first.  Of course, they knew what they should do, and so they advised the Tebri'all to escort Eneprae and the other Brijan leads in to take the ground.

    After cleansing those pitiful planets of Unar, a Koba faction surprisingly volunteered to remain behind and assist those peoples in their recovery.  Though better advanced, the Koba knew well those peoples' plights and toiled respectfully to assist them in understanding alien races, as their first experiences had certainly been horrific. 

    That sweep completed and a small contingent left behind to defend those sectors, the resistance moved its front back through Onast and towards the Gozhor region--only to find that yet again, the Unar had spit up yet another front to defend the line near the head of the nebula.

    At the Sureshan's call, the lead ships of Desal arrived as well.  By then, it was almost an afterthought to ask of their kinder neighbors--according to the Antral.

    "Fire torpedoes!"  Be'i ordered even as she lined up enough power for another assault.

    At a nearby console, Kurt gave a nod.  "Yes!  They felt that."  He punched in a new set of parameters on the console Be'i had refitted for him and Yasis.  The results popping quickly up, he glanced back.  "Do you have a dispersion array in your disruptor resequencer?  I am seeing a buckle in their secondary shield grid."

    Be'i grinned as she recalled the tactic.  "Ka," she said and turned a nod to Plicta, who quickly realigned their disruptor output.

    "It is good to see an elder 'Maquis' earn his wine," Toma commented, nodding at the results; then he spoke to the open comm:  "Sollve'a, pull yourself to the head!  They target your weak shield zone again!"

    "*Adjusting our course!*" Sollve'a responded over the crackling comm.

    "Bringing us around again," Toma continued.

    "Where is Novren?!"  Kurt demanded, seeing another and even more frustrating repowering in an Unar cruiser as the resistance ships regrouped and scattered again to take the others in the field.  The Grivaban had dropped off the Azallis' short-range sensors, however, opening a hole in their offense line.  "Bastard! --Bolmra, disrupt their sensors with a thoron burst before they track us!"

    "They know that device," Toma told him.  "Inject our refuse tachyons to the mix."

    "Novren takes on the rear ship.  --It is the grey hawk!"  Had she been blessed with such spite, P'llaja'i would have cursed mightily.  "Toma, the grey hawk has brought itself yet again!"

    Be'i was the one who swore at that, wondering not for the first time why they had been graced with that particular Unar presence.  "We bear our own matters to attend to at present.  Send the warning to the others.  --Toma, we best are quicker now.  --Bridge to Latsari, prepare our drive for a burst run!"

    "Firing a full array!"  Plicta told them all and nodded sharply as it sank into the buckled shields.  "Their containment is failing!"

    "All ships!"  Toma shouted.  "The cruiser is to burst!"  For his own part, he yanked the Azallis off the disintegrating bubble and made as much distance as he could at full impulse, carefully avoiding the lines of the other Unar ships they had left to face.

---

    From a distance, it was a spectacular display, the large cruiser exploding against the fogged curtain of space as the seven remaining ships dealt out their blows.

    From the bridge of the grey hawk, High Commander Gychak stared at the tableau, feeling the unconscionable defeat.  As his pilot evaded more fire, he watched the shards of another cruiser too arrogant to stay away from such a fight find its grave in a million pieces.

    His hand fell into his pocket, rubbed the charm as his chest constricted.

    That ship had carried an entire cargo of laridium and ferranide, supplies gravely needed on his homeworld.  He had thought to finally trade that charm for those supplies.

    He had been to Unar twice since the fall of the Onast sector three months before.  To his dismay, his people seemed much like that ill-fated ship.  His village, which he had left at fifteen years and had returned to but thrice in his twenty-four years of service, looked almost as did a camp.  The ornamental brackets and fine cloths had been stripped from his grandfather's table, his father, uncles and younger brother had grown thin and were dressed in clothes at least a decade old, his mother and sisters all but barricaded in their chambers, were likewise gaunt for their poor diet.  It was a completely different scene than what he had left. 

    They had been relatively prosperous once, before their sect, the Kahseht, broke down.  Lively in their semi-rebellion against the established sects, including their own, they had been quick to think and to speak.  But their trades in sarinite ore had dried when the sects cleaned out their stores for the war and left them to fend for themselves.  Unfortunately, Gychak's own affiliation with the Wisnnin sect--already poor--could not support them.

    His entire village spoke the same, in its poverty, its silence, and the stares at him...  Gychak wondered if they were staring the uniform alone, that perhaps they blamed him.

    He sought out his wife and the child he had known only once, but she would take no company for her own malaise.  She sent word for him to attempt another visit when it was her time for procreation--the proper time.

    Frustrated, Gychak blew a breath and returned to the capital, promising to bring his village something to ease them.  Despite their coolness towards him, he did feel responsible for them.  As by far their highest-ranking native, he actually was.

    Even so, he wondered where he would get such means.  The sect system had been reduced to a mere twelve groups, several of those the scattered remains of other sects.  Frouwid was dead; many of his fellow house leaders had been killed long before.  Their economy had been taken apart piece by piece--first to support the war and most recently because of the resistance's efforts to annihilate Unar's rear supply routes, Onast, Mehyru, Kimalsto and the far Barrier region.  In but a quarter year, Unar's remaining territory had been seriously threatened.  They had already lost a full half.

    Somehow, the Unar still fought, determined not to give in.  He still fought.  Only minutes after learning that Frouwid was dead and all those with him seriously struggled in yet another campaign, Gychak had boarded his ship for yet another battle, though he knew that it would eventually be futile.

    Unar would perish on their present course.  His people would be destroyed.

    To what end?  the new high commander of the remaining Wisnnin house had begun to wonder.  For what had his people thought to act against those others, only to have that utter humiliation not four decades after?  What strength had it given them in the end?  They were weaker than they had ever been and utterly despised without allies to name.  What purpose was there in that fight, especially then?

    None.  None anymore.  His ship hit the debris of a ship once belonging to that idiot Kralaod, who had sworn to burn the drasks he killed that day.  As Gychak's own ship, smaller and more maneuverable, banked to avoid the pestilence of an Antral craft holding close on his tail, Gychak knew that his own prideful retribution for their initial insult and self-centered search for the voice that had haunted him had been equally in vain. 

    The voice had been correct all along, he knew, seeing ahead the silvery Azallis arcing gracefully around another comrade's ship in a trademark attack pattern.  Over time, he had memorized each one; Tkolot's ship would soon be debris, too. 

    It spoke of the uselessness of clutching to hopes that did not truly exist, or make sense.  It said the reasons were but excuses, that dignity was vanity, fighting loss was but self-annihilation and that it was far better to survive humbled rather than never have the opportunity to grow again.  It was better to find a finer strength through submission rather than relinquish any chance to prosper in the future.

    They were words he had known all his life and had recalled all too clearly during his more cynical days and long, cold nights upon...

    His fingertips rubbed over the arches of the charm.

    ...upon Uillar.  Uillar...

    "Retreat from this field!" Gychak blurted, finding his feet as quickly as his instincts had put the words upon his lips.  "Take us back to Gozhor!"

    They did not turn quickly enough, as the Antral ship had already taken position and fired upon his ship, sending an array of sparks throughout the dark bridge.

    "Full power!  Now!" Gychak bellowed.

---

    As the Azallis banked off another sparkling target to back up Aratra's offense, Be'i scowled at another reading that popped onto her monitor.  "The grey hawk has left the field--and Novren has taken himself as well!  Ahab!"

    "He is not needed here anymore," Toma replied and pointed with his chin to the Merraj's slice of fire through the back of the last Unar ship's hull, which disabled it completely.  "We may take ourselves now."

    Letting out her breath with a short nod of agreement, Be'i glanced back to P'llaja'i.  "Contact Dalra and inquire on any more fronts," she said.

    Her command was merely a routine.  Looking out to the floating graveyard of scrap, iced with energy remnants, sizzling into blackness, she knew that cruiser was the last their foes could offer for the present.  The Unar regroupings were taking longer and longer of late.

    It was difficult to believe, but in but six years, they were coming so near to their goal.  In the beginning, she had imagined it taking far longer, with so much more loss.

    Without warning, her face began to swell with gratitude.  Beside her, she heard Toma whisper thanks to the spirits.  She echoed it.

---

    "The Antral ship is in close pursuit!"

    So close to that haven of Gozhor, in which he and others had hidden with some success over the years...  Some among his people were still ignorant enough to avoid it.  "Take us into the distal claw," he said calmly, if only for his crew.  "We will evade him there."

    It was obeyed without question, in the Unar way.

    Perhaps that was also a part of the problem, Gychak thought as he slightly felt the sharp turn his ship was making.  He knew his inertial dampers were not at maximum.  Thankfully, he was accustomed to that damage.

    "Our shields?" he asked.

    "Are at only half efficiency," said one of his younger officers.  "We will have radiation sickness in Gozhor."

    Gychak took a deep breath.  "We have proper medication here.  We will continue."

    "Yes, Commander."

    "The Antral ship is powering his torpedoes!"

    "How far are we from the first strea--"

    A direct hit to the failing shields knocked Gychak from his seat and onto the grated floor.  When he hit, he felt a few distinctive pops in his torso and grunted against the pain.  Sucking his breath as he pulled himself up, he tasted his blood. 

    "Return fire!"

    "Disruptor power was struck, Commander."

    "Open our remaining torpedo array and fire, then!"  But as he regained his seat, and as he heard the torpedo bay plunge out their remaining weapons, he knew...

---

    Novren Pridalar easily evaded the clumsy shots fired from the tail of the hawk like errant dung, and he shook his head with a long sigh through his nostrils.  Their single power burst had taken out the Unar's primary systems.  One torpedo had dismantled their disruptors.  Now the hawk's torpedoes were gone.

    Novren frowned then shrugged to himself.  As the Desalians would say, not every road must end where it leads.  He turned a nod to his man at tactical.  "Take out their engines."

---

    "The Antral ship targets our drive systems!" the young Unar officer announced.

    "Evade their fire!" Gychak ordered.  "How far are we from the stream?"

    "Four minutes."

    "It is not enough," the commander replied.  Silent afterwards, he ordered nothing more.  Another blast slowed them more and his eyes drew out over the edge of the Gozhor stream, to the stars beyond it.

    It was useless.  Their fight was but a request for destruction.

    Yet again, a phaser blast buckled the hull and he threw up his hand to protect his eyes from the shards of fire that erupted from a nearby panel.  A hard rumble started beneath his feet and he suddenly heard the shouts of his engineer.  Systems were steadily failing, from their engines to their sensors.  Shields were gone.  Another direct shot and they would lose life support and containment.

    Their attempt at dignity was nothing more than desperate arrogance.

    The finger of Gozhor loomed in the screen, not nearly close enough, as were the stars draped behind it.

    He stilled, even as the ship lurched, even as he heard the business over the noisy comm, the reports of deaths, the massive damage that was in fact only the result of good timing.  Despite it all, in the steam and fire, Gychak stood, staring, feeling his belly swell with his injury, dizzy for the burns and letting blood.  It was over.

    It was now time to begin listening.

    He had nothing left to tell himself.

    "They have boarded!" came the shrill sound of his officer, but the commander only raised his fingers.

    "I will secure our freedom, as my duty entails," he said, strained but solemn.  "Obey me and do nothing to increase my payment."

    With their shocked compliance, or perhaps only shock, Gychak waited, waited and watched the dots of stars twinkling through the veils of plasma.  A familiar creak behind him made him take a difficult breath, close his eyes to the view.  He had already prepared what he would say--and whom he would request to see.  The Antral having protected and sought, it seemed, to vindicate the Azallis, it was likely that Gychak's request, even as a prisoner, might be given consideration. 

    To that request alone, his captor would have to listen.

    When Gychak turned, his first sight was of a fair-haired Antral with a hard, narrow glare striding down from the corridor and across the bridge.  He looked insulted--and very likely he was.  Gychak had not been able to fight him very well, he knew.  The Antral captain would not be pleased after five years of hunting to have such an easy capture.

    Listen.  Patience.

    As the heavy fist of the captain came at him, Gychak simply met his eyes and let it come.

    It was the most difficult thing he had ever done, but he did take the punch.
 

---

    It was not too great a surprise by then to see their former chief and the pilot in their formal Desalian clothes, though Susan still blinked at them.  On that "winter" day in Azlre, singing along to what seemed to be an amusing song.  It echoed all around the square just then, Be'i held their son at the step of the clinic as Toma wrapped one of the boy's boots.  Both waved when they spotted their friends.

    When his father was done, Ba'ela immediately darted from Be'i's arms to grab Marise's hand and bow to the mother.  "I ask humbly, may we play now, good Susik?"

    Seeing Marise bite the bottom lip of her smile with expectation, Susan had to laugh.  The girl was far too accustomed to her mother's constant attention.  "Have fun," she granted, and then called in afterthought, "But do not leave the square!"

    "We will stay near, mother!"  Marise called back in the midst of a giggle as they neared Iseli, who already stood with the children they often played with.  Most of them were Desalian, but there were also a few Antral children and a couple of Brijan boys.  They all greeted Marise and Ba'ela warmly, as little friends should, then scampered off to the games.

    Susan sighed.  "So strange to see her being normal," she said.

    "Children are resilient," Kurt agreed.

    "Unlike their parents sometimes."

    He rolled his eyes.  "Loosen up, Susan," he told her.  "I don't think we've done all that badly, considering."

    She shrugged, nodded.  In the past few months, they had adjusted somewhat to their choices and their new and--as promised--busy routines.

    While Kurt and Yasis were on the Azallis, Susan had ample time outside her work to refresh her contacts at Antral.  She found Mother Kebis in her usual good health, clamoring for her to bring Marise as soon as possible.  Susan promised, but insisted that subspace would have to do until she was assured of their safety.  Meanwhile, Susan had also made a comfortable, stable home for Marise, keeping rooms for her family and her husband's crew, whom she hosted when they were not working at Dviglar or in the field, and she offered a pleasant return for Gatra, as well.  He had made himself useful with supply procurement for the elders, at Sacezia, and then between the other Desalian colonies when one of the former trade ships needed someone good with compounds and numbers to run requests between Desal's five free planets.

    Though Susan didn't quite enjoy the potential danger, skirting so close to the Unar-infested Desalian homeworld, she understood completely the necessity for those more impoverished planets.  She could tell Gatra was enriched by the experience, too.  Getting to know the various peoples of Desal, their extreme suffering but equal strength of spirit, had made him truly appreciate his people for the first time--or at least he seemed to through the stories he brought back from every trip.

    In their returns each week or so, Susan had also grown to know Be'i and Toma again, and also the people they had adopted.  Truly a family, it seemed to her--or certainly, they had depended on each other as much as a good family would.  But it was more than that, Susan knew.  As she had done as second daughter and bearer of the first granddaughter in the house of Kichyrn, Be'i and Toma had made use of their rank, used their natural abilities to lead, to fight, to look after others, to bargain and deal, and they trusted the respect they were given in return.  Even Kurt and Yasis had returned from the front loyal to their new captains. 

    But they did not talk about that often.  Rather, they talked about Ba'ela and each other and their family.  They spoke of everyday things when they were home, business when they were at Dviglar.  Anything beyond that--and she knew it was there--they shared with that uncanny awareness that Desalian bondmates had of each other.

    As the days lengthened and the heat grew in that busy city, the locals had begun to talk about the new year's approach, so much so that even Susan was curious to see it--mainly for the stories and the different foods that had been promised.  It was a spiritual holiday, too, so the events would naturally coincide with the topic:  Desal's development through the spirits' blessings.  Marise, of course, was simply anxious for something different, as if not enough already was.  But the girl's enthusiasm could not be quenched, and because it was a holiday, Susan went ahead and replicated a pretty outfit for her daughter and something nice for herself. She even pinned her thick curls back with the nest clip Adrun had given her at their wedding before joining the others in the streets.

    Seeing the happily festooned square, Susan felt her grin.  The colorful displays, the formally and brightly dressed Desalians, standing in groups or on their way to join others, the kiosks of storytellers and games and musicians, were already getting underway at that morning hour.

    "So, this is a tsaborr," Susan said, walking beside Gatra as the friends gathered around.  "I had not expected this great a festival."

    "For our practiced poverty, dear lady, our past rallkle offered far less," Aratra admitted, offering a bow to an elder scholar passing by.  There were many guests to paint that day.  Bala and Bakali's practice of begging their fellow elders to emerge from hiding had happily begun to show outside Dviglar.  "Yet with our ancestors' blessings," he continued, "it has increasingly returned to its origins and found improvement in other manners, I would think."

    Sashana'i winked and looked over at Be'i.  "Since your arrival, I should believe," she said and instantly turned to tell Susan and the others of the first new year's feast Be'i and Toma had attended at Azlre, with Be'i almost too ill to attend but their eventual appearance--the first time they dared to wear traditional scarves and formal dress.  "It brought sighs to all who saw them.  --And I might yet speak on this, Be'i.  They remain my words to paint."

    Be'i smiled, knowing well she would never deny Sashana'i her chatter, though she would never resist her own urge to tease her.  "Ka, they are--repeatedly."

    "This is a way I would be lax not to follow," Sashana'i returned, flipping one of her sister's braids before settling back into her bondmate's arms.  "As for yourself, Gatra, I should believe you have not enjoyed a true play of Bihla and Sa'alli."

    Gatra's brows rose.  "The play of the first bonding is performed again?"

    "The first bonding?"  Kurt asked.

    "Vaa, this you cannot miss," Toma assured them his incredulous friends.  "It might bring you some particular satisfaction.  --Bring your mate."

    That Tsaborr, as all other Desalian holidays, passed between all of Azlre's citizens.  There were games, which Sashana'i happily explained as they watched Be'i and Toma play their separate rounds, and plays, which on Bihla and Sa'alli's part left even Kurt a little bashful.  Impressed in her own right, Yasis pulled her mate off the square for a few minutes--and without much resistance, Be'i wryly observed as she and Toma watched them disappear.

    Also throughout the day were visits to the silag coupled by word paintings in every corner.  To those stories, the new denizens of Azlre listened closely, being largely ignorant still of the histories they had only heard about in passing, and from the source. 

    First came the stories of the degradation of Desal, the wave of ignorance that had cursed their people, begged of the spirits for retribution.  This came in the form of abject humility under the hand of Unar, which did all but crush their spirits and destroy the scholarship, every notion of order, education and leadership.  Then came the stories of the crowding of Cezia by Unar, how they had deposited over six hundred thousand former high born citizens into two cities barely equipped to house a third of them--and then insured their remaining largely within the ancient walls until only seventeen years past.  By then, the citizens were too accustomed to the close space to consider separating, despite the influenza, starvation and other pestilences they had equally been forced to accept.

    Another painting told of the plague year, and following that was the coming of the bazaar, when the Desalians discovered they would have to sell themselves to labor for what they required.  It was six years after the conquest, and many who were too proud starved; others were killed outright.  Some took their own lives rather than face either fate.  From this, Desal knew the true lesson of humility:  It was more than spiritual healing through sacrifice of Desal's excesses and a deep sense of societal contrition--it was survival. 

    Despite all their wishes to be cleansed of their ancestors' spiritual filth, to indeed earn contrition and thus inner peace through their own poverty and sacrifice, they yet wished Desal to survive and grow again someday.  In their deep affliction, only few had realized that the Unar's plan was far more reaching and might indeed have destroyed them had they continued on that extreme path of complete subjection.  But again, fate thankfully intervened.  It brought Desal's blood regent and her bondmate away from Uillar, as well as the people who had worked with them there, straight-backed and determined to survive.  It made the Allanois strong and good--and public--once more.

    Desal's goal was a somber, accepted truth, an honest and humble intention, which had been turned upside down by Desal's rightful regent placing herself into her proper position, this in tandem with the public plea of Be'i and Toma Azlreat'o after the Unar bombardment of Trisjorr--itself an enlightening story to those new witnesses.

    In their time at Azlre, neither Susan or Kurt, nor Yasis or Gatra, had heard exactly how Desal had changed its entire outlook, seemingly its entire nature.  The simple fact was, they hadn't had a regent in power that they could follow, nor access to the learned.  They had no guidance and needed it more than they knew.  They had necessarily become numb to the tragedy around them, making them need someone to point it out to them for what it was.

    As the tale was still being told, they looked over to Be'i and Toma, who stood across with the regents and their elders, soon joined by Dalra and Miztri, pleasantly chatting then laughing when Sashana'i hugged her sister and suggestively patted her flat belly.  This made Be'i roll her eyes and squint at her bondmate as Miztri made her own comment.  That time, the elders chuckled and looked pointedly at Dalra, who turned his eyes and palms up in an invocation to the spirits.  They all laughed at that.

    It was through those eight that it had begun.

    "Not to mention because of Torres' big mouth," Kurt added, chuckling when Yasis reached out and pushed him.

    "Toma and Be'i of Azlre!"

    A wave of gasps followed the familiar Antral voice, which echoed through the square and made Susan tip her head with a frown. 

    "Toma and Be'i of Azlre!"

    "Speaking of big mouths," she clucked. Then she noticed Be'i and Toma catching up the corners of their coats to run over past the silag and towards the west gates, their faces set with concern to hear the scene developing.  Looking at her friends, Susan hurried after them to investigate the ruckus.

    In the gate court, there was a buzzing from the onlookers, who all looked suddenly engaged by that next little development deciding to present itself on Tsaborr.  As Susan, Kurt and the others pressed their way nearer, however, many backed away in horror as they invoked the blessed ancestors.  Others more commonly known at Dviglar and thus more directly involved in the war simply made a cautious distance.  Meanwhile, Be'i and Toma moved to address their caller, creating a natural sort of forum in that exit street.

    The scene set, Novren Pridalar advanced again, dragging by the hair a bleeding, burnt Unar officer--a commander, they knew immediately to see his ornate insignia.

    As Marise hurried to view what her mother had gone to see, Susan grabbed her close and stepped back again.

    Sashana'i took one more step in, reached out to clutch Aratra's hand.  They went no farther. 

    Her hand resting on his forearm, Be'i and Toma stepped four strides into the circle and held their ground there, staring at Novren's prey.

    The Unar was injured, trembling from a loss of blood and from burns which had to be incredibly painful on his typically hard, albino skin.  His black hair and long eyebrows were partially burnt short; his uniform was filthy.  He had been obviously beaten as well.  But most disturbing of all, the Unar did not fight the submission Novren had lowered him to.

    Be'i felt her gut tighten, to her surprise pitying the man who had very likely earned the capitulation he was serving.  Even so, to see an Unar like that...  She was glad the officer did nothing, but she knew it was unnatural.

    "Novren," she breathed, "why have you brought him here?"

    "I told you I would bring this pest to your feet," Novren said, his chin jutted out.  "But it was he who asked to address the captains of the illustrious Azallis.  So I have brought him--the grey hawk."

    "To Azlre?" Toma demanded.  "With our elders and children gathered?  On Tsaborr?  Novren, grateful as we are for your duty, this might have waited until sunrise."

    The Unar looked up at the sound of the voice.

    Their eyes met.

    One set widened to find his suspicions proven.  The other set narrowed with recognition.

    "You," Toma whispered, his brow growing heavy as he tried to figure out what he was seeing.  The face flashed before him:  Uillar...and the shack they had been assigned, the guard's face when they hit the hard, red dirt, and when he, feeling the sting of the impact through his Starfleet uniform, looked up at his captors.  He had thought in that moment, in that glance, that the guard felt pity for them.  Several months later, the guard had averted them from a certain disciplining, thinly veiling it as an unwillingness to take the trouble with them.  Sashana'i had named it a shift in stability and they had all been too willing to believe that.  Then, in the frigid moons, the same Unar would deny his compassion.  But Toma knew what he had seen and what the man had done.  Too busy to think too much about it at the time, Toma nevertheless never forgot it.

    He recalled the look as clearly as he saw the man's face then, filled with a blank sort of wonder and equal realization.

    "You have sought us?"  He numbly shook his head.  "Why?"

    High Commander Gychak said nothing, though his lips had parted with what he saw of them.  Their dress, their markings, their remaining scars.  He remembered the man's, might have predicted the woman's.

    She radiated Gozhor no more, yet indeed had been a part of what Hychar had predicted.

    The "curse" and her mate were Desalian. 

    This should not have surprised him.

    Novren gave him an impatient shove.  "Well, drask, you have Toma and Be'i of Azlre in your sights now.  Speak, so that I may finish my work here and return you to Antral for proper sentencing."

    "No," Be'i said quietly, her arms unconsciously crossing as she considered the man kneeling on the flagstone street, onto which his blood slowly leaked.  "This man's life shall be retained at Dviglar."

    "This Unar?" Novren spat.  "Who would seek to kill you if he had the chance?  Who has hunted you for over five years?  He should be given his words and put down!"

    Be'i did not respond to Novren's indignation, even if she knew she had wanted an end to their constant pursuer.  Seeing the officer, however, a full commander--probably for lack of any other proper successors in his sect...who knew who they were...

    And yet, she continued to gaze upon the battered Unar, examining his blank stare and many badges of rank.  She felt a small, sharp pain in her skull at the sight, so close to her just then...

    But he was not Hychar.  He was another officer, who...

    Be'i drew a deep breath as her bondmate's memories filed through her own...then clarified in one distinct memory, which above all other things, she could not neglect.

    "This man, Novren, was a guard at Uillar and saved my life," she finally said.  "He likely meant to for his purse, and yet he acted, knowing his payment would preserve me.  More, he never brought harm that I recall to the prisoners of Uillar.  He merely served as a guard there.  He bears not an extent of poison that others bear, even while he is among Unar." 

    She offered her Antral friend a kinder stare at that.  "You have performed your duty and followed your cause beyond any great deed we might have asked of you.  You shall always own a place in our home for your dedication, Novren; our gratitude for your valor and sacrifice shall always be remembered.  Yet now this is done, you have been victorious and he has been brought to Toma and me.  You have taken enough Unar in this campaign.  Yet it shall not be completed with this man, my friend.  Please."

    Novren snarled and spun away.  "Desalians."

    "He saved my life," Be'i repeated, firming her tone as she raised her voice.  "Novren, this cannot be ignored.  By my conscience, his act must be repaid."

    Turning back, Novren saw the lady's assured expression.  "I will be at Dviglar this night and tomorrow," he told her, blowing his breath to restrain his temper even as he nodded back to her. "I will see you then."

    "My thanks, good friend," Be'i said.

    Toma barely glanced as Novren departed, but looked back and found Bakali among the onlookers.  "Would we be able to treat this man's wounds?" he asked her.

    Bakali turned and touched Y'dri, who stood beside her.  "Would you take yourself for my satchel and a su'horra tray?"

    "Ye'i vsillai lizhri," said Y'dri with a quick bow and hurried off.

    "What is your calling?" Be'i asked the officer, whose bloodshot grey eyes moved back and forth from her to Toma--still piecing out the differences, she correctly guessed.

    "Gychak," he croaked, holding her stare even with the glare of the sun behind her.  He could maintain no more dignity before those people, and somehow he knew that it would not be seen as arrogance.  Rather, they would understand his need for it.

    "Bear you awareness of your sentence," Toma queried,  "here upon Cezia under the Allanois script?"

    "I am aware of Antral punishment, from which you have mysteriously spared me."

    "Desalian punishment involves your internment until the end of the war," Toma informed him, "whereupon your sentence shall be reconsidered.  No harm shall be put upon you here, by Allanois decree.  As for our reasons, I should think this has been made clear by Be'i:  Through your acts, intentional or selfish, her life has continued.  All of Desal might thank you for that, as would I.  In truth, neither the mind nor the opportunity had been in me to do so before."

    "Yet I have taken many other lives," Gychak said slowly, "throughout this war you have waged against us."

    "As have we," Toma returned truthfully.

    "I yet do not understand how my trade with you has spared my life--despite your Desalian...nature."

    "Is your passing preferred?"

    "No.  But I would question you, even in my disgrace."

    Be'i took another step closer to the commander, half-tempted to bend and meet his eyes completely.  Her more cautious senses would not allow such proximity, however, and so she remained safely outside his reach. 

    "Do you despise us?" she asked quietly.

    Gychak furrowed what was left of his brow at the odd question.  "Would it not be plain to one like yourself?"

    She did not answer his question, but instead gestured around to the nearby corner of the square, just visible through those who had gathered.  "Do you see that little boy in the green coat, standing upon the yellow patio?"  Be'i's mouth turned up a bit for the sight of her happy child, even though the nearness of the Unar to him did unnerve her natural instincts.  But she quashed that unease for her point in asking him.  "He bears none of the hatred or suffering which has been washed through us and may grow into a life enriched with peace and learning."  She drew her stare back to the man.  "Would you truly seek that child's nothingness for an objective which in the end matters not to your people's well-being?  Would you procure my child's pain for the known Unar goal?  For a military philosophy?"

    Gychak looked over at the boy, who, brown-haired, with a thin, high-bridged nose and birdlike eyes beneath a well-tied headdress, had noticed the scene.  At the Unar stranger's attention, the child's small mouth flickered upwards for a moment before he was gently scooted away by a lithe, dark-haired woman.  Gychak turned back to the small, straight-postured lady before him.

    "I would not seek to destroy him, no," he told her. 

    "And yet you would follow your people and do as they command," she observed.

    "I have followed the tenants of the law laid out by my sect commanders and have led campaigns as the commander of my house as it was left in my hands.  I have also felt a certain amount of indignation for the acts of the resistance.  How could I not?"

    "And yet you did--not agree with your leaders," Toma pointed out, "when you sent us to quarters instead of taking us for disciplining that day at Uillar."

    "True, I found no use in it," Gychak admitted.  "I followed my commanders in greater acts, however."

    "The need to do that dissolves," Be'i told him.  "This war shall turn once retaking Desalia-Four is possible, and some time after that success, there shall be peace in Irllae.  Upon this certainty, you would be returned to your weakened people and its war-torn ills--alike to the ills Desal suffered at your people's hands, our intelligence tells us, save purpose.  Shall they be taken in their need the words of your former commanders, or shall you bear your own, living words?"

    Gychak shook his head.  "What mean you, woman?  Your resistance has captured me--and I would be dead if you did not insist on my survival."

    "I wish to know whether your rather determined spirit bears worth," Be'i replied, unmoved before him.  "I would suspect it does, yet I wish to be certain before any of your sort are allowed back into your fold."

    "Our sort?"

    "Prisoners of Desal," she said.

    Gychak's eyes narrowed.  "Do you despise us, Be'i of Azlre?"

    "Yes," she answered.  "It is not personal, as you are without question the most agreeable Unar I have met.  I shall make peace someday, Gychak, yet what your people have done to Desal and tried to do to all of Irllae shall not be forgiven.  I have accepted this discontent as a truth for my spirit to bear and as I would never seek to harm any innocent among your own."

    "Your manner has become so Desalian," he said, somewhat amused by the irony, though unable to show it though his more obvious pain.  "Or perhaps I did not know precisely what I guarded.  Regardless, you cannot tell me in truth that you would not seek revenge for your injuries, as you and your companion fought your submission at Uillar with a strength we had never known."

    "What use would there be in exacting revenge when simply ending the problem would accomplish all I and my people wish?"

    He did not answer that.

    "The end of this war is greatly desired, and this with an end as equitable as our regents have designed, as Desal and others of Irllae wish, despite our different tactics about it.  Only then there would be a lasting peace.  This is believed.  It shall be done."

    Again, it was as he had suspected, that the territories were to be put back in their proper places.  "And you would trust us.  I highly doubt that."

    Be'i's gaze turned askance for a moment, and then found his again.  "Ka, my words would be doubted for good reason," she said, more softly then.  "And you would likely be correct.  Yet I may grow to bear some trust, were your example to be made among more of your people."

    "My example?"  Gychak responded, indeed surprised.  "I carried you personally to the shack you inhabited at the camp on Uillar, I took your companion's gold in trade, knowing the disgrace of his act, and I hunted your Azallis for five years for but the recognition of his voice.  I killed your comrades in the name of the Unar's humiliation..."  He paused, remembering just what humiliation was presently residing in his village in return.  His stare drew down.  "I once swore revenge and death to you all, this before my people were put into the desolation it now faces at your resistance's hands.  I embody all you have fought against and now resist, and you would ask my people to follow my ways?"

    "Commander Gychak," Be'i said, a smile crossing her lips as she watched shame flicker across his white face, "were your purposes entirely cruel, why would you trade enough antibiotic and regeneration cells to heal twenty people when you knew it was but for one, and when your trade was but two base chunks of gold-plated duranium and specks of gold you might have chipped off a shield coil cap?" 

    Gychak blinked.

    "We could not have known what guarded us, either, I should think," Be'i concluded.

    Silence enveloped that corner of the square as Y'dri strode in with Bakali's satchel and a medicine tray.  Lowering herself to her knees upon the flagstones, she quickly prepared the tray and inserted the medicines into the injector. The elder woman took it with thanks, dropped it into her pocket then collected her scanner and a dermal regenerator from the satchel.  As she adjusted the scanner, she carefully neared, looking at Toma as she did.

    Toma reached out to escort her.  "You need not fear, Nali," he told her gently.  "This Unar shall not harm you--this I guarantee, even should I ensure it further."

    With a steadying breath and a lecture within herself on the oneness of creation, the elderly woman bent slightly to assess the kneeling Unar.  Touching his skin, her trembling fingers drew back briefly.  She had not expected his high temperature, nor the slight surprise--and not disgust or anger--in his face at her soft contact.  Sixty years ago, when last she and an Unar had such proximity, it was much the opposite, and her recovery had required over two du'ave.  But indeed, it was sixty years later, and this Unar now looked at her with curiosity, even need.

    This resolved her, and she offered the officer a kinder glance as she brought the instrument up to his face.  "Remain still, Child," she told him quietly.  "Relief should be brought quickly."

    All in presence watched as the Unar's natural features were gradually returned by the grey-braided elder, from his face to his soiled arms and hands, and then his leg when she noticed another wound.  She explained that he would require another procedure to fully repair his abdominal wounds, but she could assuage the pain for the time. 

    When she quieted again, waving the regenerator slowly over his midsection, the sound of a grass flies buzzed loudly in the nearby grove and the remaining talk in the rest of the square echoed through and around the off-street.  All who watched the scene were silent, as if witnessing yet another play, a drama of meaning and lesson as they had already viewed that day.

    The event's realness tripled its potency.

    Once Bakali had finished what she could do, the officer was invited to stand as Dalra motioned Yorlla to join him as escort.  A typical Unar, Gychak stood a full head taller than Toma.  Regardless, Be'i faced him when she returned to her place beside her mate.

    "You would not seek my destruction?"  Gychak asked again, eyeing her solid, yet inquisitive gaze.

    "I would wish your people to live well," Be'i answered, "as I would wish we all should."

    Gychak considered that, considered her straightness and pride, wizened with age and maternity.  Not a beautiful woman by any means in his eyes, she did make up for it in a certain wisdom and sharpness.  He then looked at the man by her, the one who had ultimately driven him to the disgrace he was suffering, and now acknowledging.  That man, whose haunting Gychak finally understood, stood strong and watchful in agreement with his bondmate, though he had said little throughout the episode.  He had not needed to.

    "I will go without resistance," he said, stepping back towards those who would take him.

    "We shall need to bind your arms--painlessly," Yorlla told him.

    "I accept it," Gychak muttered, willing away his smirk.  The people Unar had put into far harsher chains than any other were concerned about his discomfort, when only minutes before the Antral captain would have gladly beaten him to death.  "Do as you will."

    "And conduct him in the way of Desal," Be'i commanded quietly.  "We are all as one, as are all things.  Commander Gychak deserves what respect we can afford him, particularly as he has shown capacity for the same."

    Dalra bowed to her, noticeably pleased.  "Yes, Be'i."

    Gychak turned at Yorlla's direction, settling himself with a firm swallow and deep breath, damning the acts that had brought him to that place, while at the same time wondering...thinking there might yet be some purpose to a well-brought peace. 

    Oddly, it seemed all too clear to him, as it had seemed so clear on Uillar, that night.

    He turned back again to find Toma of Azlre.  "You will require a code of inverted algorithmic encryption sequences," he blurted, "in order to break through the sensor grid at Desalia-Four."  Pausing at their reaction, he committed himself more.  "The automated lunar and planetary defense systems will hunt your ships without that entry clearance.  The planet itself you seek is heavily maintained, more so of late than ever.  You will need to take down the main power shunt first to have success there.  I will provide you with the codes and the schematics of the defenses..."  He had held Toma's stare throughout his confession and drew a breath again to complete it, "...in return for one thing."

    Toma had been stunned by the sudden information and did not try to hide it, though he narrowed his returned gaze for the condition Gychak had added.  "This would be?"

    "For what remains of Unar," Gychak said, his voice growing strong again, "end the war--and end it in the way you among Desal would see fit.  I would be killed for my request should the few others of my unsteady rank learn of my betrayal.  All who would do that to me, however, among countless more of my people, would be killed without it.  Use what I give you and bring about the justice your kind pray for.  I betray only a people I would like to find improved...and do want to see again."

    The Unar request sat for a moment as the Desalian gave that some thought, and then finally bowed his head.

    "You have sacrificed your pride and known way for a future," Toma observed, "just as Desal was forced to--and I had as well."  He watched that register across Gychak's face then nodded.  "Your trade shall be honored, Commander Gychak." 

    Gychak allowed his grin that time, for both his queer relief and his amusement with the man before him.  "You came to me on the barricade, freezing and desperate under the late moon," he said.  "For the life of your woman, you gave all that remained of your pride and identity.  --And you knew this."

    "It no longer mattered to me as she did," Toma told him, his mouth similarly creased despite the seriousness of the commander's observation.  "Those items were but things, symbols of rank we earned though an accident."

    "It was more than that to me--and more to you than you admit," Gychak said, noting the minute response in the man's solid stare, his slightly parted mouth.  "I saw your face.  I saw your...spirit, as your people might say.  The pieces might have been meaningless, but what brought you to sacrifice those symbols was a different matter."

    First showing a gesture of requesting trust, Gychak slowly removed a golden, palm-sized object from his pocket.  It was warm in his hand for the moment he held it, though it cooled upon contact with the temperate Cezian air.  With a deep sigh, he held it out for Toma to take.  "I have kept this charm--an ancient practice of Unar--for a day when my purse was utterly bare, when I might need to pay for my safe disposal."

    Toma shook his head, even if he forced himself not to look down at it.  "This is no longer mine," he stated.  "It was given to you in fair trade."

    "This is payment, Toma of Azlre, for my life and the lives of my remaining crew."  Gychak held his hand farther out.  "More, it is yours."

    Finally acquiescing, Toma reached out and picked the piece from the Unar's palm.  Staring down as Be'i did, he saw it indeed appeared as did a charm.  The metal was smooth for wear; the Starfleet emblem casing had been attached to the provisional rank bar by the two small pips, creating an odd, off-kilter square, suitably flat for one's pocket...Gychak's pocket. 

    He had carried what he saw as their sacrificed identities with him all that time.

    As their stares pulled up again, Gychak bowed, pausing there before moving back a single step.  He considered them again, in their scarves and with their markings, their well-tended clothes, the gentle intelligence in their eyes, so true to the kind they had taken.  His mouth pulled once more to the side.

    "You died on Uillar," he observed.

    "Yet we found rebirth," Toma replied then blinked a nod to Dalra and Yorlla.  "Conduct him safely to Dviglar and see to it proper food and cleansing items are procured for him and his crew.  We shall follow soon."

    The Unar turned again to the west gate, an arch of stone rising high above a street that had shaded the staggering steps of Desalian refugees over seventy years before.  At the stones, Yorlla activated one of the hovercrafts there then reached in to extract a set of magnetic cuffs.  Gychak took them without blinking and stepped into the rear of the craft without looking back.

    They left moments later.  Averting his eyes to Be'i's then to the charm, Toma took a long breath as he watched her touch it, almost as if it were a precious relic.  Perhaps it was one: a relic to a time that had been willingly forsaken, yet never forgotten.

    It almost did not seem real, and yet it was, eerily so.

    When she drew her fingers away, he closed his fingers around the warm metal.  He would take another day to try to interpret fully the quiver that lit in his gut to feel that familiar shape, warm but not frigid, smooth but not sharp

    "This should be put aside somewhere," he told Be'i, "for posterity."  With her nod, the release of her arm, he moved away.

    "Toma..."  Be'i said.

    He looked back to feel her steady gaze, her concern and expectation.  "We shall wrap it carefully," he assured her.  She nodded, smiling briefly.  His own smile warming, he held out his hand to her.  "Would you remain with me?"

    "I would like that," she replied, reclaiming his hand.

    Still standing aside, having not spoken, but acutely observing, Sashana'i closed her eyes as her siblings passed, feeling first, and then creasing her face, the deep smile of a blessed fate realized.

    When they were gone, Sashana'i turned to look at her people, still standing as witness to the event.  Some of them she had known since she was a teenager at Uillar, and others she had met later. However, she felt felt equal closeness to them all just then, in her exalted spirit. 

    They all now looked at her, seeking their regent's reaction to what had just transpired.  Her smile grew to know well what she thought of it.  The Desalian homeworld would be liberated, and Irllae would be at last know peace.  She felt as though she might lift her arms and fly straight to the spirits themselves.

    And yet, she did not speak:  She could not have found proper words just then and chose not to try. She never had been a good speaker, anyway. So instead, she turned into Aratra's embrace and held him tightly, her joy giving way to tears, and then to laughter when he plucked her off her feet and lifted her high above him.  He laughed, too, as she leaned down to kiss him, full of their belief, their knowledge.

    Their path to victory.

---

    "Their branches defined, they had found their places together on fate's tree--bringing in turn the new season in...in their existence.  And the season comes upon us regardless when...when this is...truly meant.  Growing, spreading, branching, readying for the harvest of fruit, and then...winter.

    "Only at the arrival of the rain is it known...how the leaves shall fall..."

---

    "What read you, Derra?" P'llaja'i asked as they approached the system.

    "Uh..., ytave rapol and steady."

    Be'i gave a nod, though she did not look behind her.  "You improve at the numbers," she told him in Antral. "However, you erred by a'etak rapol, Derra."

    Yasis scowled both at Be'i and back at P'llaja'i.  "Derra?"  She cut her eyes at her mate.  "How endearing."

    Kurt just rolled his eyes.  "It is just a nickname.  --Cali's girl gave it to me at that ceremony last week, remember?"

    Yasis pressed down her smile as best as possible.  Haviki had insisted her new aunts and uncles come attend her first donning of lady's scarves and witness the blessing of puberty by her mother and spirit-father.  "Ah, the dark beauty Haviki," she said, turning back to her controls.  "I will have to watch this Desalian temptress as she continues to grow."

    Be'i laughed, somehow liking Yasis more with every cluck.  "Best you accustom yourself to it now," she told Kurt.  "Desal bears a lovely tradition in naming and our traditions are not relinquished lightly."

    "So I gathered," he returned.

    "From where, I would wonder?" commented Toma as he made a slight adjustment in their course.  "All of Azlre already calls you this, you should know."

    Kurt chuckled.  "Damned small towns." 

    A grin only touched the side of the co-captain's mouth as he adjusted course again and checked his backups, hearing but not addressing the ribbing, which was a brief but welcome relief from the high nerves they were running on.  The Merraj and the Korchau, the Grivaban, Medrove's Pracheto and Gihetra's Tebri'all were the sides in the arrow formation behind the Azallis, readily chosen as the lead ship for the assault.

    Over fifty more ships remained hidden in the surrounding asteroid fields to provide support once the front had been opened.  More waited in orbit of Ivlisa, prepared to come with what supplies and support they could give.  Everyone in each group knew precisely what they were supposed to do, when and how to do it--no questions, no variation.

    Even so, it was just a matter of breaking through the defenses, taking over the central control grid, getting the Unar out of there.  The work after reclaiming Desalia would be the hard part, but it was going to happen.  He truly believed that, had convinced himself that they would succeed.

    Toma took a cooling breath to help clear his mind, saw in the corner of his eye Be'i raising her head to stare up at the viewscreen. 

    They all saw the same thing--the defensive grid, highlighted thanks to Gychak's information.  It could not detect them...yet.

    At last, this shall be done, he breathed to himself before remembering to blink.  Then he glanced to his side.  "Do your magic, Chief."

    Be'i pursed her lips at the endearment and began to make the necessary calculations, turning the incoming Unar encryptions upside down as she had studied to do for two tb'rass.  She had to admit it:  Unar math was rather clever, even fun to compute.  Susan, too, had been impressed when she helped Be'i set down some easier patterns for dispersing the code rotations.

    They transmitted nicely, even with the upgrades the Unar had installed in the grid.  Even so...  "This shall not last long," she warned her bondmate as they watched the computer show the grid momentarily turn.  "Bolmra, activate the thoron field.  It shall grant us another minute."

    On the side, Kurt grinned at that.

    Toma did not blink to see it, but ran his thin fingers up the impulse controls, his eyes on the screen before him.  "Azallis to all lead ships.  We have come in.  Retain our pattern as long as it is possible; you fly without our leads past our break.  Do not forget we would only need to wedge through the city defenses to disable the main power--"

    "*Toma ka!*"  Aratra laughed.  "*This has been memorized, my old friend.  It shall be as it is meant--hevrra zhall.  Go as the spirits bear you; fate shall serve our portion from there.*"

    Toma grinned, nodding.  "Ka," he said and drew a breath to stare outward again.  "Hevrra zhall me'albre.  Be well.  All of you."

    Speeding the small ship to full impulse, the pilot sailed them into the next grid as the engineer quickly typed in new decryption codes, one after the other, clearing their way towards Desalia, through the system's outer planets and in towards the final four.

    Farther into the large, oblong system, there was a skirt of asteroids, where another, trickier grid took some more time--though possibly the fastest calculations Be'i had ever performed.  Passing by the lockouts at one a minute each as her bondmate steadied the ship in the eddies created by the unusual gravity of the field, Be'i even began to speak the codes aloud as the crew and the other ships waited.

    Breathing deeply as she saw another chain of codes pass under her fingertips, she could feel her heart thrum.  She typed faster with the added respiration.

    "We are through," Be'i finally said, already starting on the next sequence.

    Toma nodded, almost to himself.  That part went just as planned and they still had about a minute--

    "*Drask ship, you have violated Desalian space and will be attacked.*"

    Or perhaps they didn't.

    Be'i rolled her eyes and mixed the comm signal before tapping it into the other ships again.  "Novren, would it please you to destroy the grids?"

    He coughed a laugh at her understatement.  "*Yes, it would,*" he told her.  "*Only save some hulls for me.*"

    Toma stared down at the reading that followed the Unar threat.  His blood rose as the screen began to scroll--then scroll more...  "I would think there are many for you.  Call to our reinforcements--now."

    From the surface of Desalia and from its moons as well, an entire fleet of Unar defense crafts began to power up and rise from the surface to greet the invasion.  Mostly small and rather well armed--and freshly peopled, Toma noted--they were complimented by three cruiser-sized attack ships.

    Even with reinforcements, it would be nearly three to one.

    Whispering a small prayer to himself, meeting his Be'i's gaze, full of the same stubborn pride and courage he had always known, always adored, Toma straightened and rose his chin to face the viewscreen.  Be'i did too.

    It began to fill with the familiar grey shapes that they would seek to destroy for their freedom that day.  In all manner and form, what they would do there--as was what they had been doing for six years--was completely contrary to everything Desalians by nature felt was proper and spiritually good.  They would take lives that day with intent to gain.  The entire war, in fact, had been a necessary greed.  Thus had been the need for Sashana'i to offer her spirit as the ritual sacrifice, they had known.

    How easily the people responded after that was yet a show of their need of faith in their regents, true, and of their seeing sense in creating their survival--yet it also revealed their selfishness, too.  Desal in general had given the impression that they could make themselves unselfish and humble and find purity through that.  Yet that was just as imbalanced as the selfishness itself--and as impossible to destroy.  To do either would have been the most unnatural part of it all.  Of course, Sashana'i did not seem to mind allowing her people the placebo of her sacrifice for the mean time.  It was worth it.

    For Desal... passed through their thoughts, and in so many voices as they glanced down to see their own front of resistance ships joining in behind them.  Their own memories found all that the two former officers had endured, those shared memories of their elders, their siblings' struggles, their friends, the other stories they knew--thousands and thousand of stories--even children, all the children, who would live according to all they did that day...

    That day was all their pasts--and their futures.  And it was theirs alone at that moment.

    "Desal alre tsa monra'esch!"  Toma announced and punched the Azallis to full impulse towards the first ship he could get to, already powered up and ready for them.

    "Toma, mohabrre!"

    "Be'i ka!"
 

---

    Irllae waited upon its breath.  At Antral, Iaskeb, Koba--even the far reaches of the former prisoner planet Dajid and the oft overrun Gavllorst--all of Irllae watched or listened for the next news, the next developments as they transmitted through their debris-littered space and to their rustic consoles.

    At Cezia and especially the rain-soaked Azlre, the elders passed through what likely was likely the case on all their allies' worlds--silence in streets lit only with prayer.  Solemn, most sincere prayer was made by those of every rank, belief and origin, all one spirit in their desire to see Desalia-Four freed.

    Incense poured at the silag and burned at every covered nook on every street.  Permeating the watery air, it bore the strong odor of the people's devotion to the final product of their pain, their waiting, their humility, sacrifices and all that they had given up in inner peace to create the same for the future.  Not a corner in the city sat untouched. 

    Through the fields, only the sporadic patter of the waning rain season broke the air.  And before them, the sprawling base was utterly still.  No ships were present at Dviglar:  They all were off to the battle.

    Dviglar itself was silent even in its children, who knew or at least sensed the anticipation that had overtaken the populace.  Even Ba'ela did not skip away from his elder-parents' hands, but went with them into the communications center, where they pulled away their wet cloaks and met their extended family's eyes:  Cali and Aprra and Haviki, Susik and Gatra and Marise, Y'dri and Colldra and Iseli, among the many others who had crowded onto the main floor to watch the unfolding drama on the viewscreen.

    As Bala neared the display, Bakali looked for several moments before understanding it all.  She drew a long breath to calm herself when she knew what she witnessed.

    It was as if Prihar itself had been belched up from her beloved homeworld to spit fire at the brave spirit-children of Bihla and Sa'alli.

    When offered a place on a bench, the elder woman sat, pulling the child onto her bony lap.  Putting her arms around him, she kissed his twice-lined temple.  "The spirits alone guide us now, Ba'ela.  Thus let us also pray for their blessed way."

    He hugged her back, resting his head on her collar as his dark eyes gazed at the buzzing sensor map.  "I do now, my spirit-mother."
 

---

    "Hold on!"  Kurt told Yasis when the blast met the maneuver, clutching her arm and pulling her back to the console.  "Attitude stabilizers work only to a degree."

    "I noticed!" Yasis gasped, grabbing the outcrop of a steaming bulkhead as she felt her stomach toss.

    The Azallis pulled its spiral assault as both captains ignored its cries to stop.  "Fire!"  Toma yelled as he visualized all the blasts around him, disrupted by the field he had created with the spin and their shields, already failing from their battle with the last--former--ship.

    Plicta fired into their target, burying a torpedo into the side of the cruiser before Toma yanked the Azallis straight and away from what he prayed would explode.

    They had but four torpedoes left.

    "Four Koba vessels have taken on the cruiser," Bolmra told them.

    "Zha!"  Toma said shortly, pulling the Azallis around to engage the two ships that had been tailing them.

    Be'i's eyes flew around her readings at the whiz of phaser fire off their port.  "Latsari, recharge our disruptors!"

    "*It is done, Be'i.*"

    "Fire upon your will, Plicta!"  Be'i said immediately, glaring at her panel as another shot hit the side of their beloved ship, rattling them from the inside out and taking out what sounded like the entire coolant assembly.  Shields had weakened further...

    The Azallis' returning fire nailed the enemy's starboard thrusters, sending it hurtling in an inverse spin.  The other Unar ship was left dormant.  Sending a message for one of the smaller resistance ships to come and finish it for them, she noticed that Toma was already off for another front of crafts.  Filling her lungs, a brutal little grin found her, easily preparing her for them.

    "Our shields shall not face another full volley should you not be very clever," P'llaja'i warned.

    "Ka," he replied, not stopping.

    "*Azallis!*" It was Miztri.  "*We bear the capability to maintain the system,*"  she said.  "*Take yourselves to the homeworld while you remain able.*"

    "One more, Miztri," Toma said, his eyes nailing onto the weak side of the fourth--last--cruiser.  With a little maneuvering, they could-- "This one lies in my sight."

    "*Pull back, Azallis!*" said another--Novren.  "*Your defenses are too weak!  We have more to take the front!*"

    "Only this one!"

    "*Obey your elders, Child!*" Miztri commanded.

    Toma suddenly snorted at her employment of manners at a time like that.  But she was correct.  They all were.  He looked to his side.  "Be'i?"

    Be'i shot a stare, then a shrug, his way.  "Our strength shall be required on the surface," she admitted tersely.

    He nodded, breaking off from the cruiser as a few Antral ships joined the Tebri'all's offensive.  Grudgingly, he hit the inside comm.  "We take the Azallis to the surface now," he told his crew.  "Arm yourselves to defend the ship while our senior teams are on mission.  Engineering teams, while we are there, ready the Azallis for departure while you can in the event we would need to leave quickly.  Prepare for landing."

    "*Merraj to Azallis,*"  Miztri said.  "*The Korchau and the Rrilast shall follow your descent.  Live by the spirits, my dear friends.*"

    Toma instinctively touched his temple.  "And you, Miztri.  May we all live by them."

    The last he saw of the field was the Merraj sharply turning off to engage the ship he had broken off from.  Beyond, it looked like a field of fireflies, an old memory of his childhood that he remembered as pleasant, a time when he laughed often and had little care of anything but catching the little bug in his hands.

    That view turned quickly to the teal and black of the moonlit Desalia-Four, into which, after Latsari somehow managed to activate their thoron field just one more time, Toma flew straight and fast.  He heard somewhere a report of the hull temperature, but he continued, not caring much just then about the shudder that echoed through the ship as he quickly recalled the landing places Gychak had suggested in his information.

    "Prepare three torpedoes and give manual control to me," Be'i said, forcing her calm as they tore through the hard atmosphere with half-powered shields, lining up the shot while unconsciously holding the side of her console with her free hand.  As soon as she saw open air, the dark before the sunrise at Desal far below, she fired.

    A trail of orange shot through the sky:  They watched it plummet toward the surface, waiting...

    "The auxiliary base is destroyed!"  Plicta reported, his eyes on the readings and not the forward screen as Toma immediately swooped the ship around a series of ground defenses, which were but bits of glowing green on their sensor screens.  Be'i fired again, striking the main line of those defenses with moderate effect.  It would at least stop the surface shots for as long as it took them to repair their shields.  The following ships could take care of the rest.

    "Targeting the communications relay," she then said, watching her readings turn as Toma brought them in.  Again, she lined up the shot.  "Toma, bring us around the anterior of the installation." 

    He did, close enough that he could see in their lead lights a full troop of Unar running from it, like ants out of a hill.  As he sailed in on their final approach, he knew they would never run fast enough.

    She knew the same, but did not hesitate to poke the panel and fire the torpedo into the access port of the Unar relay.

    "Direct hit!"  Kurt announced.  "The main comm relay is destroyed.  We are set."

    "Then we shall land at East Desal now instead of later," Toma said and did just that, swooping a long arc over the massive sea and around to the south then around again to the smoking remains of the landing base they had fired upon first.  At the far end of that, very close to the city gate, sat a satellite landing flat in the middle of a grassy field.  He chose it without question.  Adrenaline or no, he knew neither he nor Be'i needed to run any farther than necessary. 

    "P'llaja'i, contact the lead ships.  Update them on our progress and that the ground forces can be deployed upon their landing.  They shall be needed when we are discovered.  Be'i and I shall take ourselves to the main generator.  It lies near the gate before us.  Ask Miztri and Givadra to destroy the remaining ground defenses and pull a sweep over the continent.  When we have completed our mission, we shall regroup at this slate."

    As soon as the Azallis touched the cement, Be'i jumped up from her seat and tied her scarves tightly around her hair.  "Plicta, Kurt, Yasis--work on the security clearances here while we travel to the generator."

    Kurt gave them both a long look.  "Good luck, you two."

    She nodded as Toma did, offered a brave smile to tell them the rest.  "Should you lose our lifesigns or we do not contact you within one rachal, continue without us.  --This is meant, for Desal.  Ka?"

    They did not wait for approvals before spiriting themselves to the exit of the bridge and to the side hatch.  They did not have time to argue even if there was any dissension.

    Even so, Toma took the moment while the hatch opened to draw Be'i's marked hand to his temple and lower his mouth to hers.  She responded eagerly--impatiently, yet wishing to remain.  Still, they parted without regret as the steps ground down to the surface, stared into each other's eyes for but one more moment.

    "Let's go, Hotshot," she said, a confident little grin cropping onto her lips, which increased to see his responding smile.

    With that, they holstered what weapons they had and hopped down the thick pad steps then took off in a sprint, across the pre-dawn field and into the smoke towards the east gates of Desal.

    Their first act upon approaching the ancient, sacred city was murder.

    Seeing the Unar guards approaching through the east gates, Be'i ducked as she raised her disruptor pistol, fired directly and quickly, killing them before they could react.  What she missed, Toma found then skipped ahead and around the pillar barricade to take out the rest in a few quick, concerted shots.  With their comm lines down, the Unar would need more time to catch up with them, he knew.  He also knew that they would catch up.  Waving her forward, Be'i met him.

    There, they stopped.

    Though they could not afford the time, they could not help but stay a few seconds and take in the utter desolation and incredible stench.  In a wide beam of hard, artificial light, they stared at the dung troths within the cement, piles of debris, blackened buildings with sections crumbled away and, worse than the rest, the huddled rags covering barely breathing skeletons sitting at the gutters. 

    If they did glance up, their hollow eyes gazed but blankly to the relatively clean, decently dressed fighters who had just murdered the gate guards.  Young and old alike sat in wait of water not yet dispensed, it seemed, their battered jugs in bony hands.  The line stretched down the block, all of them, barely living at all, sitting within the trash and manure.  Silent.

    Be'i was suddenly quite glad Bala and Bakali could not see it.  If they did as Be'i and Toma did just then, they would have cried unto their eternities for their molested memory.  As it was, the two witnessing it knew they would.

    An explosion in the distance broke them from their shock, and with another look to each other and a quick steeling of their stomachs, they decided to care for the present.

    On second thought, however, Be'i turned back and stared at the pitiful creatures behind her.  "In the names of Sashana'i and Aratra of Allanois, rightful regents of Desal," she said, trying to will both the kindness and command into her smoke-clogged throat, "take yourselves outside the gates and find water of your own will, as was the way of your ancestors.  Follow them now."

    Whether or not they listened, she did not stay to find out, hurrying after Toma into the next boulevard, her weapon drawn in the dark mist of pre-dawn.  In a way, she didn't want to know.  They would get their water, regardless...fate willing. 

    "Stop!  Drask!" came an Unar yell, echoing through the streets and hiding his location.  Be'i and Toma barreled back into their sprint, narrowly escaping a phaser shot, which cracked into a wall and reduced a section to sand.

    A second shot hit the flesh of her arm, causing her to curse aloud and smack the burn with the side of her pistol.

    "Be'i, ab!" Toma hissed and yanked her into an alleyway so he could get a shot at the officer, who by the echoes sounded like he was not the only one they would face if the remainder of the forces did not come soon.

    Pressing herself against the wall to breathe away her pain, she glanced--and then ripped her eyes away from the death in that nook.

    It was a Unar drask heap...the same sort that Hychar wished to commit her to ten years ago.  That was the end that he had plotted...

    Growling with fresh indignation, Be'i was the first one to leave when she heard the grunt of the officer, but grabbed Tom's hand so not to lose him with her better speed.  Selfish as it was, they both knew if one of them went down, so would the other.  They had to remain together.

    "Toma!"  she gasped as the officer popped out from the shadows.  Toma feinted, but the Unar caught the edge of his robe and pulled him up to grab his neck.

    With pure adrenaline and panic as his guide, Toma spun in the grip.  Feeling the burn of the glove on his skin, he jabbed his pistol into the Unar's belly and fired.  As he fell, Toma turned--"Be'i--rigyid!"--and fired out into the street at another Unar aiming for her.

    Whipping her head around to see the Unar partially disintegrate, she took off with Toma again, faster still when they heard more Unar coming.

    She forced the thoughts of Cezia into her mind as the echoes neared, as the pain spread up into her shoulder and the Unar called out their nothingness, as those same drasks dashed through the curved city streets they had memorized with their elders' assistance. 

    Through the mist and mantel smoke, she imagined the silver fields and the soft knolls and chasing her lover there--catching him when he stopped and caught her.  As they cut a corner and found the central command in their sights, she could see Sashana'i dancing around a balking joth then skipping back to nag at her hair.  She could see baby Ba'ela's stumbling steps as Toma held his hand, and he grabbed at those soft reeds thinking they would support him...

    But then she stopped that daydreaming.

    She would have to speak with her bondmate about that tendency he'd given her.

    But then she stopped that distraction, too.

    Be'i pulled the charge from her coat pocket as they hit the hard wall.  It was obviously of Unar construction for its smooth, stone sterility, which made what she was doing even easier.  As Toma ripped the casing off the access panel, she knew she had no remorse whatsoever in ridding Desal of Unar architecture.  With two clicks set with shaking fingers, the charge was activated.  Checking it once more, Be'i stuck it to the main entrance panel and tapped the timer.

    It beeped and they ran away to throw themselves into another alley nook, not caring what was there that time.  Once within, Toma pulled a charge of his own out and, activating that, pitched it out into the street.  He threw his arm around her and covered the back of his head with his other hand as they hit the ground, gasping for breath from the dirty stone pavement and hacking what they sucked up from it.

    Two seconds later, a duo of explosions rocked the foundations of the granite buildings surrounding them.  The whoosh of the resulting firewalls left Unar screams in their wakes--then only the sound of landing debris and dust.  Then, there was only the sound of a slight breeze and the creak of a weakened foundation.

    As the soot and sand layered over them, Be'i and Toma brought their heads up, and then their bodies, both sorely.  With one more cough of breath, and then taking another, they turned towards the gaping hole in the unnatural facade the Unar had put in that once beautiful city, not yet lit with the impending day.  Stumbling a bit at first, they moved themselves back towards it.  As they came into the street, checking for any company around them, they paused to stare at their next step.

    For the second time in their lives, they would take themselves into an Unar installation searching out power nodes to disrupt and manipulate.  That second time, however, they knew exactly what they would find, how to find it--and what to do with it.  That time, they were ready to.

    That time, they had the right to.

    With a mutual nod, they started over the crumbled rock and metal and into the blackened, grated interior.  Toma activated a shoulder light and hooked it to his coat.

    "Toma to Azallis.  We are in."

    "The mice are nesting within near walls as we speak," Kurt replied quickly, obviously busy with whatever he had gotten to.  "Aratra said to say that, by the way."

    Toma chuckled despite himself.  "It is understood.  We shall contact you again when we have finished."

    "We will be waiting."

    It was to all of this and more Sashana'i listened intently from the outdoor console used for landing clearances--and hastily reprogrammed by Latsari to both jam Unar ship signals and assist the resistance's.  Latsari and Bolmra had taken over the latter duty while the regent was honored to monitor the ground action.

    From Be'i and Toma's last report to the other ground units as they disembarked and rushed into the filth-ridden, deathly capital city of Desal, Sashana'i watched and listened to every word that came in over the comm.  The resistance ground forces would take every street by foot.  After the Unar's main power grid was dismantled, any remaining Unar communications, plus their sensors and defenses throughout the system, would be destroyed.

    From there, it would be a strict flushing out of Unar as the Antral, Brijan and others continued to decimate the fleet above them.  Miztri, Sollve'a and Gihetra at that moment were destroying what was left of the surface bases.  Soon after they reported another four auxiliaries down, Novren was said to be entering the atmosphere soon to assist in the ground offense.  The fight above was going well.

    It was meant, her spirit fluttered and sang.  All the voices within her would at last come to peace to know of it.  Their anguish and assertions would diminish...

    "Desalia shall soon e freed of Unar presently," one of the city invader's comms crackled in a conversation with a bewildered denizen.  "Yet I would beg you and all your own to seek shelter, good lady.  We should not lose any others this sun."

    "The blessing of the spirits," the woman rasped, "only in tale had we known of our own to bear the strength of me'idvei.  It was not known as truth."

    "It is truth, good lady.  The spirits of our finest ancestors have blessed us all in our sacrifice--as have the Allanois in their reformation."

    "My...  My most humble prayers--for them and for you..."  Her voice began to quiver with relief and release.  "...My humblest gratitude, good man.  My humblest..."

    Hearing the resistance fighter ease the crying lady to a building afterward made tears crop within Sashana'i's eyes despite her vindicated smile.  Then more than ever, she knew that even without Be'i and Toma, she would have brought that day to reality, someday, somehow, despite the hopelessness and frustration she had suffered at Uillar.  It was her given destiny, all that her life's worth, and thus she would have fought a lifetime to make what she and others bore witness to that morning.  But she was that much more thankful that she had been able to bear her siblings and make Desal's fate blossom with greater speed and effect, more thankful and proud than she might have described in any words or manners.

    The reports of the people alone had pained her nerves, even while it made her wish desperately that she could be among them, fighting Unar by their sides.  As regents, however, she and Aratra had been requested by all involved--Dalra and Lledri with particular anxiety--to remain away from the greater danger within the walls until the city was secured.  Taking part in the initial attack had been more than enough risk.  Humbly yet hesitantly, they had agreed, but on the condition they had a hand on all the ground movements the moment they arrived.

    They could not be completely inactive on that momentous day, after all.

    Meanwhile Unar were falling within the city, pushed back and down by two lines of Brijan and Antral and another full ship of Desalians.  Incoming reports noted deaths on both sides, and yet they all were steadily making their way through, street by death-littered street.

    The sky behind them finally began to redden with the dawn.

    "Damn straight!" Kurt's voice echoed over the signal and a moment later, he was running down the Azallis' steps to the panel where Sashana'i was working, Yasis right behind.  Snatching the little regent into his strong arms, he spun her around in a full circle, hugging her.

    "The main power generator is down!" he announced, loud enough for everyone to hear as he set Sashana'i back down.  "Be'i and Toma are heading back!  The Unar are out of here!"

    Sashana'i laughed aloud and hugged Kurt back, releasing him only to find herself in her bondmate's arms.  Aratra held her firmly there, shaking with his joy.

    "Ka, it was meant, my spirit," he rasped, half laughing, half overcome.  "The spirits have blessed our fate, after all."

    Sashana'i couldn't help it:  She cried.

    Her station already re-manned, she allowed the relief of the past five generations to flood her.  From her great-great grandmother Da'ili's inefficacy and sorrow and her bondmate M'hida's horror of realization as he followed her in their passing, her great grandmother Yusi's final prayer and Troka's honorless execution, to her grandfather's plea upon his and her grandmother's passings--even her own parents' proud dreams and also her own...  All the longing, determination and desire that had been given to her--the fervent, tormented Allanois voice that had haunted her since her inheritance of their legacies, twelve generations in all--washed through her core anew and now lit her smile.

    Her work was only beginning, she knew.  Yet now, with her truly blessed siblings, the products of her prayers and subjects within all her plans...It was all possible. 

    Everything was possible.

    She looked out from the landing area to the landscape, wiped away, beaten and neglected with seventy-two revolutions of poisoned occupation.  The sun was just beginning to rise over the far horizon, its light glowing crimson, and then gold and streaks of white upon the smoke-painted sky...

    The re-dawning of her people. 

    It would make a fine story someday.

    She smiled, blinking away the water as her bondmate took her around the waist to watch with her.  With the light came the breeze, which dried the remaining perspiration in their looser garments, setting their scarves free in the acrid air--air that someday would be clean again, blowing over fields of crop and feeding animals and repaired waterways to nearby villages...

    All possible.  All of a near future.

    In the full light of that warm morning, Aratra turned at a sound to see what they had been waiting for.  He called out to them, "Toma!  Be'i!"

    Sashana'i whirled around and laughed.  She could see their smiles all the way from there, their tired waves as they approached, supporting each other, filthy with soot, but determined to cross and rejoin their own.

    "We have won this sun, my beloved siblings!" Sashana'i cried out joyfully.

    "Ka, we have, Sashana'i!" Be'i called back.  "It is a sun for us all to be blessed by!"

    Kissing his bondmate once more, Aratra hopped off the platform to greet them both.  Sashana'i followed, wrapping the drift of her robe over an arm as she descended the steps.  She saw Be'i share a comment with Toma, who chuckled good naturedly, settling their hurting but steady pace into a slow, sure stride through the weedy turf.

    Behind her siblings and to the side, Sashana'i blinked at a glint off the city gates and almost held up her hand up to shield the reflection from the sun.

    The gates had been hewed of rough stone, not polished marble, she suddenly recalled.  She looked--

    "Toma! Be'i!" she screamed.

    They turned and saw the Unar whip up his pistol--

    "No!"

---

    "No!" Anai gasped, suddenly weeping, shaking her head as she broke away from her narrative. 

    Tears fell onto her lap when her head dropped; her shoulders trembled.  Within her, she screamed at herself almost as violently as she had screamed that day, in terror at her own realization.... 

    She could not do it.  She could not do it to them.  Not like that.

    "I cannot...  I cannot...continue."  Choking, she clutched her bondmate's hand.  "Forgive me.  No more of that sun can be recalled.  We are to bless the passed, yet I could not that sun.  It was too...too..." 

    She drew her tear-fogged eyes out to her stunned audience, to young Harry Kim, so troubled; Chakotay, solemn but surprised; Kathryn, as ever so controlled, though the tears, glimmering in the low torchlight, sat in the wells of her eyes.  They all grew worse to realize the word painting was indeed stopping at that.  Anai draged a shaking breath.

    It would have to.  She simply could not subject them to the remainder of that day.

    "They passed..." she whispered, "...it was...  My beloved siblings were lost beneath that dawning sun, and then we had to continue, to vindicate their sacrifice and fulfill their dreams, the children, Desal's future, all our years.  Yet my life, even as regent in this prosperity all Desal created from the dung of Unar...it was never complete, knowing they...  They had sacrificed all in the finest sense of honor, and...I and Ara...gave ourselves to their memories, for having promised them...to live on and to paint those words to you....  I cannot.  Ara, please, my Ara..."

    "It is understood, my spirit," he whispered, caressing her hand with his thumb.  He looked up.  "Babaki, take us."

    "Forgive me," Anai said again, glancing to Kes.  "This ends this night.  It has ended.  I have done as was wished upon the origin of my wait.  I must...rest." 

    "You shall, my dear nali," Babaki whispered as she collected her mother, who grasped at her arm.  Her own cheeks were wet for the sudden stop, her mother's collapse from the painting.  To her memory and no matter what the story, that had never happened.  Of course, her mother had never painted that story.  Even knowing all her life only of the event in itself, merely the plain facts of all the things her mother had detailed those past nights, Babaki easily knew why that part gave her mother difficulty.

    Anai looked at her spirit-daughter, who had also come up to the dais.  "Havetsi, tell them of Susik and Derra, of their continuance.  It shall be wished.  It is time now that rest is allowed Ara and me."

    "Nali ka," Havetsi said, touching her elder's trembling arm as their gazes locked.  The younger woman offered a small but understanding smile.  "Had any among us earned their respite, it would be you and Tola.  I shall take your place, as is the way."

    "It is borne well by you and Cera," Anai managed, sure in her words as she gazed at the young woman.  "It was meant...  All of it was meant.  Your place in it, too, my blessed kini'isi."

    They were taken away by Babaki and Osna, slowly as Anai continued to cry, unable in her shame to meet the eyes of any of those good people who had come to hear her words, ultimately left incomplete--as so much else had been, to her life's sorrow.

    It seemed that that too was intended.  Not all matters of the living world were to be completed or balanced, else the desire for balance in itself would not be heard of.  Not all matters required closure for release of attachment.

    In a way, she was glad her telling ended as it did.  She did not wish them to leave with empty hands and pained spirits.  She had done as much as she had promised--she had told the story and given the bio-regeneration technology to someone who could do something with it.  She owed and wished nothing more.

    Or did she?

    Despite her doubts, she passed them, allowing her tears, finally permitting her frail body to all but crumble in her youngest daughter's arms, still feeling Ara's hand in hers, squeezing supportively, knowingly, lovingly.

    The remainder is for fate to balance, now, she told herself, feeling a sudden relief in her tiredness, willfully ignoring her indecision.  It is no longer for us to hold.

    She no longer had to be strong, and Ara no longer had to clutch at life for their purpose.  Their work was done.  They were free of their duty.  Finally.

    It should have felt better than it did.  It should have felt completed.  But despite her guilt, pain and that final memory still reverberating through her being, there was at least relief that it was done.  She would take it.  They both would.

    Having stood from her pillow, a natural response to the elders' rising from the dais, Kathryn watched them.  She felt the water in her eyes but fought it, seeing Anai's bony face contort as she approached.  She was shuddering with little sobs too long held within her--the sort of crying that could last for days, by the way the elderly lady's body heaved and yet held back as if by instinct.  A full century of wait, finally at an end, all they withheld and wished for...

    By the spirits, how could I do this to them?  Anai thought in another sweep of regret as she neared a familiar form in the path, feeling the captain's eyes boring into her.

    Kathryn swallowed hard to see her like that, the strong, noble woman defeated in her own purposes, unable to close that last door on her past.  Beside her, Ara stared at the ground, his mouth closed, his head bent.  But he could see as his bondmate did--knew as she did and felt what she felt.  His hand caressed hers, pressed against his waist sash.  She stilled briefly then squeezed his fingers.  They knew.

    Anai looked briefly up to the captain, her swollen eyes still sparking with the memory, the pain, all the unwillingness, the release--and the knowing.  An eternity of knowing...

    "Forgive me," she breathed, that time for Kathryn alone; then she continued away, her eyes turning down to the same spot Ara's had found.

    Kathryn's heart dropped in her chest. 

    Her breath released and remained without replenishment for several seconds.  Why? she wondered dumbly as her piqued instincts continued to unsteady her.

    Her stare followed the elders, shuffling away in their children's arms, until they were all the way into the house.  Seeing their robed forms turn and disappear...  Somehow in that moment, as she stared at the empty door, Kathryn's mind cleared, the distraction of those forms gone, the painting itself coloring behind her eyes, filling the spaces left open by its teller, and those last words....

    Finally, Kathryn saw.  Clearly.

    "Oh my god," she breathed.

    "Derra remained upon Cezia past the Unar War," Havetsi explained when Chakotay asked, taking a seat with Cera on the stone the elders had occupied a few minutes before, "which ended near to eight du'ave past the liberation of this world." 

    Her voice seemed another universe away to Kathryn just then.

    "With Yasis, he became a leader in the central restoration project and assisted the rebuilding of many capitals across Irllae.  Making his own trade with the assistance of records recovered at Desalia, he directed his engineering skills towards architecture.  His work at this time was committed without cost, from his desire to do all he might for the people he had adopted.  With his generous nature, he became friend to all he knew and a respected voice for the unspoken.

    "Yasis stood by him until his passing, as his wife by Antral ceremony soon past the Worlds Council's formation.  It was with that and numerous reformation projects she affiliated herself, assisting the restoration of Irllae and the continued development of Dviglar.  She and Derra, as well, adopted three young Antral children, who had been born during the war upon Cezia yet were orphaned in the final battles.  In Derra's house in Azlre's north Adavill district, they lived in great prosperity and contentment.  Yasis, though quite elderly for an Antral, remains there, as do eighteen members of their family.

    "Susik, for her love of her Aldrun's family and great desire to maintain Marise's place among her father's people, took herself with Marise and Gatra to the house of Kichyrn.  There, they remained exclusively for over eighteen rallkle, until the girl had grown into a stately and most respectable lady of Antral.  Upon her graduation from the first university re-erected at Onistra, Marise married a regal young man called Tohler.  Seven fine children were borne of their union, and for over fifty rallkle, she has led the Kichyrn house with all the propriety and strength of the Antral matriarchy.  She too remains among the living.

    "Susik continued with Gatra during and past those suns, heavily involving herself in Irllae's data and technology recovery, and restoring as well the databanks stolen and stored within Desal's catacombs.  She became the primary assistant to Novren Pridalar, and was one among the team who created the safer storages we all in Irllae presently employ.  In this time, Gatra took himself to the scholarship, claiming geology as his trade and excelling in reforming Irllae's mineral resources, which had been exceedingly drained during the occupation.  Ten rallkle past the war's end, while still upon Antral, Susik bore Gatra a son, Mi'eka.

    "Past Marise's marriage and firstborn child, Susik brought herself and Mi'eka to Desal, where Gatra's occupation and her position in the Antral embassy and data catacombs were located.  She and Gatra enjoyed great prominence in Desalian and Antral society until his passing nearly fifty rallkle past that time.  Susik retired to Antral soon after this and passed here at Desal twelve rallkle later.  Through Mi'eka's five children, the Ella'omb house has been restored; it thrives beneath our present sun."

    Havetsi smiled sheepishly to them upon her completion.  "You shall forgive my simple prose, I would hope.  This recollection has not been prepared.  I might merely ease your curiosity with what facts I bear within me.  Please, I may be assisted with questions."

    Harry, still swallowing away his thick throat, cleared it to address the lady before them.  "What happened to Ba'ela, Tom and B'Elanna's son?"

    Having expected that question, Havetsi took Cera's hand in hers, her grin pulling to the side as she cast a glance at Captain Janeway, who continued to look after the elders. 

    "Ba'ela, Be'otala in scholarship," she said, "came to his maturity within this city, took a bondmate called Tejani and made their union fruitful--as did Mi'eka of Ella'omb some years past that with Sareli two streets west, as I have mentioned.  Mi'eka's eldest granddaughter Esidri bore three fine children, one of them a son.  Be'otala's second son, Tramasa, bonded to Ke'iji, a sister of his cousin's bondmate, who as an orphan had been adopted to the Allanois house.  Therefore, our beloved tola Tramasa was brought to the family house of his father's youth.  Their first daughter is Beshelli, my nali.  Quite simply, you are looking at what became of both Be'otala and Mi'eka's bloodlines."

    Still standing away from the others, Kathryn laughed humorlessly.  "That doesn't surprise me."

    She had said it quietly, but Havetsi heard it.  When Kathryn turned and met her gaze, they understood each other.  The older woman did not smile, though it did look as though Kathryn had finally found the meaning in the words their elder had conveyed to them.

    She had seen the lessons of Anai for what they truly were and now had only to employ them, as had always been the way.

    Perhaps it would be well after all, the next Allanois regent thought.  While the painting remained incomplete, it was reasonable to believe another stroke or two might finish it.

    It was now a possible thing.

    As her nali liked to say, what is truly meant could not be known until the moment itself arrived.

    That moment had not arrived...yet.
 

---

(continued)
Chapter 9 | WP Main

November to December, 1999
© D'Alaire M.