"Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age." ?James Joyce

To those viewing from orbit, New Detroit was a true representation of itself and its population - tired, inhospitable, and scarred. Most of the surface was covered with land masses and its rare bodies of water were too small to be visible from space. Lakes, ponds, and springs were more myth than reality for the planet's inhabitants who guzzled imported liquid with the unslakable thirst of man who knowingly succumbs to a desert mirage, clutching to the fantasy of salvation and life while surroundings and circumstances could only result in a terrible unstoppable demise. Intertwined as if wrought together by a master of intricate needlework, long metallic gray pipelines, dark jagged manmade chasms carved in a rush to reap the ambrosia of raw metals and now sucked dry of their contents, and long strips of deep orange and red ore exposed from massive tears in the planet's unwilling flesh, crisscrossed over the surface, mechanized scars from a surgery gone horribly right. New Detroit was a planetary Frankenstein, divided, conquered, and mutilated by the unrelenting tools of greed. Long dead corpses, so artfully stitched together under the careful watch of scientists and hurried urgings of profiteers, grotesquely came together in this haunting orb. Staring at the planet was like staring into a decaying soul ? too long and you would lose yourself in the sadness and despair which radiated from the gray and the red, the body and its ebbing blood, the slow agony of a death that loomed but never arrived.

Hadrian?s Gorge, a long stretch of land located deep within one of the gutted mammoth mining chasms, was a microcosm of the planet as seen from above. Between the glut of seedy dive bars, Frej-addicted whores, and black-market dealers hardly making an effort to front legitimate businesses to cover their transactions ? set between mountainous disfigured walls of rock serving as stark reminders of the physical and emotional scars of its inhabitants ? a mercenary could certainly find herself at home. But Estella Tiri didn't feel at home, not at all. Truth be told, although this place was certainly safer for her than elsewhere in the quadrant, or even on the planet, she hated it. But money was here, good money, and she wanted her share.

The casual observer would likely never pick out one place from another down here from memory; it all looked the same and the smart black-marketeers would exchange shops and stalls frequently to throw off anyone who might be looking to put an end to their business. But they always let their best customers know how to reach them. And she was definitely a good customer. She was about to prove it yet again.
Even as she walked, winding her way through the alleys and man-made paths that served as streets which often carved through shells of old buildings that, for one reason or another, were never demolished, she tried to avoid looking anyone in the eye. That was one easy way to get killed down here, especially given the temperment of the local population. Most everyone was paranoid. Most everyone was desperate to leave, looking for an excuse to take out their pent-up frustrations on a passer-by for no reason other than it would make them feel better for a moment or two. The money enticed them to stay, no matter the personal cost.

She didn?t bother trying to mask her path or change her route; if she was being followed, those doing the following would not fall for the simple tactics she could employ. Besides, she didn?t want to spend any more time down here than she had to. Each step brought her closer to her goal and she wasn?t going to delay. Her boots kicked up loose dirt and tread over rotted wood and rusted out metal in a quick rhythm, often interrupted by an the crunch of plastic as she trod upon the empty Frej-tubes whose contents were annihilating the brains and lives of over half the population. The people were destitute, the buildings were destitute, even the air seemed to instill a sense of despair that would rot her from the inside out if she breathed too deeply. She quickened her pace.

A few moments later, upon reaching her destination, she entered a dilapidated metal shack upon which hung an unlit half rotted ?Erroch Repairs? sign, its letters nearly falling off the rusty nails barely keeping them in place, and subjected to the invasive personal search and questioning which followed. No, she didn?t have any weapons. Yes, she was here to see Scheff. Yes, he knew she was coming.
She surmised that this bodyguard was new because she hadn?t ever seen him before and he seemed to be staring entirely too hard at her, as if trying to will her answers to turn into lies underneath his glare.

?Where?s Frank,? she asked, trying to show NewGuy that yes, she had seen Scheff before.

?Dead,? was the grunted reply.

?Ah,? she replied, unsurprised. Playing bodyguard for a successful (and thus nefarious) black market merchant was, after all, dangerous.

?Go ahead,? NewGuy?s gruff voice was mirrored by the brusque way he gestured toward the entryway to the rear of the shop. He seemed disappointed that she?d been able to pass his muster.

?Don?t worry,? she thought as she moved past him, ?you?ll get your chance sooner rather than later down here. And you?ll probably wind up next to Frank in whatever ditch he?s lying in.?

((Authors' Note: This thread will be cross-posted in the Duel of Fists folder on the Rings of Honor message board))

The nicest thing she could say about Scheff?s building was that it didn?t have a street running through it. In fact, the four whole yet unstable walls were its best attribute. The inside of the place was, she thought, an absolute disaster. Half-rusted hulks of metal, hardly recognizable as hull-sections from several different and long retired civilian ships, were stacked at random, monuments to uselessness. Broken tools, grommets, piles of loose screws, two early-design jump drives, several power-plants that would never again run anything, and one repair droid which looked functional but was currently shut off were all scattered as if a child, in the midst of a game or tantrum, had tossed all of his belongings up in the air to see just where and how they?d land.

It was apparent to her, and probably everyone else who ever stepped foot in this place, that no matter what the sign out front read, very little in the way of repairs were ever going to be made here, aside from varying degrees of augmentation to the owner?s credit accounts. Heading for the back of the building, she did her utmost to avoid stepping through the slick-looking stains of oil, grease, and what probably really was blood on the concrete floor covering.

Part of her looked forward to seeing Scheff again; he always got her the best of what she asked for, and she anticipated that this time would be no different. She had a feeling, however, that Scheff would want more than a simple business transaction. Ever since an extremely pocketbook-rewarding haul eight months ago when she and Scheff celebrated by drinking an abundance of Goddard Specials and enjoying each other?s company long into the next day, she always got the feeling he?d wanted a reprise of that particularly fulfilling encounter. He?d even said as much the last few times she?d been back and while this time she was sorely tempted to take him up on the offer, those desires were overridden by the lust she felt for what lay waiting for her back at the shipyards. Presuming, of course, Scheff held up his end of the deal.

As she walked through the doorless doorway to his office, Scheff sat behind a large dull green metal desk with rust-colored sections that had grown larger since her last visit. The way the light fell in the room, combined with glow illuminating from the large bank of video-monitors, cast Scheff in a shadow; she could barely see his face, tired and worn with too many late nights, too many last minute deals, too many Frej-sticks. But the man was one of the best at what he did, and the monitors were an indication. Video feeds were coming in from everywhere ? mining docks he either owned or strong-armed the real owners into giving him large profit percentages, the on-planet shipyards, the numerous refueling ports stationed in orbit, something that looked like a subspace feed from a small transport fleet, and even the front of the shop where NewGuy was pacing back and forth, shooting glares at the doorway she had just passed through.

While she examined the monitor-array, Scheff leaned back in his chair, looking her over. Physically, Estella Tiri was somewhere between hardly and laughably imposing. She stood five-foot two on a good day, one-hundred ten to one-hundred twenty pounds depending on her current diet, with purple-dyed hair cropped at shoulder level. What she lacked in physical stature she made up for with leadership and attitude. That she was nearly as interested in money as he was another mark in her favor. That she was incredible in bed and refused to sully her body with the drugs wrecking his own raised her further in Scheff?s esteem. Still, he wouldn?t hesitate to kill her in an instant if he thought she was double crossing him. There were plenty of other, better looking women with the qualities she possessed. They simply weren?t in front of him, accessible, just now.

?Stel. I see you?ve met Tee,? Scheff raised a hand toward the monitors as she approached the desk.

?Tee? You?re down from generic names to letters? Frank, Bob, and Joe were bad enough. That?s pretty sad, Scheff?. Without waiting for him to offer her a seat, because he wouldn?t, she grabbed a chair with the padding half-torn loose, turned it backwards, and in a straddling position.

Scheff raised his eyebrows and smiled, ready to banter with her. Ready to see if, this time, she?d be willing to stay longer than it took for their transaction to take place. ?Maybe. But I th??

?I?m going to call him NewGuy. Until he?s not new anymore?. She cut him off. She knew she shouldn?t, but she was eager to see the tangible results of the risks she?d taken and the money she was handing over. If this transaction went as well as it was supposed to, she had a date with the shipyard. ?You?ve heard that I was successful??

Scheff?s smile was gone ? it had left after her interruption ? and he leaned forward, resting his bulky arms on the cold metal desktop.

?Mmm. Of course,? he said, sounding bored and annoyed. He knew that she knew he?d kept track of her progress.

?My part of the deal?s met, then. Yours??

?Of course,? he answered in the exact same tone as before.

?Then the money?ll be in your account by hour?s end.?

?Of course,? he said, again, a different sort of smile crossing his face. ?Or else you?ll not be leaving New Detroit. You?ll find your new acquisitions in the docks.?

Two minutes later she was back outside, giving NewGuy a smirk as she brushed past him. ?See ya,? she said, mentally adding, ?If you last long enough.?

I can hear the distant thunder of a million unheard souls. Watch each one reach for creature comfort, for the filling of their holes. ? Peter Gabriel

Despite the cover and comfort of the Jeep, he could still see puffs of air as he exhaled. Within minutes, he would be warm and comfortable as the regulators adjusted to his needs. But he was enjoying the cold, the feel of chill in his lungs; all too soon he?d be in a controlled environment with a constant temperature, constant humidity, and unwavering stale taste. He had to enjoy what he had while he had it. The gray clouds above seemed almost white compared to their dark black brethren hovering in the near distance. They looked threatening, foreboding as harbingers of thunder, lightning, and storm-fury are wont to do; he was certain they were shedding their frozen blood in a steady cascade, blood which would congeal and pile on the ground below to become the plaything of children, white shroud of the earth, destroyer of the delicate. Soon, he would be driving over and through that blood, mashing it into the ground, spraying it toward the sides of the road, not realizing that whatever meaning it had, whatever stories it was attempting to tell, were replaced by the sheer inconvenience of simply having to deal with its presence.

Guiding his vehicle over the half-dirt half-mud road, Matt let out a small sigh and turned on the radio. Truthfully, it was more than a radio for it could receive all sorts of signals other than radio waves. If he wanted to unscramble subspace signals or encrypted transmissions, the little gizmo could do it. But for the moment, he wanted to find something to help him relax on the drive, and began flipping through frequencies.

?Join the fundraiser for the Rhydin Public Library held th...,? bellowed a woman?s energetic voice before he cycled again.

?Coming up, the best of new opera on yo...? No. While he may have let Koy drag him to one or two of those, and perhaps enjoyed them, there had to be something better.

?Having another baby? Come down t?? Again, no. He didn?t plan on having to deal with bottles and cribs again. At least not in the near future. Besides, that definitely wasn?t relaxing.

Jerking the steering wheel to the left to avoid a rather large pothole in the road, he dialed up the satellite-feed from the Terran Confederation News Network.

??ther news, increasing reports of heightened Retro activity indicates that the Church of Man has spread beyond outlying systems as they have made attacks on non-military targets deep within the Vega and Gemini sectors. Confed officials report an increasing number of civilian complaints and are increasing cooperation with ISS authorities. Senator Taggart pledg??

He shut the receiver off as wheels hit pavement, happily gripping the solid surface. This stretch would take him all the way to Star?s End. He turned a knob on the steering wheel, directing more energy to the Jeep?s power-plant. As the jeep lurched forward and speed built, he shook his head. Confed could pledge whatever it wanted, but it hadn?t the resources to help any one division of InSystem Security, let alone all of them, to deal with Retros, pirates, or any other threats. He was privy to enough classified information to know that the war was going poorly, that Confed?s forces were stretched too thin. The rookies he?d been training for the past few years were being sent into the field before they were ready for combat and the ever increasing number of burials and dead youth were the price they all were paying. The loss of each ship, of each pilot, was becoming a deeper and deeper cut into an already festering wound; too much more and the body would die. Confed would fall. The war would end.

He reached the black clouds, the gray-whiteness which hung low over the city grew further and further away. He glanced up through the spotted windshield, through the freshly fallen blood, into the wind-churned blackness that looked alive in its fluid and constant movement. He looked back and the city faded from view.

He was again on a road he?d traveled a thousand times before. From his life here, to his life there in that other place. In the place where he and Fate and Death danced on a hair-thin wire, daring each other to lose their balance and fall. The place where there were only memories of what was good, only fragments of what who! was under the gray clouds, what who! had now disappeared in the rearview mirror. He would come and go and go and come and create more memories, only to leave them behind again. And the memories and the comings and goings had grown and grew and would grow large and laugh ? crush him under a weight so tangible he could sometimes feel smothered, gulping for breath that would no longer sustain while the laughter at his futility rang in his ears and through his heart and into his soul where the crushed memories pooled and dripped and died.

He reached Star?s End.

The blood fell over him as he stepped from the Jeep. It darkened his skin, his clothes, his bag. It saturated them, soaked in, stained. He looked up, opened his mouth, and drank it in.

In less than an hour, the planet and city and Koy far behind, he?d instruct the Academy?s latest turnouts on all the tactics he could before they were reassigned to frontline carriers and defense fleets. The fineries of formation flying and other skill-honing techniques had given way to advanced combat tactics. How to use your wingman to sandwich an enemy fighter, how to safely approach enemy capships to avoid turrets and flak cannons, when to launch a missile barrage and when to simply cut and run. At this point in the war, it was more important to live another day than to down that last fighter or finish off a damaged ?sport. He had to do his best to teach others the ultimate Darwinian principal ? kill or be killed. Survive. Spill the blood of the enemy to save your own, to save your race from slavery, from extinction. Carve your way through the hundreds and thousands of faceless ships, of armored metal hunks bristling with weaponry, annihilate them and their creators. He was a master at executing the principle; he excelled at teaching it, at instilling it in those who looked to him for guidance.

He shivered from the cold as the clouds trembled and shed their blood freely, willingly. He licked his lips, tasted the sacrifice from the skies above, felt the chill and the purity as it slid down his throat.

Saturated, the blood of the skies and the fallen washing over and through him, he sucked in one last deep breath of icy air and stepped into the confines of the waiting shuttle.

A good woman will pick you apart
A box full of suggestions for your possible heart.
But you may be offended, and you may be afraid
But don?t walk away, don?t walk away.
--Bright Eyes

There were people who believed Koyliak VanDuran led a glamorous life. Through her connections to her affluent and trendy clients she received invitations to some of the most exclusive social events RhyDin offered. Tonight she would be the guest of honor at Millie & Mallie?s extravagant after party held at one of New Haven?s newest hotspots, Club Shade.

The pictures of fashion and entertainment?s beautiful people gathered together around the bar, on the dance floor, and in the luxurious VIP booths would find their way into tabloids and magazines. Everyone would look like they were having the times of their lives?times only available to those who could afford to live them. They would relish in the envy.

That life looked glamorous indeed and Koy couldn?t wait to escape it. Her professional and personal delights took her to very different extremes. As soon as Daven deemed it socially appropriate, Koy ducked out of the swanky club and hurried towards her preferred hangout, the Outback.

Her business associates never understood how she spent time in such a crude joint. They imagined it had more to do with her love interest, Colonel Simon, who owned and ran the Outback when he wasn?t off fighting whatever war it was that he took part in. It mattered more to them that he was handsome and complimented Koy nicely on those rare occasions where she had him accompany her to one of their events.

For those reasons, Koy called very few of her business associates friends.

Hurrying to the Outback, she hoped Matt hadn?t left for his mission yet. Realistically she knew the chances of finding him there, or anywhere on the planet for that matter, were slim to none. Still, her imagination led her to believe it could be possible he left some important paperwork in his office at the Outback or maybe his mission had been canceled and he decided to find a fight in the rings. It could happen.

Too bad it didn?t.

Koy popped into the Outback to find friendly faces but not the one she wanted to see. Exchanging a few pleasantries, she made a hasty exit and clung to the even slimmer hope that he was still at home. When she reached the landing of their beachside house, she frowned upon finding the door locked and the driveway empty.

He wasn?t home. Though there were plenty of signs he had been as she noticed all the mud he tracked inside throughout the day. Instead of feeling angry at the mess it brought a smile to her face as she could picture how he spent his day before leaving.

Retracing his footsteps through the house, Koy first came upon the last bite of bagel Matt left in the kitchen. Tossing it in the trash and rinsing the plate off in the sink, Koy laughed. Leftovers rarely existed in their house due to Matt?s healthy appetite. She often wondered if her cooking was really as good as he said or what the Confederation fed him was just that bad. Either way, she found it surprising he left anything on his plate before taking off for the long mission.

She would mop the floor tomorrow. Tonight, she wandered through the otherwise tidy rooms of their house. She found the laundry, touched by the gesture more than if he left flowers in a vase for her. Placing the damp pile of clothing left in the cleaner into the dryer, she felt another pang of guilt. Someone sweet enough to understand her quirks, to know that she appreciated folded laundry, didn?t deserve the way she had been acting.

Matt wanted her to share the weight pressing on her. He made it clear time and time again he would always help her bear any burden. She rarely took him up on the offer and she definitely hadn?t shared anything with him about her current troubles regarding MoonBeryl.

Maybe the Opal was right. Maybe Matt of all people would be in the best place to understand her. He loved her and he knew the Opals. He loved her even seeing her in all her screwed up glory. He might not like why she wanted MoonBeryl around but he would find it in him to accept it. He simply had to.

Putting a fresh towel on the rack in the bathroom, Koy washed up before bed. Moving into their bedroom she threw on a tank top and flannel pajama pants, climbing into the bed that was entirely too large to her when Matt wasn?t there to share it. She hugged his pillow close, shutting her eyes and forcing herself to sleep.

The last thoughts that crossed her mind as she eventually drifted off were not MoonBeryl?s. Instead she picked out the words she would use when she fully explained herself to the man who more than deserved to hear them.

Pride breakfasted with plenty, dined with poverty, and supped with infamy ?Ben Franklin

Far from the bottom of Hadrian?s Gorge, one of New Detroit?s many shipyards toiled in a thankless dreary existence, inhaling and expunging vessels, people, lives, and dreams with a monotony that seemed fitting for the planet upon which it was constructed. Most shipyards were old and small, dedicated to mining craft and equipment transports, but two were primarily devoted to civilian use. Estella Tiri?s ships and their crews had docked at Prometheus, the shipyard closest to Hadrian?s Gorge. The complex sat upon a plateau which, created long ago by terra-formers bent upon raping the planet of its virgin and profitable ores, bore no resemblance to its former existence as part of a mountain range. Sandwiched between two large narrow peaks, Prometheus rarely saw the sun?s rays and was instead illuminated by a vast array of floodlights, some rooted into the rock, others hovering on aerial platforms. A network of durasteel girders, their color darkened to a deathly gray from years of exposure to dust and pollutants, formed the outer frame and separated the ship docks from shops and bays where repairs were made, upgrades purchased and installed, and underhanded deals struck. Dust-laden glass, potmarked and covered with years of dust and fine flecks of ore, allowed anyone who looked through them an murky, unspectacular and sorrowful view of the disfigured landscape.

She and her companions had arrived here only an hour before; she presumed that while she was with Scheff, the others had already arranged for their overnight stay and were already drinking themselves stupid in one of the local dive bars or finding some local company with which to spend their time and more than a few credits.

To reach her destination, she had to pass through Bay 7, Dock C, Line 22, Row 4, where her little coterie of ships were stationed. She had quite the little mercenary operation ? 5 Demon-class light fighters, much more nimble than their sturdy square shape suggested, were primarily used to cover the two Centurion-class heavies and her own Orion gunship. The Centurions looked the sleek, powerful and deadly part they played while the Orion, often disparaged as a flying box with engines, made up for ugly and a distinct lack of grace with a powerful assortment of weapons and turrets. The Orion and Centurions were relatively low on cargo space, but between the three, there was usually enough space to smuggle whatever contraband or legitimate goods they?d acquired. If not, she?d usually hire out a Galaxy-class merchant vessel or, if there were no other options, the civilian version of Confed?s Drayman-class transport. Typically, she rented her team and their services to local InSystem Security for patrols and bounty missions that InSys didn?t have the manpower to handle on their own. Occasionally, she?d contract with the Mercenary?s Guild. Now, though, she could think about undertaking riskier, more profitable adventures.

Her trip through the yard was brisk and she literally stopped in mid-stride upon reaching Line 24, Row 1, the home of her new acquisitions. She swallowed hard, delight tingling up and down her spine, veritable waves of pure pleasure shooting through her body as her eyes greedily drank in the sight. Scheff had outdone himself. Not only had he acquired the two Clydesdale-class military transports, he?d made even more modifications than she?d asked for. She could tell that much just by looking at them. The long cylindrical ships, painted a dull metallic black, were dotted with silver tips protruding everywhere from the hull like needles from porcupine. The rear of the transports had been modified and reinforced to hold powerful engines that would, she?d soon learn, allow the ships a maximum velocity of 250 kilometers per second, a full 100kps more than the military version. She could see where additional plasma vents and thrusters had been attached all over the ships to improve its maneuverability.

Forcing herself to walk again, she passed by a gathered crowd who were oogling the ships, alternately praising them and chastising whomever would be stupid enough to take them into space; surely the first Confederation patrol they ran across would seize them and their crews?no, those ships, absolutely bristling with weaponry, would drive back Confederation fighters and perhaps even a corvette or two?no, they?d never be allowed to leave the system, much less the spaceyard. Leaving the crowd behind, she strode across the gangway leading to the outer hatch of the first Clydesdale, the noise of boots on metal music to her delighted ears. These were her ships! She hardly dared believe her luck. She hardly dared dream of the fortunes she could make, of the respect she could?no, would!, garner from her peers.

As she reached the hatch, she turned back toward the crowd. They were curious, and she was enjoying her moment as spectacle. If they didn?t know who the purple-haired woman was standing next to these incredible ships, they soon would. Her reputation was about to soar to new heights. Flashing the throng a wide smile and a saucy wink, she disappeared through the hatch and into the belly of the beast.

It was a day that simultaneously saved and strained their relationship.

Sarah. Matt?s precocious daughter turned out to be the trigger Koy never saw coming. The girl was gifted well beyond her years but the fact remained she was still a little girl. A divorced father, Matt did not get to see his daughter often; Koy only met her once. On that night Matt neglected to tell Koy that Sarah slept peacefully in his room upstairs at the Outback while he oversaw the open rings downstairs. He disappeared into his office to take care of some of the establishment?s more private affairs before he thought to fill Koy in.

Any other day and Koy would have made the connection the moment she saw the girl. But this was the day Koy dreaded the most, the day where she held the least amount of faith in her own sanity. Lirisa?s birthday.

Koy almost made it through the whole day without appearing visibly distressed. She felt proud as she entered the Outback that night, holding conversations with those gathered. She was sober and in control of her actions.

And then Sarah woke up. While her father labored away behind his office door, the small girl appeared in the upstairs balcony, sleepy and disoriented. A few years younger than Lirisa, Koy instantly jumped to the wrong conclusion that her mind was playing tricks on her. No one else noticed as the girl carefully made her way downstairs ? Koy?s mind raced as she saw her guilt and despair manifested in the tiny body coming towards her. Even though Sarah did not have the same features Koy pictured an older Lirisa possessing, the woman?s frail hold on her emotions let her make that leap.

When the reality of the situation finally settled in, Koy found herself engaged in a conversation with the girl that could be described as uncomfortable on her best day. The live-in girlfriend to a man with an estranged daughter was not an easy role to hold. Koy did her best to uphold her end of the awkward exchange until Sarah decided to return to the room instead of having her father catch her out of bed.

She should have known better than to believe that simply staying sober would make the day pass without a hitch. Of the things Koy did well, expressing her real feelings did not make the list. Instead she kept them bottled up until they did what all contents under pressure do when opened: blast the nearest one around them without mercy. In Koy?s case, that was Matt.

The poor colonel could not anticipate what the elf would unleash on him. The smiling woman he left less than an hour ago now glared at him from across the room. She yelled at him for not telling her about Sarah?s surprise arrival without explaining why it bothered her ? hadn?t Koy been the one recently encouraging him to reach out to his children more? Without listening to the perfectly rational explanation for why he hadn?t had the chance to tell her, Koy stormed into the first open ring in desperate need of the temporary relief she got from a good fight.

Anyone who spent enough time around the Outback would eventually witness the masochism of Koyliak VanDuran. She always found it difficult to explain her behavior in a fistfight. The pleasure she received from getting smashed with a swift punch or a quick kick was not kinky or sexual as some liked to imagine. Koy also did not simply stand around and wait for her opponent to strike ? if an opening presented itself, Koy took full advantage of it without any hesitation. She craved the contact, the need to funnel all of her faculties into the physical moment. The more violent the fight, the more Koy escaped her perpetual residence in the past. Dealing with the bodily pain of cuts, bruises, and broken bones was a breeze and a welcome distraction.

With her mind racing in a million and one different directions Koy went round after round, first with Quinn, then Xerzes. Although her body would disagree, she still had not gotten enough. Images of Mikal, Lirisa, and all the ?what if?s? of that fateful day whirled through her head no matter how sore and stiff she felt. The rings closed and the crowd started to disperse. She stalked off to the women?s locker room and for lack of a better way to divert her attention she found a row of metal lockers to take her anger out on.

There are many ways you never want your lover to see you. Throwing your body repeatedly into a metal locker with no other goal but to injure yourself enough to stop thinking for a minute probably ranked up there with getting caught in the arms of another. Unfortunately, this sight greeted Matt when he finally braved the women?s locker room to find the source of all the noise coming from the area. He had seen her hit low points before but tonight she treated him to new depths of her fall towards rock bottom.

After gawking at the scene before him, he finally got her attention. ?Can we talk about this??

It wouldn?t have mattered what he said. Overwhelmed by her emotions and her body?s natural momentum, she swung her fist right at him as she turned to face him. She had punched him within the confines of a ring before in the name of sport and competition, but never like this. However, Matt had not earned the sport?s highest title of Diamond multiple times by sheer luck. Koy caught him off-guard but he deflected the blow on instinct which cost Koy her balance as she fell backwards onto the floor.

As usual, he found a way to get through to her. He looked far from pleased about it too.

?What the &#!% is that about?!?

Panting, she watched wide-eyed as he flushed with anger. It took a lot to get the easy-going man so worked up but Koy managed to find a way. She stammered to apologize but he cut her off, taking command of the situation in much the way she imagined he did aboard his ship. He told her to wait outside by his car while he retrieved Sarah from the room.

They did not talk during the drive home. Koy faced the window, forcing back the few tears threatening to wreak havoc on her eye makeup. She definitely did not cry in front of people, even Matt. Sarah slept through the whole ride, oblivious to the tension between the two adults in the front.

Upstairs in the master bathroom, Koy washed the dried blood, makeup and sweat from her face. She returned to their shared bedroom and waited for Matt as he put his daughter to bed. The way he had looked at her, Koy assumed the worst. It turned out her imagination was simply out of practice.

Matt sat down across from her in the old wicker chair she kept meaning to throw away. He waited for her to start.

?Today was Lirisa?s birthday,? simply and quietly the words made their way past her lips with an ease that surprised her. Her subconscious must have assumed she no longer had anything to lose by revealing the truth now.

Anything she yelled earlier could not have had the same impact of those understated words as he slumped forward in his chair. She watched him mentally rearrange the puzzle of the night?s events now that she had given him the crucial piece.

?Oh, Koy.? He labored for a way to continue on. It took him some time to start again. ?Remember that mission when I was gone for a long time??

She did not follow the connection but she remembered the time well. It had terrified her then that she could miss him as much as she did.

?I went to see Beldron.?

?Ye went all the way ta see my brother? Why?? It was no secret the two most important men in her life did not get along.

?I wanted to find out about Liri...Lirisa. I wanted to find her, bring her back to you if I could. I wanted to give you back that part of you that's gone. Or, at least, find out what happened to her.?

Of all the things she expected to come out of his mouth after tonight, this was not it. Unsure of how to respond, she let him continue.

There was no easy way to break it to her. He chose blunt honesty. ?After...your husband did what he did, she was alive. This old lady, less old at the time, found her hidden. But she'd been exposed to the cold for too long. She...? He choked on the words, thinking about it as though he spoke of his daughter asleep in the other room.

?She died. But she wasn't alone. This woman was there, caring for her. But she died, Koy. I.....I'm sorry.? The last words barely made it out at an audible level. If Matt felt deflated before, he was entirely flat now.

?Huh.? An odd response but the whole thing felt too surreal for her. She stood up and walked towards him, stopping next to his chair and facing out towards their large windows overlooking the sea. ?Why...why didn't the woman tell the guards this at the time?? Koy wanted to make sure this was true and logical. ?When they found Mikal...they never knew 'bout a child.?

?She was afraid they'd think she killed her. I don't know why they'd have thought that, but she didn't seem to like the authoritative body.?

If Koy had heard the story about someone else she would have asked more questions. Instead, she leaned forward, her forehead touching the cold window pane. She closed her eyes, her arms crossed over her chest.

?Deep in my heart, I knew all tha...not the details but tha...well tha she was...? She sighed. She had said it so many times when she considered it as a possibility, but now that it was real she couldn?t string four simple letters together.

Matt hurried to fill her in on his own rationale. ?I haven't told you because...I thought it was nearly worse. I couldn't take her from you. Again. Nobody knows except that woman and me, and God only knows why she told me anything.?

?Dead.? The word caught in her throat as her shoulders silently shook with her quiet sobs. It would surprise him but she understood his motive for not telling her right away.

Matt pushed himself out of the chair with much creaking of bones and wood, stepping behind her to envelop her in his arms. She turned around, burying her face in his chest. It was exactly where she had hoped to end up after the scene tonight but not the way she imagined getting there.

He stood that way with her for most of the night. He let her cry. All the forms of release Koy ravenously searched for paled in comparison to the bittersweet freedom she found in her tears.

The savage wars of peace--
Fill full the mouth of Famine
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
The end for others sought,
Watch sloth and heathen Folly
Bring all your hopes to nought.

?Rudyard Kipling

It didn?t take her long to assemble her crew together; she tapped her left foot with aggravation at the predicament in which Scheff had placed them all, and though the group didn?t know the cause of her irritation, they definitely picked up on her mood. Frowning, she looked each of them over in turn. Bo and Tank Altherr, twin brothers with naturally red hair and hazel eyes, stood to her far left. Both tall and muscular but with a tad too much fat around the middle, she always laughed at how cramped they looked in the small Demon cockpits. Both were good, but not great, pilots, making up for their lack of extraordinary skill with bravery. Fearless almost to the point of stupidity, she was always glad to have the pair at her side in a fight. Carrie Khalfina, another Demon pilot, was a heavyset woman in her forties, the last thing people imagined when picturing a fighter pilot. Her jowls shook when she spoke and her gruff forceful mannerisms were often off-putting to others. Still, she was a master at deal-making and bartering, tools that came in quite handy in their business, especially when dealing with the black market. Next to her stood Marc Strickland, a brash youth short in height but lofty in self-opinion who sought to make a name for himself and build a reputation as a mercenary. Unlike the previous three, who?d been with Estella more than a year, Marc and his Centurion had only joined her operation a few weeks prior. How he?d been able to afford the thing she still couldn?t figure out, but he?d held his own thus far. Meluca Vhen, a hardened Border Worlder who was an ex-Confed combat pilot, had a history as dark and obscure as her thick raven-black hair. Of Greek descent, she had beliefs deeply rooted in the ancient lore of her people, and fought with a ferocity that Estella could only imagine was first displayed by Spartan warriors, or perhaps the gods themselves in their epic battles with the Titans. The last Demon pilot, Zoltan Lachaine, stood a head taller than everyone else and his lanky frame, especially in comparison to Carrie, helped make the lot of them appear motlier than they probably were. Though it wasn?t saying much, Zoltan was the most light-hearted member of her crew; to him, money was secondary to the pure joy and constant opportunity to fly.

The only one missing from the group was Morgan Morel, the other Centurion pilot. Estella could say with confidence that she really didn?t like him much and, given the opportunity, would prefer to replace him. He was too dark and moody for her tastes; he could fly well and shoot even better, but whenever they docked, he holed himself up in a cramped space, pulled out a small book she could never quite get a good look at, and began to read and chant with a persistence and zeal that made her nervous. His hair was light brown and shoulder-length; once, she?d gotten a glimpse of a tattoo on the back of his neck but its meaning and design eluded her. She would wager it had something to do with the book, but she had more important things to worry about, like where the next big payday was, than his strange moods.

?Where?s Morg,? she growled.

Most of them shrugged.

?All right, look, here?s the si?? she stopped when a loud call of her name reached her ears. Turning, she saw Morg, flanked by four men, striding toward her. They all walked in unison, as if in some kind of military formation, and stopped a few feet away.

Anticipating her question, Morg spoke first, ?I ran into Scheff?he told me what was going on. I figured that we?d need someone to crew the ?sports, and I rounded up these fellas. Their backgrounds check out; they?re all experienced, both in navigation and gunnery.?

Her instincts told her something wasn?t right, and it wasn?t just the way they all looked. Even this close, the four men were hardly distinguishable. All had long hair down to the middle of their backs and each wore the same dark maroon trench coats, the same scuffed brown boots, and the same silver ring on their left thumb.

?What, you guys in the same cult?? she couldn?t help it.

She saw a flash of anger in their eyes which disappeared so quickly that she doubted it was even there in the first place. None of them said anything.

?We need them, Stel,? Morg reminded her. ?Especially for this run. If it doesn?t work, we can find someone new at the next port, all right? Besides, they?re making a donation to the cause.? He raised a small green cube, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.

?Confederation IFF codes. They?re new enough to let us pass a radar sweep. If a patrol gets close enough to get visual contact, they may question us. Otherwise, we?ve got a really good shot at making it through Perry unscathed.?

There was the slightest hint of desperation in Morg?s voice, but she dismissed it as his desire to avoid Scheff?s wrath if they failed. And the IFF codes were too good a bargain to pass up, especially since she could really use them. With a frown, she looked at her assembled crew.

?Any of you object??

Nobody did. Turning back to the four, she looked them over again. ?Fine. Introductions later. We?ve got no time to spare. Morg, you take ?em to the ?sports. Nothing better scratch those babies. They?re going to take care of us all for a long time if we take care of them. I'll fill the rest of you in once we're spaceborne.?

She meant what she said, and they all knew it. Morg began to lead the others away, and she shut her eyes for a moment, cursing Scheff for making her do this.

?Hop to it,? she barked at the rest of them, opening her eyes with a piercing glare. I want us all up in the next ten minutes!?

The group scattered. It was time to see if their luck would hold and their fortunes would grow.

Dark too our hearts, O love, shall lie and cold
As his sad heart has lain
Under the moongrey nettles, the black mould
And muttering rain.

?James Joyce

He stepped out of his life and into his life. The entryway sealed behind him, shutting out the cold and the blood of the clouds and the sounds of the spaceport which gave way to the low hum of instruments and engines priming for takeoff. He was surprised to find himself the shuttle?s lone passenger and as he tossed his bag onto a row of chairs, he turned toward the cockpit door to find a bright smile flashed his way.

?Don?t worry, Colonel. We?ll get up to the bucket and have ya on the flightline lickety-split!?

He returned the smile, albeit halfheartedly, and strapped himself in. ?Thanks, Lieutenant. But if I?m late, you?re late. One hopes that your commanding officer will show some understanding?.

His couldn?t hide the joking tone. Lieutenant Jolan Bartee loved flying. Her passion radiated through her smile, her words, her very pores. She would fly anything, anytime, even a ferryboat for an old Colonel who was running behind schedule. It didn?t matter that Matt was her CAG or that the shuttle was a pig compared to the combat fighters. It only mattered that she could guide the pig through the skies and stars, that it was under her control. The purity of her love always made Matt smile, it made him remember a similar feeling he?d had long ago, a feeling he rarely felt in waging war. Part of him was jealous of her. Part of him pitied her.

As colored sky transformed into black void, he unzipped his bag, rummaging for his datapad. At the very least, he could review the mission specs one more time before leading the rookies out. Instead of finding cool metal, his fingers closed around something else. Tugging the object out from underneath his clothes, he found a small blown-glass picture frame in his hand. Within the frame were two small painted portraits on beige backgrounds; one was of Koyliak as a little girl. Her hair, twisted into a long braid, hung over her left shoulder, dangling below her elbow. She was dressed in dirty overalls which hung loosely over a dirtier white shirt and she had a quirky grin etched on her face as she stared at something off to her left. There were trees all around her, their majesty and impressive stature apparent even through the old and fading paint. Three small yellow flowers of a type he?d only seen grow in the Langenfirth Forest grew next to her image, and it seemed as if her fingers accidentally brushed over the delicate petals. He could imagine the scene as if it had happened, as if he had been there. He could hear the giggles merrily dancing from Koy?s lips; he could feel the light breeze, gently bending the flower stalks, dancing over the hair on his arms, pulsing through the thousands of deep green pine needles. He could breathe in the pure air, digest the sweet birdsongs, lose himself in the moment of perfection that he?d never himself known.

The whine of the shuttle?s engines as Lt. Bartee accelerated stirred him back into the shuttle?s confines. His eyes slid to the right, away from the picture, to find something he hadn?t expected. Attached to Koy?s portrait, melded together with thread so delicate it was a work of art in its own right, was one from his own childhood. She must have, he surmised, found a picture of him as a boy and had the portrait created, but he couldn?t remember seeing the image before. Still, too many details were there for her to have formed the scene from her imagination. The scene seemed set in the backyard of his childhood home ? a young poplar, leaves bright gold, was on the left, flanked by a pomegranate tree bursting with ripe fruit. A young Matt, no older than nine or ten, sat in a yard freshly mowed, its borders interspersed with flower-beds filled with Martagon lilies, White jonquil, and Calopogon orchids. A bright red fire truck, the number 14 fiercely emblazoned in white upon the side panel, rested in the foreground, smattered with loose grass blades. His expression, in contrast to Koy?s, was fairly serene. His lips were curved in a small smile, though he wasn?t looking directly at the photographer, and it was hard to miss the mirth dancing in his eyes. It was difficult for him, the adult him, to recall the moment, or even the boy. Much easier to place himself in Koyliak?s world, Koyliak?s memories. His was too distant, too damaged, too long ago.

Lt. Bartee shook him out of the moment a second time, calling back ?the boat?s just ahead, sir. We?ll be on deck in a minute or so.?

?Thanks, Lieutenant,? he answered. ?Report directly to the briefing room and tell Major Novak I?ll be along shortly. He can start going over the specifics if he wants to, I?m not changing the mission specs.?

?Aye, sir,? was the enthusiastic reply. He knew she couldn?t wait to get up on the flightline. After all, the low rumble and slow response of the shuttle couldn?t hold a candle to the purr of a fighter. Laying the frame back into his bag, making sure to slide it back between his clothes for padding, he stared out the window and waited for the belly of the beast to swallow them whole.

Ain't found a way to
Kill me yet
Eyes burn with stinging
Sweat
Seems every path leads me to
Nowhere
Wife and kids household pet
Army green was no safe bet
The bullets scream to me from somewhere

? Jerry Cantrell

The shuttle?s engines shuddered and were silent, their hum replaced by familiar noises reverberating throughout the flight-deck. The high-pitched whine of a catapult as it shot off an Arrow to begin its patrol; the grind of metal upon metal as Tungsten cables scraped across the deck and recoiled in preparation for another launch; the back-and-forth shouting from the deck crews as they carefully negotiated the craft in a slow but complicated dance.

The ship itself, including the hull and most decks was a mix of Tungsten metal?s natural dull gray and steel-blue paint. In the Bruvel?s case, much of that paint was muted with age; there was no need to freshen up the looks of an aging ship in a remote location. Its long rectangular shape was an old but effective design, shared by numerous classes of Confederation capships. Despite its length of service, the Bruvel was still combat-ready should the need arise. Her senior officer, Space Navy Captain Yulef Grazanski, had served several combat tours and knew how to command at a relaxed but effective pace. The ship never suffered because of its age, nor its non-combat duty. Though technically their ranks made them equals (Space Navy Captain was equivalent to Space Force Colonel), Captain Grazanski, by virtue of his position as ship?s commander, was at the top of the food chain. Matt ran a close second and would command the vessel in Captain Grazanski?s absence; as CAG, he was in charge of all squadrons and flight personnel, including the Marine contingents when they sat in as gunnery crew on the heavy fighters and bombers. He hadn?t flown in actual combat for nearly two months, which seemed ludicrous in wartime. He had a feeling, given how poorly the war was going for the Confederation, combat training would soon give way to simple trial by fire. He did not relish the coming of that day.

Lieutenant Bartee had already darted off, heading for the briefing room where he?d join her and the rest of the squadron pilots in a few minutes. He let out a sigh and slung his bag over his shoulder, a few remaining drops of melted snow cascading down, splattering onto the deck, evaporating in a death of the unseen. He crossed the deck, electing to walk down the metal stairs to the repair deck and again to the first of the crew decks. Most of the briefing rooms were there, allowing quick access to the flightline. He had the route memorized and was walking it on instinct, lost in thought to the point where he didn?t even see the other man until they?d nearly collided. He took a quick step to his left but stumbled when his bag shifted from his shoulder to the crook of his elbow, knocking him off balance. The other man caught him before he struck the wall with his shoulder, pulling him back upright.

?Colonel, sorry about that, sir. You all right??

?Yeah, it?s my fault,? he answered, even before looking up to see who was speaking. ?Don?t wo?Eric!?

He broke into a smile at the sandy-haired dimple-faced Gunnery Sergeant. Eric Nichols may not have looked the part of a Marine, but the man was a crack-shot turret gunner.

?You run that latest sim I gave ya, Colonel??

A few months ago, scratching an itch he?d long had just to try it, Matt had convinced Eric to let him pull a few missions as a gunner in exchange for some off-the-books flying lessons. Matt had yet to actually take a mission in the gunner?s seat, preferring instead to increase his skill at the job which, admittedly, was barely above average. He found it much easier to shoot at targets when he was controlling the ship, rather than constantly adjusting the turret?s rotation and angle to the pilot?s whims and maneuvers.

?Twice. Eighty-percent both times,? Matt shook his head. ?Whenever they bring in four or more targets, we get overwhelmed and I can?t keep ?em off the tail long enough to protect the armor.?

?Keep at it, Colonel,? Eric?s eyes twinkled. ?That one ain?t easy. Even I only got a 98 on my first run-through.?

Matt laughed and shoved his bag at his friend, who, with quick reflexes, saved it from crashing to the ground.

?Drop that by my office, would ya? I?m late as it is.?

?No problem, sir. When you get back, come find me. I?ll run through that sim with you.?

?Deal. Thanks, Eric.?

The two men parted, each jogging in opposite directions. A few moments later, Matt reached the door to the briefing room. Sucking in a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped through.

I read the body count out of the paper
And now it?s written all over my face
No one ever plans to sleep out in the gutter
Sometimes that?s just the most comfortable place
--Bright Eyes

?You are overreacting, Koyliak.?

?Am I??

Like everything else in his existence, MoonBeryl knew he simply had to wait it out. This was not the first time the elf blamed him for her actions. She was right to do so, though he would never tell her that.

For the second time in their twisted relationship he had caused her to miss the Diamond Quest.

Of course, an outside observer might have chosen the word ?forced? instead to explain what happened.

?I don?t know why I ever listen ta ye.? Even Koy?s thoughts sounded exhausted.

?That is a lie and you know it.?

An exasperated sigh came from her mouth as she sunk onto a stool behind the Outback?s bar. Too guilty to sleep the night before, Koy had stayed awake and finished a full day?s work before noon. She left the shop in Tula?s hands for the rest of the afternoon and returned to the Outback under the guise of needing to clean up what was still left from the previous night?s brawl.

What was one more lie?

Forgoing a glass, Koy drank her whiskey straight from the bottle. She was reverting back to her worst habits, a frustrated attempt to spite Matt, spite MoonBeryl, and most of all to spite herself. Why wouldn?t he come back to yell at her?

?It jest doesn?t feel right,? Koy finally replied, not disagreeing with the Opal.

MoonBeryl saw his opportunity to turn her back around and into the welcoming embrace of his honey-dripped voice. ?You are misplacing your feelings. There is more immediate satisfaction in anger and blame set on a tangible thing. It feels too empty to admit when your world looks hopeless.?

She said nothing, her agreement implicit in her silence.

?There will always be moments where you feel your loss much more than others. Last night, for example. Matthew lived for a chance to test his mettle against the best of the sport. The Quest made you remember that you cannot always pretend everything is all right. The memory hurts no less for the repeated lesson.?

He could have shared ShadoWeaver?s insight on the situation with her but he was keeping his trump card hidden for the moment. He didn?t need it when she was this vulnerable.

Koy stood up, clutching the bottle to her. She had drunk enough whiskey to bring an uneven swagger to her steps.

?There is no shame in wanting to keep some things the same, to keep old comforts close.? His quiet insistence tied her desire to continue to hold him to her desire to drink.

Her resigned sigh made him preen, another small victory for the stone.

She swayed her way into Matt?s office, finding even more comforts inside. Koy had replaced the mirror as well as the radio after a recent trip to the Marketplace. With little grace she dumped herself into Matt?s chair and rested the whiskey bottle against her stomach. She stretched her hands out on either side of the chair, gripping the arm rests and leaning her head back.

Out of another familiar habit she had left the radio on the TCNN with the volume low. The last half hour had been dedicated to a program playing old battle songs. Even Confed needed a break from news of the war once in awhile.

Closing her eyes, Koy tuned out the music and focused on sitting. If she stayed very still she swore she could feel Matt?s breath on her neck, his lips against her skin. It was an excruciatingly wonderful fraction of a second.

?We interrupt this program for a breaking news announcement,? the breathlessness of the voice on the radio pulled Koy out of her reverie. The enthusiasm in the announcer?s voice sounded out of place for the typically somber journalists. ?The War is over! The Kilrathi have surrendered!?

The forest-green eyes opened at that. She gave the whiskey bottle a dirty look. ?Tha?s a mean trick ta play.? She knew she was drunk.

?I heard it too.?

She stood up as though that would help her hearing. The announcer remembered himself and began delving into the details with more control. He went on about a desperate last-ditch effort by Confed after losing the Behemoth that led to some terrible sounding bomb being dropped by some terrible sounding man on the Kilrathi planet.

Koy only listened until someone reaffirmed the bigger picture: the war was over.

Clicking the radio off, Koy shook her head, glancing up at some invisible deity beyond the Outback?s second floor. ?Wha a clever lil joke.?

?You really think whatever Gods you believe in have spent all this time plotting and planning against you?? MoonBeryl again chose not to relieve her with ShadoWeaver?s premonition.

?Mebbe not. Who am I in the grand scheme of things??

MoonBeryl wished he knew the answer to that himself.

She weaved her way out of the office with her bottle in hand, stepping over her own feet in the process. Getting some distance between her and the announcers who continued to cheer without mention of the dead, Koy tripped over the control that opened and closed the Pit.

When the Outback?s dirtiest ring was revealed in all its stinking glory, Koy stood at the edge of it, rocking back and forth lightly on the balls of her feet.

?Stop thinking that way,? MoonBeryl admonished. He had heard Koy comparing the appearance of the Pit with how she felt about herself: rotten to the core.

?Why?? She continued rocking, ever the petulant child.

?Because I have seen where that train of thought takes you.? It disturbed him to admit it but the last thing he wanted was for the elf to seriously hurt herself. Not now while she could still be of use to him.

?Iffn ye don?t like ?em, stop listenin? ta ?em.? Koy hit the switch again with the tip of her shoe. She watched, entranced. Alcohol would do that to a girl. ?It?s funny how easy it is ta cover up the crap,? she commented as the lid moved to conceal the grotesque things that lived in the Pit.

?I did not take you for a poet, Koyliak.? If MoonBeryl had eyes he would be rolling them at the way she compared the Pit not only to herself but to Confed.

She flicked her foot against the control again, causing the gears to groan as they pulled back the lid once more. She found it amusing as the cover made its slow progression back from the center of the ring. ?But at the end of the day, it?s ?lways there.?

Was she making sense? Probably not but aggravating MoonBeryl was the least of her concerns. She hit the control yet again and moved closer to get one last look at her metaphorical insides.

Her plaid-patterned flats were extremely cute as far as shoes went but they had no traction. She misplaced her foot, sliding against the top of the thick muck that lined the Pit?s walls. Sober, she would have righted herself quickly. Doused in whiskey, she was falling forward, her reflexes kicking in at the last second to remind her to extend her hands and grab onto the moving lid, losing the bottle to the depths below.

Her legs dangled over the expanse of mud and weevils. She was not panicked though even as the lid pressed on, seeking out the wall with no regards to crushing an elf in its way. Her hold on the lid was not strong but her head was above it, allowing her to see the control.

?Shall I help you?? MoonBeryl wondered if he finally had an opportunity to give Koyliak a brief taste of his powers, something she never let him do.

?Don?t ye dare.? It was a line she was not prepared to cross. He did not try to push the issue.

When the lid got close enough to the wall, she threw her body to it, getting a face full of mud for her efforts. She kicked her legs out, expecting to find the ladder that led into the Pit underneath her. She had forgotten it was on the other side of the ring. There was no longer room to lift her head or the rest of her body up. Having mistimed her movements, it was all she could do to reach one hand up and grope around, finding the control. She managed to turn it off, leaving the lid mere inches from the wall. She dropped to the bottom of the Pit with a painful thud.

?You know you could have held on longer,? MoonBeryl was quick to point out.

?Aye, but mebbe this is where I belong.?

To be, or not to be, -- that is the question: --
Whether ?tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? ? To die, to sleep, --
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, -- ?tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish?d. To die, to sleep; --
To sleep, perchance to dream: -- ay, there?s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
-- Hamlet, III.i.


?This is an odd place for peace, child.? MoonBeryl stated in disbelief as he watched Koyliak settle into her temporary home, brushing off those weevils bold enough to slither over their new neighbor.

?I?m not at peace. This is simply a needed reprieve, bub.? She was well past filthy at this point and her clothes were beyond saving. She sat against the wall, the thick mud draped over her back and shoulders in a robe befitting the self-appointed Queen of the Pit.

?I wish you would not call me that. It is a term that belongs to the peasants.?

Koy laughed. It was not that her mood was any lighter than before her fall?she only felt more at ease having dark thoughts in an equally dark place. ?I didn?t take ye fer an aristocrat.?

MoonBeryl groaned, refusing to even validate the comment with a direct response. ?It cannot be healthy for your kind to stay cooped up in here for long.?

?I?ll be?ye tellin? me ye?re worried ?bout my well-bein?? What little light trespassed through the slit above serving as an opening to the ring fell on MoonBeryl, balanced above the muck on her lap. The yellow stone?s surface sucked in the light without return, an eerie gleam falling over his polished features. It was one of the only things Koy could see. ?Normally I?d be flattered, but knowin? yer kind, I?m disturbed. The lot of ye aren?t the carin? type.?

He would not argue with her. He wanted her to believe it was the two of them against the world, not her against the Opals. ?Do not lump me in with my siblings. We cannot help our relations, Koyliak. Surely, you can understand that.? Koy spent a good deal of her time arguing in letters and in person with her brother over her disdain for their father. MoonBeryl was quick to capitalize on comparing her situation to his.

?No, tha we can?t.? Koy?s thoughts drifted back to her most recent visit home. Afraid of what she would do this year on Lirisa?s birthday without Matt around to keep her sane, Koy had taken off for the small cottage on the outskirts of Langenfirth that once belonged to her grandparents. Its sentimental value made the cottage impossible to sell, though only her brother visited it every few months to ensure it was still standing.

?This is silly, Koyla. Why doncha come back ta the house with me instead of stayin? cooped up all ?lone here like some crazed hermit? Ya know Isa and the kids would love ta see ya.? Beldron watched his baby sister attack a horde of dust bunnies with a cloth before restacking the pantry shelves with the groceries she had picked up in town.

?Is he still there?? Koy loved her sister-in-law, as well as her nephew and niece, though it did pain her sometimes to see her brother?s daughter the way all young girls tightened the vice squeezing her heart. They weren?t the ones she wanted to avoid.

Beldron sighed, having had this conversation with his stubborn sister more times than he cared to count. ?Iffn yar talkin? ?bout our father, the man who helped bring us inta this world and cared fer us all those years, than aye, he?s still stayin? at the house.?

Koy stopped stacking the canned goods on the shelf to stare at Beldron, piercing him with the intensity of the Aldamiras eyes both had inherited. ?Mama brought us inta the world, Beld. All Kenneth did was make two deposits.? She rarely spoke of anything related to their mother, the beautiful Sienna Nel Aldamiras, in such crude terms. She felt a pang of guilt but her anger at the very mention of her father quickly replaced it.

Beldron, having always been the more forgiving of the two, swallowed down his own irritation at her words. His large hands fell on both of her shoulders, silently noting how much bonier they had become since her last visit before Matt?s disappearance. He gently forced her to stop what she was doing, turning her towards him so that she could see his face.

?Ya have good reasons ta rage, Koyla, but how long can ya stay in tha state? It?ll consume ya. Pops has made mistakes, massive ones at tha, but only after Mama died. Don?t discount all those good years before when ya thought the sun and the moon of ?em.?

?Tha was a long time ?go, Beld. Ye can?t jest let things slide ?cause of history.? She hated how even-headed and logical her brother could be. Part of her longed to go along with him, to work at accepting her father the way Beldron had, but their experiences were too different. When Kenneth VanDuran succumbed to his wanderlust to grieve over the sudden death of Sienna, Beldron had been a grown man with a loving wife and son. Koy on the other hand was a young, na?ve newlywed drowning in a marriage her father had helped to arrange.

Koy blamed Kenneth for not being there when she needed him most. When he first resurfaced almost two years later, Koy went the distance and extended herself to him. He had tracked her down in RhyDin after her engagement to Mikal. Shortly after the birth of his granddaughter, he skipped town without notice.

He couldn?t have known in less than a year Koy would lose her husband and her child unnecessarily. But she could not let go of the blame. She saw no reason to try again now that he had returned to Langenfirth. Kenneth managed to only appear for the good times, leaving poor Beldron behind to help her through the dark ones.

?Listen, I have ta get back fer a bit. I promised ta take Connar fishin?. Iffn ya don?t want me ta say anythin? ?bout ya bein? here ta Pops, well I think yar wrong but I won?t. Ya will be here in one piece when I get back, aye?? He gave her a stern look. It seemed her brother had been reminiscing as well.

?I won?t do anythin? rash. Not on yer watch, anyway.?

?I guess I?ll have ta take wha I can get.? He pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. ?He?ll be back, Koyla. Ya know I don?t usually see eye ta eye with Matt but even I know better than ta think he wouldn?t come back fer ya.? He offered her a weak grin before heading out the same way he came in. He gave her one last look from the doorway as though he were afraid he might not see her again.

?He was not wrong to look at you that way, was he?? Privy to her memories as well as her thoughts, MoonBeryl interjected his own question, passing the time in the Pit.

?No, I suppose not,? she admitted quietly.

He did not ask another question. The silence was enough to prompt another memory, one she stuffed into a rarely seen corner of her mind.

It didn?t come to her so much in details as it did in emotions. First and foremost there was despair. Alone in an inn room in Riverhaven having already spent weeks searching for any trace of Lirisa after the guards found Mikal?s decomposing corpse. Nothing. Devasted. Hopeless.

Rays of wintery sunlight attempted to penetrate the room?s dusty blinds to no avail. She was alone. Bleak. Colorless.

A small child could not have survived outside this long. She toyed with the skinning knife Beldron had once given her as a gift, carving unseemly shapes into the worn-down desk in the room. What could possibly hold her world together without her daughter?

She was spinning without rising from her chair. Dizzy. Numb. Somewhere, a knife found its way to the thin flesh on the underside of a right wrist.

Useless. Tired. Departed.

It was not until she looked down that she noticed the vertical cut she had made along her own wrist. The sight of blood brought her back to herself. What was she doing? What if Lirisa was still out there somewhere, waiting for a mother who would never come?

This was wrong.

?You went for help.? MoonBeryl finished the story for her. It was not one she shared, not even with Matt. Aside from Beldron and his wife, she had only told it to Stick long ago when they were comparing their deepest scars.

Koy removed the bracelet on her wrist, revealing the pale skin underneath. The bracelet had protected it from the Pit?s mud. The thin line running down it was barely visible. Koy had become adept at keeping it covered or twisting it away from sight. ?Aye, I got help.?

She almost thought she heard the yellow Opal sigh in much the way her brother had. ?You are surprisingly strong sometimes, Koyliak.? If there were any hint of admiration for his holder, MoonBeryl masked it well.

She settled back against the wall, squirming to get as comfortable as she possibly could. Her head was swimming in whiskey and darkness, her eyelids closing from the pressure.

?I am not strong nor am I brave. I am a coward ?fraid of the future.?

?You may be scared but you will find your way again. You always do.?

She yawned, unable to resist the tug of sleep. ?Tha?s jest it. I?m scared ?cause I don?t know iffn I?ll hit a dead end or not.?

?There is only one way to find out.?

Had she been more awake she would have questioned his uplifting pep talk. As it were, she started breathing heavier than before, the thought floating around aimlessly in her mind, lost to a sea of painful questions and possibilities.

She murmured a prayer for Matt and a prayer for herself. She asked for a sleep devoid of dreams.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
-- Hamlet, III.i.

The night spun in shades of darkness she had never seen before, save for the dim light of a pale and noisy moon.

?You will find no night sky here, no moon either. There is nothing here save the dreams of a drunkard.? MoonBeryl found Koy was testing his patience, the slumbering elf stooped over, her body bent in half as she dozed. He hated her for the uncharacteristic strain on one of his most prized qualities.

?And ye?re sure this isn?t a dream too?? Koy was coming out of her drunken stupor, having hit that moment where she would swear she was sober until a few more hours of sleep would prove how wrong her earlier assessment of her faculties had been.

?Unfortunately for you, no, it is not.?

****

The raw timbre of bodies hitting bodies, the muffled mash-up of raucous laughter and filthy curse words, drinks poured and guzzled?these sounds surrounded Koy and made her claustrophobic. The noise came from up above but these were no angels with gilded wings. They were the sounds of the Outback?s patrons geared up for a night of fighting, sounds she usually loved to hear.

?Shall I help you now??

?No.?

Koy would find her own way, dragging her mud-covered body up the ladder. She banged her fist against the metal covering until her hand burned and scraps of skin peeled away.

She wanted out.

****

The Thing That Came From the Pit was eventually released by Chryrie and Des. True to the heart of what it meant to be a Daughter of Decadence, Charlie and PJ quickly ushered Koy into the locker room to salvage what little dignity she had left as they tossed her into the shower.

She didn?t feel the cold water pelt her body, the muck clumping around the drain as it slid off her.

?Koy, we need to talk.? Charlie took up a lean against the doorway, turning towards the side and dropping her gaze to her boots to give Koy some measure of privacy. ?You got to stop this self-destructive crap. We've got to actually do something.?

?There's really not much of anythin' ta do.? Scarily calm, a newly cleaned hand groped outside of the shower stall for a towel.

?There has to be something we can do. We don't have to play by their rules. You find me somebody who knows something and I will make him talk. We don't even have to hurt anybody. Do you know that like ninety-percent of the time state secrets aren't leaked by torture but by pillow talk? We can do this. I don't understand why you're so willing to give up.? Charlie decided it was time to finally push Koy and see if the elf would push back.

?No ye don't understand. The war is over.? She did not cry or scream. She laughed. It was frightening. ?Imagine tha. All said and done, everyone goes home happy.?

?And what if he's locked up in some prison somewhere waiting for somebody to come rescue him? What then, Koy? How can you just leave him out there? Just write him off? This is pathetic. You're too busy wallowing in your own self pity while the man who loves you, who'd do anything for you, who'd willingly die for your sorry ass is holed up somewhere alone. Drown your sorrows in alcohol. Let every prick that walks through this building beat you up. I thought you were more of a woman than that.?

PJ stood off to the side with fresh clothes for Koy. She was waiting to see if she would need to intervene, though her head bobbed in agreement with the Viceroy.

?Tha's it. All nice and neat and done, no sweat fer Confed.? Koy had a one-track mind as she dried off, suddenly feeling very exposed. It wasn?t until she put on the clothes PJ had brought out that she registered what Charlie had said. She whipped around, red in the face from both her anger and the lingering whiskey in her system. ?It?s not tha easy!? She clenched her fist and cocked it back, ready to sock Charlie when she caught herself. ?Iffn I go and find out he's dead...I don't know wha I'm gonna do.? Her fist fell back to her side, her fear holding more power than her anger.

?No, it is that easy, Legs. You gave up on him because it's easier than knowing the truth. The truth is that Matt loves you and would do anything to come back home to you and you owe it to him to not be such a drunk, pathetic loser. Get up off your ass and let's find out what the hell happened to him.? The Viceroy was relentless. Later when she could remove herself and reflect on the situation, Koy would be quite touched by her concern -- they all had their own strange ways of showing they cared.

In the moment it was happening though Koy was steaming mad. Her fist found its way despite her previous restraint, nailing Charlie in the shoulder. ?I am not givin' up on him!?

Charlie bit down hard on her lower lip as she took the blow, stumbling back a step and pausing a moment to collect herself before hissing at Koy once more. ?You have! Pathetic, Koy. Absolutely pathetic. He deserves more than this. He deserves a woman who would fight for him, who would never give up on him, who would want to know the truth.?

PJ moved a little more into the doorway, ready to dive between punching friends when and if the hits got out of hand. For now she thought a little violence would be cathartic for both the Legislator and the Viceroy.

?Shut up, Charlie!? Koy?s fist was flying again for lack of a Confed target.

Within the confines of the locker room, Koy?s cross connected with Charlie's mouth and pushed her into the wall of the shower. This time several incoherent curses came from the blonde bombshell. A hand reached up to gingerly touch her busted lip and then both hands reached out in an attempt to roughly shove Koy back, her words following up with the same intent. ?What? Is it not true, Legs? Have you not given up without a fight? Are you not just some pathetic drunk??

?Gods 'bove, Viceroy, stop it!? She really didn't like hitting Charlie but she couldn't help herself. She forcibly took a step back before wailing on her friend some more. ?I want ta find 'em. I found a name. I jest can't...? The words "bring myself ta hear the truth" almost slipped past her guarded lips but Koy kept them in check, slamming a locker door shut in frustration instead. She wanted to hit it but putting her fist through things didn?t seem to do her much good lately.

?Can't what?? PJ blatantly asked, tired of playing the on-hand referee. An exasperated Charlie turned over the reins, sliding down into a seated position against the wall with a heavy sigh as PJ continued. ?Can't what Koy??

Koy covered her eyes for a moment with both hands, pressing them up and over her face, winding their way down through her damp curls. ?I'm pathetic, I'm a loser, I'm undeservin' of all tha love and all those things ye said. Iffn this guy I found comes back ta me and confirms wha my mind imagines ta be true...I do not think I can survive through tha.? In a brief burst of pro-activism, Koy had searched through Matt?s papers until she came across an e-mail address for Christopher Novak. Koy recognized the name, having listened to Matt talk about his right-hand man on more than one occasion.

She had been sitting on the information for over a week, too afraid to make contact. It would only take one word to Tula, a simple act of asking the girl to show her how to send a message on Matt?s computer, but she feared the small action would lead to an avalanche. If Koy?s life was going to collapse in on itself at least it would be on her own terms through her imagined reality.

?Christ, Koy...at least wait for confirmation before writing yourself off...? PJ saw Koy?s explanation for the defeatist load it was. Quietly, she made a surprising request. ?Have a little...faith.?

?You can survive anything, Koy. You're the strongest woman I know. And we'll be here every step of the way but... this... this has got to stop. You need the truth.? Charlie chimed in breathlessly.

Koy leaned her head back against the lockers. ?Wha iffn I don't want ta survive.? It was neither a question nor a melodramatic cry for help. It was a truthful statement tucked into a calm exhalation of breath.

?Well, take it from somebody who has been there and is on her way back, death isn't any easier than life... or at least it wasn't when I did it but I had all sorts of unresolved issues.? Charlie did not try to coddle or dissuade Koy.

?I will survive. Tha's wha I do. I'm the survivor.?

?And you think Matt isn't? Dude... it?s what brought you two together... isn't it?? PJ took over the interrogation once more. Charlie stayed silent, drawing her knees towards her chest as she wiped at her bloody bottom lip.

The question distracted Koy, bringing out an honest answer as she nodded. ?Iffn anyone's ever gonna make good on his word ta come back ta me, it's Matt.?

?Then why are you giving up?? PJ asked, seeking more than just an answer from Koy. If anything she was looking for a lead and a lesson in her own life.

Koy would not be much of an inspiring teacher tonight. ?It's not givin' up as much as it's?everyone says they want the truth but most people don't really want ta hear it. There's more room fer hope in not knowin'.?

With no small amount of effort, Charlie pushed herself to her feet and snagged the sweater she'd left on a bench, having heard enough. ?So we're going to go find him. Decision made. Now let's get out of the goddamn bathroom.?

****

Stick was known for her once infamous temper, for her skills inside the confines of a ring, and for her oddly compatible relationship with Harris. On this night, Koy experienced an attribute of Stick?s that was not as well known ? her impeccable sense of timing.

Koy hadn?t seen her friend as much once motherhood and her dojo shifted Stick?s priorities away from the dueling arenas. For her part, Koy was a loyal friend but a busy woman. She was not good about going outside her packed work schedule to drop in for tea, take an afternoon in the park, or do whatever it was that other women typically did. To the elf a real friendship had little to do with time or location. Had it taken ten years before she crossed paths with Stick again, Koy would have picked up right where they left off.

Luckily for Koy, it didn?t take another decade. The only person in RhyDin who understood just how far Koy could go when she felt hopeless was sitting right in front of her at the Outback when she emerged from the locker room.

As though their respective scars linked them together, sending and receiving distress signals along invisible airwaves, Stick appeared when Koy needed her most. Waiting until she could talk to Stick alone, Koy tried to downplay the situation as she filled her in on the details of the last several months. Stick?s attempts at optimistic possibilities only lasted so long as she reached the same conclusion Koy had ? if the war were over, Matt would have been able to come home, or at the very least, sent some message that he was safe.

Knowing there were no words that would have given Koy cheer, Stick slid her chair over to the elf?s, embracing her in a hug. Koy did not move away, though she sighed, her earlier conversation with the Viceroy (there had been some words in between all the punching to call it that) weighing on her. ?Charlie's right, I'm really doin' 'em a disservice. Iffn the roles were reversed, I'm sure Matt would be out lookin' fer me.?

Stick rested her hands on Koy's forearm. ?Is there a way you can look for him? If he's, like?? and she waved up at the sky to demonstrate where Matt might literally be.

?Tha's the main problem. Even iffn I were a space pilot, I wouldn't have the faintest idea where ta start.?

?Right, so what is comparing yourself to him going to do? If you were missing, you'd probably be within ten miles of the city, and he probably has eighteen bajillion gadgets he could use to find you.? Contrary to popular belief, Stick could be rather clear-headed and see straight to the heart of the matter. Koy?s rationale had been in the same place, though it did her good to hear it from someone else?s mouth.

?I found the address fer his...Major? At least I think tha?s his rank. I'd hope he'd know somethin' else but part of me doesn't want ta go only ta find out Matt's dead.? The night?s events had exhausted her, making it next to impossible to maintain her earlier guard about her thoughts as they tumbled out. They were numb on her tongue and in her ears.

Stick looked down at her own hands, her eyes drifting to Koy's wrist and the secrets written along her flesh. ?I don't know if I would want to find out either but if he is...you're going to find out anyway.? She knew full well that wasn't necessarily true, but the alternative seemed worse.

Koy?s gaze followed Stick's, frowning at what they both understood without saying it outright. ?Aye, and I don't know wha choice I'm gonna make iffn I don't hear wha I want.? The words lingered in the air, not a threat but another fact that Stick already realized on her own.

The woman didn?t miss a beat. ?Your choice is to come back here, directly to us.? It was a firm order, though she did not raise her voice.

?Mmm.? Koy?s intonation was completely neutral, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. She knew it was a selfish thing to say and think, but she was being honest.

Stick blinked, glancing away from Koy. The elf did not make it easy to be her friend. ?I...? She stared up at the ceiling, taking a hand from Koy's wrist to subtly wipe at her eyes, gathering her composure. ?Listen to me. I can't insult you for thinking about it because if anything happened to Harris, and there was no Stefan, I couldn't say I would think differently. But promise me- Koy, for the love of ^@#$*#%^ god, promise me- promise me you'll come back before you?decide.?

The outright demand combined with Stick being dangerously close to tears surprised Koy. Maybe motherhood had changed Stick more than she had first thought. Koy turned in her seat to fully face her, actually listening.

Only when she saw she had Koy?s full attention did Stick feel comfortable looking the elf in the face. She blinked again to clear her vision. ?Do not do anything alone in the middle of nowhere.?

The message packed more layers of meaning than the casual observer could have ever guessed. They both spent a fraction of a second in that dilapidated Riverhaven inn where Koy?s desperation had left a crimson stain along the desktop and the unpolished floorboards before Koy brought them back to the present.

?But then ye might stop me.? A grim smile crossed Koy?s face. It was a terrible joke to make and she regretted it instantly. She placed her hand over Stick's, her voice softening. ?It's jest talk, Stick. Idle thoughts of an addled mind.?

?It?s just talk because you don't know yet.? Stick took the opposite tone from Koy's, her eyes unwavering and zeroed in on the elf.

?Ok, ok.? Koy couldn't stand up to the look and she didn't really want to try. ?I promise, all right??

Satisfied for the moment, Stick nodded and watched a spot in the distance, just to the side of Koy's cheek. ?Alright. You're smart enough to get around me trying to stop you anyway and I'd hate to have to disown you for breaking your promise.? The barest glimmer of a smile broke through though it was nothing more than proof of a sense of humor.

?I imagine I'd have the sounds of ye cursin' stuck in my ears fer all eternity iffn tha happened.? Koy found comfort in returning to their typical banter.

?I might be able to pull some strings in the afterlife.?

?I don't doubt it.?

Stick took the opportunity to press on about the immediate problem at hand. ?You do need to send a message to that major guy, though. After all, for all you know, he may tell you he's not allowed to say anything.?

Charlie, PJ, Stick ? they were all right to push Koy to action. Deep down, she wanted to be pushed. Still, she sighed at what she saw to be the inevitable truth. ?I know, I know. I jest gotta get up my nerve. Once I put it out there, I can't take it back.?

?Compared to everything else we can't take back, sending a message to a guy who's almost certain to say he can't tell you anything isn't a big deal.? Stick gave Koy's wrist a shake though she was putting more stock in the statement than she knew it deserved.

?Right.? Koy tried to sound confident. She wondered how long it would take for her to find enough courage to give movement and weight to her stale words.

At vindicta bonum vita jucundius ipsa nempe hoc indocti.

Satires (XIII, 180)

Estella Tiri let out a long and loud string of curses over the comm. system, shoving the Orion?s throttle forward.

Retros. She was learning to truly hate them. Over the last six months since she?d first acquired the Clydesdales, they?d proven a true thorn in her side. The money and jobs had poured in from all directions. They were all becoming very wealthy, very fast. She and her cohorts had fended off the expected attacks from pirates, the occasional bounty hunter hired by a rival mercenary contractor, and InSystem Security forces stupid enough to try and detain them. Those engagements, relatively few and far between, were minor annoyances compared to the fanatics from the Church of Man. Retro activity had increased over the past year, especially in the Gemini Sector, as the Church pushed one of its largest recruiting drives. The doctrine of the Church itself was fairly extreme ? destroy all technology and those who supported its use. Church members looked upon technology as the downfall of humanity and sought to eliminate it in any and all forms. Though they used technology to destroy it, each sect had various ways of absolving themselves from the sin, and took solace in the knowledge that they were utilizing evil to destroy itself.

Some splinter groups had taken the doctrine even further; one in particular had attacked her troop several times in the last month. They called themselves The Order of the Golden Dawn after the 19th century hermetic group. The Retro version of the Order had adopted their predecessors? teachings, focusing greatly upon one axiom in particular, ?Modernity is so pervasive and omnipotent so universal and absolute in its power, that it justifies in advance all hostile responses to it?. That mantra, broadcast by the Retro commander before every attack, was also receiving a great deal of coverage on the news networks. The Order was becoming a force in Gemini, much more than a simple annoyance. To Estella though, it didn?t matter which sect she ran across; one Retro was the same as another, backward, deluded, and better off dead.

The pack that quickly approached was no different. Estella didn?t bother barking orders to the rest of the ships; they?d all been through this drill enough over the past few months to have it down pat. The Clydesdales would break off with Tank and Carrie as close-escorts for protection. Everyone else would hit the Retros hard and fast; Church pilots typically flew in Talons, small light fighters that couldn?t withstand much punishment but were cheap to purchase. To make up for their lack of firepower and armor, they often flew in large groups. Thus far, Estella?s company had repelled these attacks, but the price they paid kept increasing. It wasn?t just the extra docking fees, the cost of repairs to the Clydesdales and their own fighters, or the expense of ammunition and weapons upgrades. Zoltan Lachaine had lost his life in a Retro attack the previous week, ending their months-long elation and feelings of invulnerability. Since that moment, she?d wanted little more than to annihilate each and every Retro she ran across. The sense of personal loss didn?t drive her toward that goal ? Zoltan could be replaced, of course, but at an irritating effort and cost ? no, the fact that the Retros had sullied their (her!) streak of good fortune was reason enough.

This was her first chance at payback. She intended to make the most of it.

Hey, I know I made the same mistake.
Hey, I won?t do it again. No.
Hey, you had time to think it out. Yeah.
Hey, your weak will won?t help her heal her heart.
Hey, I bet it really eats you up.

? Layne Staley

?Eveybody comfy in their new rides??

Aside from the Clydesdales and her own Orion, everyone else had elected to purchase Centurions at the Junction shipyard. Each carried two full tubes of Leech missiles and at least two Leech Cannon. The Leech series of weaponry was aptly named; instead of directly damaging shields and armor, Leech went after power plants and electrical systems. If a vessel took enough Leech damage, its systems would drain and lose all power. Leech was a favored weapon for missions where vessels were to be captured intact, or boarded and raided. Pirates loved the Leech. She hoped she could use it effectively.

She had no idea how much punishment a Confederation carrier could withstand or if they?d brought enough along. After consulting with the others, they?d come up with the idea to use conventional weaponry to douse the carrier?s shields after which they?d start to use the Leech. Two Clydesdales, six heavy fighters, and her own gunship. It?d have to suffice. They were a small enough contingent to strike quickly; they?d rely on the transports to deal the bulk of the damage and they?d focus on keeping the carrier?s fighters at bay. There was no middle ground on this mission; they?d either meet with success or die in the attempt.

?All right boys and girls,? Estella keyed her comm. system again, ?we?ve got a long ride ahead of us. Rest up while you can. Meluca?s got the lead. Bo, Tank, you make sure those ?sports have a worry free trip.?

The three acknowledged. Moments later, they all jumped away.

------------------------------------------------

Matt sighed, groaned, and forced himself up from the bunk. He?d arrived here over a week prior, but it seemed much longer. Now though, he understood why Confed seemed so desperate to find out what happened to the TCS Infinitum (he?d only learned the carrier?s name on the third day) and its escorts. The carrier housed several prototypes of the Excalibur, Confed?s latest and greatest fighter. From what he?d heard from some of the surviving pilots, it was an absolute dream to fly, and a big reason why the larger Kilrathi force had lost the battle. But the Excaliburs and the carrier weren?t the most important portion of the missing fleet. The surviving destroyer, the TCS Anathros, was the key to the puzzle. It held the main priming chamber for the Behemoth, Confed?s last-ditch effort at ending the war.

The Behemoth was a planet-killer, a dreadnought that would, and should, annihilate the entire Kilrathi homeworld if it survived the trip. She was ready for her initial test-run, and the Anathros held the last piece she needed. The fleet had been sent here, to Roche, to ensure the chamber was ready for use. As the entire Behemoth project was known only to the highest-ranking members of the Confederation outside of those directly involved with the dreadnought?s development, traveling through safe Confed. territory or testing in a well-traveled system was out of the question. Roche was technically held by Confed. but so close to the Kilrathi border that testing was, in theory, safe from prying eyes and accidental discovery. The Infinitum and the now destroyed cruisers were all sent as protection for the Anathros. A risky plan, to be sure, but times were desperate.

The entire fleet had been ordered to send no transmissions whatsoever, except for an intermittent encrypted subspace signal that should go unnoticed except by those looking to find it. That silence, though, was shattered when one of the cruisers had, apparently by mistake, broadcast a wideband distress signal just before its destruction. Subsequent damage suffered by both the Infinitum and the Anathros included their communications systems; even if they wanted to let Confed. know they?d survived the fight, they couldn?t. That was the situation Matt was mired in. He?d stayed despite orders to find the fleet and report back immediately. He?d found the remaining ships all right, but had no way to let Confed know other than to leave. And he couldn?t leave.

After preventing the total loss of the flight and recovery deck, thanks in no small part to Jonas, Ross, and Carroway, Matt learned that most of the crew had lived through the assault. The command staff, though, was decimated. The carrier?s top-ranking flight officers, including the CAG, had fallen in the Kilrathi attack and the bridge officers hadn?t survived the torpedo barrage. Several Ensigns and a Lieutenant Commander were directing repair efforts, but Matt had essentially assumed command of the carrier and the remaining flight crews. His primary goal was twofold ? first, launch the surviving Excaliburs who would then escort the Anathros out of the system and to wherever the Behemoth was awaiting its final piece. Only the Anathros? Captain knew the location and Matt knew better than to ask. His second task was to get the carrier back to more friendly territory, but the Infinitum and Anathros would have to take different paths.

The Anathros, he and her Captain had decided, would have to gamble on escape through the more well-traveled parts of the Gemini Sector, closer to secure Confederation territory. The Behemoth project was paramount and Confed couldn?t afford to lose any more time. Likely, the Anathros was presumed destroyed but, to her Captain?s knowledge, the priming chamber onboard was the only functional model. A trip through Confed territory was worth the chances of detection; Confed simply couldn?t afford the loss of the chamber or the vessel that safeguarded it. Instead of following the destroyer, the Infinitum would remain where it was and, as soon as its communication systems were repaired, begin broadcasting to anyone that would listen. Soon after, it would jump in the opposite direction of the Anathros, hopefully drawing eager Kilrathi forces toward the signal and away from the destroyer.

Repairs to the Anathros had been completed days ago and its crew had been helping to repair the Infinitum?s launch and recovery deck. Utilizing the carrier?s launch tubes wasn?t an option due to the extent of the hull damage and the loss of all the transport cranes in the ensuing chaos. Enough damage was now cleared that the Excaliburs had enough room to simply float out of the launch bays. Once free of the Infinitum, they, along with the Anathros, would jump out. It was time to get them underway.

?Action is consolatory. It is the enemy of thought and the friend of flattering illusions?.

? Joseph Conrad

Estella longed to stretch her limbs, to stand underneath the warm streaming water of a real shower; to lie in a decadently large bed, arms and legs spread wide to take all the space; to be anywhere but in this cramped cockpit with muscles aching from lack of movement. Her focus though, wasn?t on her confined body, but on the approaching Confederation forces.

?Look sharp, people! Keep formation; let?s move nice and easy now.?

The trip toward Roche had been arduously long but mostly uneventful. Two more jumps and they?d reach the system, but their entire plan was perched precariously on a precipice of sheer luck. Luck that seemed about to run out.

?Let?s take them, Stel. Before they come after us, or report us. We?ve got to d??

?Shut it, Morg!? she barked. ?We can?t risk that, and you know it! Keep the big picture in mind.?

Less than two-hundred thousand kilometers to their starboard side, coming in the opposite direction they were headed, was a Confederation destroyer and what seemed an entire squadron of escort fighters. That in and of itself was strange; the destroyer couldn?t house that many escorts, which meant a cruiser or carrier was likely nearby. That equaled too much Confederation for her piece of mind, especially given their goal. She didn?t want to turn toward them and seem provocative, or turn away and look like she was trying to run. The best plan was to stay the course and hope they weren?t approached or scanned. She didn?t want to fight her way out unless absolutely necessary; they needed their ships as fresh as possible for the assault on the carrier, if it was still even there.

Morgan remained silent, even though she knew he was seething inside his Centurion. He always reacted poorly when she chastised him, something she found herself doing with more regularity in recent days and weeks.

?Nothing?s ever easy, is it,? she muttered to herself, cycling targets. The fighters were coming up as unknown-types; she?d never seen them before and apparently, neither had the computer. The last thing she needed was to engage some sort of Confed superfighter, or whatever it was. No, Confed needed to ignore her, and she needed to look as innocent as possible. There were no IFF codes to save them this time ? if anyone on that destroyer got curious as to why civilian ships were escorting military-style transports, things would turn sour in a hurry. And then she?d have to fight.

?Move move move. That?s it, keep going. Right on by.?

When she was nervous, she talked to herself.

?Go. Go. Keep at it. That?s the way, right on past you pigs. Just ignore us. Thaaaaat?s it.?

The destroyer and its strange escorts were directly parallel now. Wherever they were headed, they were going there at what qualified as breakneck speed for a capital ship.

Estella only breathed easy when the ship and its escorts were to their rear. The jump point was nearing. They?d be in Roche soon.

------------------------------------------------

Nothing?s ever easy, is it, he though to himself, forcing his outward demeanor to remain collected. Maybe that was just a microcosm of war, but it certainly seemed a maxim that trailed him like an incessant shadow. Matt sighed, already knowing the answer before asking the question.

?What?s our status, Ensign??

?Defenses barely operational sir,? replied one of the few remaining bridge officers. ?Flight deck still can?t launch, and the elevators aren?t working to get any of them up there from the Repair deck anyhow. We?ve got the three Arrows on the flight deck, and that?s it. Sensors and radar are optimal. Communication systems are about two hours away. Engines are at ninety percent, jump drive?s ready if we need it. Forward sections are sealed off and the crew?s ready for battle-stations once we make the broadcast.?

Three Arrows. If they ran into Kilrathi forces, three Arrows couldn?t protect the ship in its vulnerable state. Even with his Thunderbolt, there weren?t enough accessible fighters to provide a decent escort, much less forward patrols. They?d be flying blind, daring the Kilrathi to attack once they finally sent the wide-beam broadcast. But even that wasn?t going well. The Anathros had departed ten hours prior; the Infinitum was supposed to have made its broadcast an hour after it and the Excaliburs jumped away. They?d brought the communication arrays online for a moment before a power spike knocked it out again. For now, he could only hope that the delay hadn?t endangered the Anathros.

?All right,? he replied. ?Keep at it.?

What else could they do?

"After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs."

? Emily Dickinson

Estella screamed with all the rage and fury she could muster as her entire body convulsed with the hatred coursing through her veins. The moment Morg spoke, any control she thought she?d had over anything slipped right through her fingers like water through a sieve. Suddenly, his strange behavior, the mysterious book, the hours spent by himself locked away alone, they all made sense.

For a moment, she wondered just why he chose now to reveal himself. Why here, on this mission, alone. Unless?

The pit of her stomach fell out from under her, and not because she wrenched the Orion away from laser fire that was now lancing toward her from Morg?s Centurion. It was because Morgan wasn?t alone, not by a long shot. He had The Four. That gave him a vast array of weaponry at his disposal. They?d played her for a fool from the get-go. All her successes for the last several months hadn?t been due to her leadership, her savvy, or her skills. Everything they?d achieved was at the behest and control of the Church of Man. They controlled the Clydesdale transports. They had waited for an opportunity such as this to strike, to reveal themselves as director of this macabre performance. And she?d been a mute puppet, dumb, blind, too wrapped up in her own self importance and future glories to see how they?d strung her up and made her dance and move at their whim.

The Clydesdales were unleashing their full fury onto the Confederation carrier and there was nothing she could do?no, nothing she would do, to stop them. Those were her transports, paid for in blood and cash, and she couldn?t bring herself to attack them. She?d find a way to get them back, to enact her revenge upon the Church. Upon Morg. The Adeptus Minorus was engaged with one of the Altherr brothers, their turrets trading fire. The rest of her troop were as indecisive as she ? unable or unwilling to attack the ?sports as they watched stream upon stream of fire drive into the Infinitum.

After two minutes of nonstop assault, returned only sporadically by the carrier?s defenses at first and then not at all, the TCS Infinitum was wracked by a shudder so large Estella could see the entire ship tremble. Along the entire length of the carrier, tungsten armor plating bent and buckled like an accordion. A series of explosions burst holes through the hull; the vacuum sucked out machines and men both, all of which were incinerated as the carrier disappeared in a brilliant burst of colors a thousand times more intense than the Clydesdales? attack.

Nearly as soon as the explosion began to dissipate, she saw three flashes of blue-white as the Clydesdales and Morg jumped away.

The stage was dark. They were alone.

After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and place and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience

--T.S. Eliot

A thin sheen of sweat coated her bare arms as she knelt down under the new spring sun, her hands furiously ripping the weeds that threatened to choke her young hyacinth bulbs. Here in the garden on the side of their home Koy could not escape the presence of life in all its vibrant glory. It was a far cry from the interior of the house which had become a mausoleum, a chilled tomb where nothing had moved since the night she found out Matt was officially missing. She had deserted the place for a room at the Outback but she could not forsake it completely.

Koyliak VanDuran?s masochism extended far beyond the rings. She was spending her Sunday tending to the thriving garden to see how much emotional pain she could take. The sky was clear. The sun shone. The multi-colored flowers surrounded her as the smallest breeze caused their silken petals to perform a hypnotic gypsy dance. The honey bees buzzed, their fuzzy bodies saturated with pollen grains. Nature offered up her finest gifts to the elf in a festive parade that rejoiced and marched on with or without Matthew.

Life did not merely kick her when she was down. He stomped on her head, her stomach, and her heart with his combat boots. She had encouraged him to do so.

Inundated with the terrible sounds of sweet spring and rebirth, Koy did not hear the squeak of the garden gate as it swung open. She only called a ceasefire on the dandelions in front of her when a pair of real boots came into her peripheral vision. They were not as big and brutal as the one?s she imagined her personified vision of Life would wear. They looked more fitting for a hike in the woods. Trailing her way up, Koy found the boots belonged to a youthful blonde, the woman?s sunken eyes revealing her bad sleeping habits rivaled Koy?s.

?Is there a Koy-liak here?? The woman was not the first to struggle with her name. ?I mean, Koyliak.? She quickly corrected herself.

Koy rose from the ground, stepping over to the outdoor sink to rinse off her soiled hands. Her senses betrayed her as they enjoyed the feel of the cool, refreshing water. ?Ye?re lookin? at her. Can I help ye with somethin??? Koy turned off the faucet, wiping her hands on her pants.

The woman sighed. ?I?m Robyn Pemberton. Captain Robyn Pemberton.? There was an emphasis on her rank. ?I received your message.?

Koy stopped what she was doing, the forest-green eyes narrowed. She felt angry and embarrassed that someone other than the Major had read her private words. Not that she had known Novak per se but she at least had been the one to decide to reveal her thoughts to him. Who was this woman to have been privy to her despair?

?I don?t understand. I had sent tha letter through the electronic mail fer Major Novak.? Her tone was defensive, verging on hostile.

?Major Novak is dead I?m afraid.? She did not say it without some hint of remorse though Robyn was a military woman through and through. Death brought up the rear of every soldier?s squadron, a steady companion and one of the few constants in an otherwise chaotic existence.

Koy could not speak, the words transforming her into a mute. She stared at the woman, her previous anger dissipating along with her hope for a loophole in the foregone conclusion to the story of Matthew Simon.

?I knew Matt. I?can we sit?? Robyn motioned to the wooden chairs underneath the cornflower blue patio umbrella.

Koy stiffened, the edge returning to her voice. ?Ye meant ta say ye know ?em.? She pointedly corrected the Captain, setting a tall glass in front of the woman as she sat down. The movement was more harsh than kind. Wrapping one hand around the handle of a pitcher filled with spiked lemonade she had set out for herself, Koy placed her other palm along the pitcher?s bottom, pouring the drink into Robyn?s glass and then her own.

Encouraged that Koy had not yet kicked out such an unwelcomed messenger, Robyn continued. ?The Colonel?s my CAG on the Bruvel. We?ve served together a while.? Whether she had taken the hint or swapped tenses on accident was impossible to tell, but the switch had been made. ?I?has anyone been down to talk to you??

Koy let out a resentful snort at the question. ?Talk ta me? Why would anyone in charge at Confed deign ta talk ta me?? She didn?t know who exactly was in charge but Koy found some comfort in painting the higher ranks of the Terran Confederation as faceless villains, masters of shadows and deceit. When her brief rant ended, she looked at the face that she actually could see in front of her, the one that looked lost and unsure about her reasons for coming at all. Koy relented and gave a more useful answer. ?No, I?ve jest heard wha I can on the radio.?

Robyn did not pick this moment as a chance to defend her superiors. Taking a sip of the lemonade, her lips twisted in a surprised pucker, not expecting the taste of vodka. She cracked a nervous smile, not knowing where to begin. ?This is harder than I thought it would be. I?m sorry. I, uh, I really didn?t expect to even find you.? Part of her had hoped to not find Koy at all, leaving the burden of news to someone else?s shoulders instead.

?I?m sorry but I?m a lil lost here, wha is so hard?? Koy drank from her own glass specifically for the liquor, not the lemonade.

?Well, what exactly have you heard??

Setting the drink down, Koy clasped her hands together, fidgeting with them. If Robyn did work with Matt there was no point beating around the bush. ?Tha Matt?s missin? in action?and I think tha he wasn?t on the right ship. Is tha not the same as wha ye?ve heard??

Robyn swirled her drink, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. She hesitated, taking a different tact instead of giving a direct answer. ?I?ve known Matt for awhile. Ever since I was a green rookie fresh from the Academy.? The smile that snuck up on her face was genuine, not awkward. ?The Bruvel's a training ship, as you know, and I was a know-nothing second lieutenant. He guided and taught us, he was good at it. Really really good. Those of us who've lived this long, we owe a lot of that to what he taught us. That was three years ago.?

Koy nodded along, having heard Matt speak more than once about taking ?the kids? out on training missions. She found she enjoyed hearing about this side of Matt though she could not ignore the eerie feeling that such nostalgia was more fitting for a wake.

?When our time was up, we were reassigned. I did my tours. Vega, Enigma, even a stint in Gemini. When I could, just about over a year ago, I requested a transfer back to the Bruvel.?

?'Cause of Matt??

?More than partially, yes. I mean, as a kid, I couldn't help but like him. Everyone did. I thought I maybe loved him for a little while, but I don't think I did.? Robyn shrugged it off as though she was talking about more everyday affairs like the weather than those of her own heart. ?But I did want to work with him again. And let me tell you, that man never stopped talking about you.?

Koy marveled at the audaciousness of the statement, yet she found the honesty refreshing. ?Ye?re a blunt one, eh?? The shade of the umbrella, the vodka, and the almost light conversation lulled her into a sense of ease. She forgot the events that had brought them to this particular place and this particular time, her trademark crooked grin lifting up one corner of her mouth, especially at the last detail. ?Tha so?? She gave up on modesty. Matt hadn?t been there to tell her he loved her. The secondhand message would have to suffice.

They were creating a shared oasis, the increasingly friendly banter making it easy to forget the scorched wasteland waiting for them beyond it. Robyn kept the illusion going. ?You have a shop called the Heavenly Boutique. There're three old women who, I'm told, never shut up. You design beautiful clothes...I've seen some of them. I had him bring me one, once. And you are the absolute love of his life. That's one thing that we all know.?

Koy laughed at the fact sheet Matt had given his students. The proclamation at the end rubbed a soothing salve over her troubled heart. It was a shame it could not last, much the way aloe gave little relief to a burn once it dried up. ?Tha goes both ways ye know.? A quiet reassurance of her own passed back along to Matt, a message that would most likely never be delivered. Not wanting to wreck the house of cards she and Robyn were building with the thought, she found a safer diversion. ?He brought ye clothin?? It was...blue...and satin??

Robyn played along, affirming the dress was in fact blue and satin with a nod.

?I remember tha. My memory's a lot better when it comes ta clothin' and all, one too many knocks ta the head will do tha.? Koy leaned back against her wooden chair.

?Yeah, you like fighting, like he does.? Robyn paused, unsure how much of her knowledge she should reveal. ?Matt and I talked a lot. Not everyone knows your life story. Not that I do, but, well, we talked a lot.?

Although the comment did beg the question about what else Robyn knew, Koy trusted Matt to only tell what she herself would share. ?It's nice ta talk ta someone else who was close ta 'em.?

The disclaimer received and accepted, Robyn pressed on. They had to return to reality at some point. ?But, to answer your earlier question, no, we've heard much the same thing as you.?

The abrupt change threw Koy but she rebounded quickly. She needed to take advantage of speaking with someone who not only knew Matt but understood Confed while she could. ?Wha do ye make of it? Does this happen a lot fer ye guys? Why wasn't he on his ship??

Robyn waited for the barrage of questions to end before posing one of her own. ?Is that enough? If there's more to learn, if there's more to know, would you want to know if he's alive or d...not??

Koy frowned as Robyn offered the directness Koy had failed to muster in her message to Novak. Her gaze fell on the arm of her chair. She idly scratched her nail against it before meeting Robyn?s eyes. ?Iffn ye know somethin' definite, although I only want one answer, better in the long run ta hear it.? She responded honestly though she already longed to return to the moments prior when they had dillydallied on their way to the heart of the matter.

Standing, Robyn reached into her pocket, withdrawing a small disc. The only other person Koy had seen with such an item was Matt. ?You have something that will play this??

Koy rose from her chair as well, already leading Robyn towards the entrance into the house. ?Not tha I could tell ye how ta use it but come in here.? Without looking back she was leading them straight towards Matt?s study.

Robyn followed, tracing Koy?s steps almost exactly. Koy opened the door, half-hoping Matt wouldn?t mind someone else entering his study. The other half of her hoped he would be around to tell her he did in fact mind the intrusion.

Once inside the cozy room, Robyn had no trouble manipulating the machine Koy had seen Matt use to play his discs. ?OK. Understand that I?m not supposed to have this. Nobody is.? The solemnity of Robyn?s tone was the first indication she had given Koy of the risk involved with her visit.

?And ye?re sharin? it with me??

?What the hell. I'm figuring the last thing you're going to do is fly up there and tell someone.?

Robyn did have a point. Koy stood next to her, crossing her arms over her chest as Robyn explained the prologue to the visual sequence of events they were about to watch.

?We were on a routine mission, training the newbies. Mid-flight, the Bruvel intercepted a distress signal. Matt went after it, even though we weren't close. There was a small strike fleet under attack, someplace it wasn't supposed to be. After that, nothing. For about a week. Then we received a transmission burst, and more silence. I got myself on the team that was sent to check it out. When we got there, there was no fleet, no nothing, except wreckage. We salvaged what we could, and this was among what we retrieved."

The screen hummed to life, providing a clear view of what looked like a steel-blue wall as Robyn continued her narration. ?This is from Matt's fighter. It's the flight recorder data.?

?Why the hell he's here, I can't tell you. It looks like he's wedged inside one of the launch tubes, like he tried to land that way, which doesn't make sense unless the fight-deck was damaged. So you see him turning, here, and trying to get himself out. That stuff there in the distance, all those greens and reds, that's meson and plasma fire. They were under attack by something.?

Koy dug her heels into the soft carpet, physically steeling herself for what was to come as she tried to keep up. The camera began to pick up speed, shooting down the long tube and emerging into black space. ?And here, he's out.? Robyn pointed as the camera banked left, two blurs streaking by. ?Those are Centurions, usually flown by civilians, mercenaries, mostly.?

Koy opened her mouth to ask a question when the camera shifted again, only to be overwhelmed by a brilliant streak of colors. To Koy it looked like the largest prism or the very stars themselves exploding from the inside out. She flinched away from the screen at the almost blinding sight, unsure what to take away from it. The scene did not have the telltale signs of war?s destruction ? there was no proof of bloodshed up in space.

?Did he get out?? Koy searched Robyn?s face for any inclination that this was not the end of the story.

?We still don't know what the hell that was shooting at him. Whatever it was, it chewed through his hull like noth...? Robyn paused upon realizing that she was not debriefing a fellow officer, softening her voice. ?It was quick. I can't tell you for certain that he's dead. But the recorder cuts out. We didn't pick up a SAR Beacon signal. There's no telemetry, all that fire.? Koy?s brows furrowed together as she tried to pick out some sign of hope hidden among the technical explanation. Seeing her confusion, Robyn boiled it down for her.

?I don't see how anyone makes it out of that barrage of fire. There wouldn't have been time to react. He probably never even saw it coming.?

Lock the door, kill the light.
No one?s coming home tonight.
The sun beats down and don?t you know?
All our lives are growing old.
They bring news that must get through.
To build a dream for me and you.

Locked in a place where no one goes.

They ask no quarter.
They have no quarter.

Lock the door, kill the light.
No one?s coming home tonight.

--Maynard James Keenan

Estella sat in stunned silence. The Clydesdales were gone. The Confederation carrier was nothing more than fragments. And, had she been a little more curious, a little more attuned to those she chose to employ, she could have prevented the whole thing. And while that gnawed at her, she felt little else than burning seething anger.

Bo broadcast his message three times before she even heard a voice speaking.

?What!? she snapped.

?Four-thousand kilometers to port, Estella. It?s showing up yellow on the scope; looks like a signal from a distress beacon. I?m swinging around to check it out.?

Estella glanced down at her radar and eased her Orion forward.

?Well?? The irritation in her voice wasn?t directed at the Altherr twin, even though it may have seemed that way.

?What the hell?? Bo sounded confused. ?I didn?t even see a ship deploy. It?s an ejected pilot, Stel. Confederation signal. Life signs are a little rough and lowering, but whoever it is, they?re alive.?

Estella said nothing, bringing the Orion within twenty-five meters of the rotating seat. She looked at the pilot. She could leave him, or her, here, to die alongside the rest of the Confed. casualties. But she wasn?t a murderer. At least, not when she wasn?t getting paid for it. And if Confed. did find out she was involved in the carrier?s destruction, having one of their personnel as a hostage and bargaining chip could prove most beneficial.

She slowly eased the Orion past the pilot, bringing her rear turret in line with the seat?s trajectory. With the flick of three switches, her rear tractor beam hummed to life, the invisible pull bringing the pilot toward an opening hatch and, as if gently easing an egg into a nest, deposited the seat and its occupant inside the vessel?s cargo hold.

Someone else spoke up. It sounded like Meluca.

?Stel. We?ve got to get the hell out of here. Now.?

For a moment, she thought about contacting Scheff. No. He wouldn?t help her. He couldn?t help her. Couldn?t risk being associated with this debacle in any way. But where could she go and be safe? She thought about simply jumping away, leaving the others to their own fates and devices. But she pushed that idea aside, too. She needed them to help enact her vengeance. And vengeance would be hers. Morgan would pay. The Church of Man and their fanatical ideas would pay. The Four would pay. All of them. She?d make sure of it.

Taking a furtive glance around the cockpit, she keyed up a jump route that would keep them on the edge of Gemini. The Lisaac system would have to suffice as a hiding-hole for now, until she could figure out what else to do.

?Key your NAV systems into mine,? she said, her voice low. ?We?re leaving.?

------------------------------------------------

Matthew Simon. Colonel, Terran Confederation Space Force. Service Number B14198604-1. She had that part memorized, because it?s all the man would ever say. Two weeks, and all she heard out of him were those words. Over and over. Most of the time, she wanted to hit him. Instead, she just stopped talking to him. And when she stopped, so did he.

On the other hand, she really couldn?t blame him. He was a prisoner, after all, even if it wasn?t of the war he was used to fighting. No, he was a victim of her campaign. Of her personal drive for glory, for profit, for the spectacular deaths she kept imagining for Morgan and his company.

A little research told her more about the worth of her prize, her hostage. Colonel Matthew Algiers Simon was a highly decorated Confederation officer, a wonderful bargaining chip when it came to ensuring her safety. There was only one problem ? nobody sat on the other side of the table. She held the perfect ace up her sleeve and had nowhere to play it. It was aggravating, yet relieving.

For the first week, she didn?t dare believe it. No comm. chatter. No news. Nothing to indicate anyone even knew that carrier had gone down, or that she or anyone else had played a part. Propaganda-driven silence? Maybe. So she sent the Altherr brothers into the ports for some discrete inquiries. No word in the underground. No bounty prices set. Nothing.

She was free.

In the clear.

Nobody knew.

Hence, her problem. She couldn?t let the Colonel go. He?d have Confed. all over her in a second, and even if he promised otherwise, she wouldn?t believe him. And keeping him was annoying, if only because she had to keep him hidden, and fed, and quiet.

At the end of the second week, she decided a trip back into Gemini?s heart was worth the risk. She and the others needed to rearm and re-supply. And resume their careers if everything was indeed as safe as it seemed. But what to do with the Colonel? What to do?

Until she figured it out, he?d have to remain in the Orion?s cargo hold where he could recite his name and rank and service number until he was blue in the face. If she never heard it again, it?d be too soon.

All my life I've been searching for something
Something never comes never leads to nothing
Nothing satisfies but I'm getting close
Closer to the prize at the end of the rope

? Dave Grohl

The relatively short journey to 119CE was, for all of them, tension filled, but most so for Estella Tiri. Her stomach felt like a giant knot, her shoulders ached from the tension in her back. Her mind flooded with nervous anticipation. The Clydesdales were so close that she could smell the profit they?d bring her once again. She only had to do one seemingly simple thing: get them back.

The waiting was worse than the trip. She and the others had hidden themselves within a small cluster of asteroids, fragments of a long dead and shattered moon. The rocks were near the jump point and would allow them a quick intercept once the Order jumped in. Already, two clusters of ships had arrived in-system, each making her heart pound and her stomach leap at their appearance. Only, neither were the expected merchant convoy or Morgan?s contingent.

The hours stretched, and nobody spoke.

They must have gone to XXN, or found something else altogether. Damn you, Morgan.

She could feel the anger begin to crawl up her spine, further tensing already taut muscles. She didn?t want to wait any longer. Didn?t want to have to track and plot and guess again where he might show up. She wanted him here, now, so she could kill him. Kill the betrayer. Put a dent in the insanity of the Retro doctrine.

Another hour passed, then two, and nobody said a word.

And then, a series of blue-white flashes. One wave of ships, and another, and another were jumping in. At this range, she didn?t even need the passive radar readings to tell her what was out there ? her eyes were more than good enough. It was the Order, all right. Her two Clydesdales, seven Centurions, ten Talons, and three Hydras.

Twenty-two ships? They brought 22 against a merchant convoy? Talk about a waste?the Centurions could do the job on their own.

It didn?t make sense to her. But then again, neither did most anything associated with Retros. Unless they?d anticipated her attack. Which wasn?t likely. She shifted in her chair, slowly curling her fingers around the Orion?s throttle. The index finger on her other hand nervously tapped on the screen of her lower VDU as the computer cycled through the Retro ships, registering their IFF codes.

Morgan. You?re dead, and you don?t even know it.

She locked her eyes onto the lead Centurion which was almost certainly his. She watched as it and two of the Talons flew toward the asteroid group where she and the others waited.

Smart. You?re making sure nobody?s here waiting for you. But by the time you get close enough to see me, it?ll be too late.

The trio came closer and the pace of her finger increased. Twenty thousand kilometers. Nineteen. Eighteen. Seventeen.

The bulk of their weaponry wouldn?t be effective beyond 4000 meters. She gripped the throttle tighter, ready to slam it forward as soon as the power-plant was ready.

Twelve. Eleven. Ten.

Everyone take it easy. We can?t give ourselves away too soon.

Nineeightseven.

Calm. Calm. Almost here.

From nowhere, Morgan?s ultra-confident voice with its patronizing tone burst through her headset. Simultaneously, a series of small flashes, the telltale sign of launched missiles, burst forth from the Retro ships.

?You should know by now, Estella. You cannot hide things from the Church of Man. No matter where you are, the Order?s three steps ahead of you. There?s no escaping your fate this time. We welcome your death, and the annihilation of your lust for the sins of technology.?

Even as Morgan spoke, she shunted energy into the Orion?s power-plant, though she knew it was too little, too late. She quickly looked to her left, where Centurions piloted by Carrie Khalfina and the Altherr brothers were slowly beginning to move. They only had a few seconds before the missiles would reach them.

Her shields, along with her weaponry, came to life faster than those of her counterparts and she could only shield her eyes from the bright fireball that consumed Carrie?s Centurion. The Altherr twins fared slightly better, only suffering two strikes each before they were able to raise their shields and move away. Still, she could see the hull damage from where they?d been struck. Off to her right, the rest of her group were already surging ahead, unleashing their own missile barrage, quickly followed by laser, meson, and particle beams.

Yanking the Orion into attack position on one of the Talons, a series of warning sirens alerted her to the presence of more incoming missiles, several of which were locked onto her vessel. Discharging several bursts of countermeasures, she didn?t need to look at her radar to know that the other nineteen Retro ships would be in weapons range momentarily.

Her plan had failed. She would, she knew, die. The Orion shuddered as missiles and laser fire battered through its shields and into the Tungsten armor. Several key readouts went dark as her computer system suffered damage.

And down below, inside the gunship?s cargo hold, Matthew Simon could only imagine just what the hell was going on.

All night long I dream of the day
When it comes around and it's taken away
Leaves me with the feeling that I feel the most
Feel it come to life when I see your ghost

? Dave Grohl

It wouldn?t be long until she was within range of the Clydesdales. She could see them every few seconds, watching and waiting as their prey, the more it tried to flee, only came closer and closer.

Sometimes, during combat, things slowed down. She could anticipate, react, do everything she needed milliseconds ahead of when she needed to. This was not one of those times. Too much was happening, too fast. Retro ships flew by in all directions so quickly and constantly that she frequently lost track of the one she was following and shooting at. Her brain was on overload. She?d already cut out her external transmitter feeds so she wouldn?t have to listen to Morgan?s aggravating voice. Of course, that meant she couldn?t hear her own people either, but she doubted any of them were saying much. They were too busy trying to stay alive.

A bright orange flash to her left caught her attention, and she flicked her eyes over in time to see the remnants of a Centurion spiral away from the explosion. A blue blip disappeared from her radar.

Bye bye, Marc. Nice knowing you.

She refocused her attention on a Talon, pumping a full salvo of her energy weapons through its shields and into the engine shaft. The Talon shattered.

Another one down. Fifteen more to go.

She flew right through the remains of the small fighter, just in time to catch sight of another Centurion as it trembled and broke apart in a series of jolts caused by internal explosions.

Bo, your brother?s on his way.

Back in the rear turret, Matt did his best to keep the Retros from lining up on their rear. But the enemy pilots were far from stupid. Most were now staying just out of the Stormfire?s range where they could safely fire their own weaponry. Still, a steady stream of spent shells traced the Orion?s jerky and unsteady path, the dull-gray casings almost impossible to see against the black as he kept firing. He?d been able to catch one of the Retro Centurions broadside, raking its armor as it shot past, but he?d scored very few other direct hits.

He could hear Estella muttering to herself as she flew. She, like he, was clawing for any solution, any last desperate effort that could get her out of this alive. Twisting the turret, he caught the tail end of a jump flash.

On her radar, the last friendly blue dot disappeared. Meluca was gone, just like the others. A few more seconds and she?d be joining the others on their journey to oblivion. Her knuckles remained bright white while she pushed the flight-stick forward, reacting to a missile-lock klaxon. It didn?t help. She heard the Orion?s hull absorb another strike. Warning sirens screamed at her as the ship?s shields buckled and tried to re-establish. The Tachyon fire which followed the missiles pushed the Tungsten armor to its breaking point and more sirens blared as damaged internal systems screamed for attention or failed altogether.

Above Matt?s head, a panel exploded, showering him in orange and blue sparks, singing the hair on his arms. Wires and tubing hung down, obscuring his view. One of the Stormfire cannons fell silent, its ammunition depleted.

Estella cursed again. This wasn?t a holovid, wasn?t one of those times where the enemy leader called off his lackeys to take the glory of the final kill all for himself. No, this was life, where credit fell by the wayside, where the doctrine of the Church supplanted individual achievement, where it didn?t matter who killed her as long as she was dead. Her head pounded. She barely heard the shout over the intercom.

??ng jump!?

Her eyes narrowed as she yanked the reluctant Orion around. Jump? Impossible. The Clydesdales were flanking the jump buoy; she?d never be able to get within the 500 meters necessary for the jump-drive to release enough antigravitons to propel them out of the system. Besides, even if she could jump, the Retros would only follow them into the next system.

?Listen,? Matt?s hurried voice sounded over the intercom, ?you said it yourself. We?re dead anyway. Whatever you know about jump drives, you know that we can only safely jump if we?re at a dead stop first so the drive can calibrate properly. If we jump while we?re still moving, it won?t have that opportunity and we?ll either be torn apart mid-transit or we?ll wind up God-knows where. So we?re either dead or lost. And if we don?t do it...? He trailed off, sending a flurry of Stormfire bullets toward a Centurion that ventured too close.

?You?re crazy,? she retorted. It was a fool?s plan. They?d never survive the approach; the Clydesdales would cut them down. She banked the gunship and brought the transports into view. The Clydesdales and their Hydra escorts were ten-thousand meters away. Five ships in front. Ten behind. And 9500 meters between her and a small chance of salvation.

When all was lost, she thought, maybe crazy was the most sane thing.

I'm looking to the sky to save me
Looking for a sign of life
Looking for something to help me burn out bright

I'm looking for complication
Looking cause I'm tired of trying
Make my way back home when I learn to fly

?Dave Grohl

In his brief explanation to Estella, Matt neglected (perhaps purposely), to provide details on another possible consequence of a rushed, unplotted jump. Aside from instant death or destination unknown, a third option was possible ? with hurried and incomplete calculations, not everything that left the jump point was guaranteed to make it through to the other side.

Thanks to the Clydesdales, Estella?s Orion left the vacuum of space designated 119CE minus two engines, shields, most of its Tungsten and Durasteel plating, and failing life-support. When it reappeared in the midst of an oxygen rich atmosphere, it immediately bucked, flipped upside down, and began to spin, a paper doll buffeted about at the whims and mercies of fickle air currents. At the rear of the gunship, a large jagged gap was present where most of the remaining engines had resided, their contents gouged away during to the jump.

Inside the cockpit, icy cold air blasted Estella?s legs as it rushed through the holes in the floor. Moisture began to collect and freeze on her boots and the delicate instruments. Despite the G-forces, she was still conscious, though barely, and she struggled to gain some semblance of control over the free-falling gunship.

Back in the turret, Matt also felt the bite of chill air slice through the damaged hull and cut right through the fabric of his flight suit. The wild force of the Orion?s spin kept him pinned against the rear of the turret and he could only open his eyes into mere slits. He fought against brownout and redout both as the G-Forces dipped and rose with the Orion?s acrobatic free-fall through the atmosphere. Visible in the sporadic moments when he could see were wisps of clouds, blankets of white and grey that briefly gave way to sky of a color he couldn?t determine.

Though the Orion was designed to support atmospheric flight, it was by no means aerodynamic. Both passengers, ignorant of the additional damage caused by the jump, knew that given the damage dealt by the Clydesdales, Estella had little hope of salvaging the Orion?s flight. Matt could, in his brief moments of half-blurred vision, make out strips of tubing and metal trailing away from the gunship. Neither had any idea how much longer they had before the Orion would drive into the surface, or whether they?d crash into land, water, or some other substance. Not that it mattered. With the speed at which they were falling, no surface would cushion their collision. Bailing out of the ship, while a possible option for Estella if the ejection systems were still in working order, wasn?t available to Matt. Even if he could leave the turret and exit the ship, he had no means of slowing the freefall.

In the cockpit, Estella frantically tried to restore power to the mostly non-existent engines, two of which sputtered to a half-life that slowed, but could not stop the out of control spinning. Furiously, her hands flew across the consoles, triggering maneuvering thrusters which, though designed for subtle nudges in the vacuum of space, were quite useful in atmosphere to turn a three-axis tumble into two, and then into one flat-spin. The thrust generated by the two live engines wasn?t nearly enough to bring the gunship into a controlled flight, but she didn?t need that. She just needed to slow the descent enough to give them a chance at surviving a high-speed meeting with the ground.

The air became thicker, darker, denser. They must, both she and her passenger surmised, be getting close. Through the grey fog, she caught a glimpse of green. Inside the turret which vibrated wildly as it threatened to loose itself from the Orion, Matt saw nothing but the fog. When the turret finally detached with a final violent shudder, his stomach lurched as the air buffeted its new plaything about like a kitten with a ball of string. Estella felt the shudder, squeezed shut her eyes, and let fate envelop her. Seconds later, despite the long and thunderous cracking of wood and wrenching of metal, everything became dark, silent, quiet.

Realized I can never win
Sometimes I feel like I have failed
Inside where do I begin
My mind is laughing at me

Tell me why am I to blame?
Aren't we supposed to be the same?
That's why I will never tame
This thing that's burning in me

I am the one who chose my path
I am the one who couldn't last
I feel the life pulled from me

?Jonathan Davis

His shoulder still hurt and his range of motion was somewhat limited, but at least it was back in place after a harsh run-in with the tree and a pain-induced shout. He couldn?t pinpoint exactly how far he?d branch-hopped down to the ground, but a safe estimate of several hundred meters wasn?t out of the question. Before he?d abandoned the confines of the turret, he thought he saw Estella?s purple-haired head emerge from the Orion but with the thickening fog and onset of nightfall, he couldn?t be sure. Even so, his first destination was the wrecked gunship, or at least the spot below its resting place.

Only once he was on the ground could he appreciate the true immensity of the trees; the thinnest trunks he could see were forty or fifty feet in diameter. The bark on some was slightly gnarled and he saw what he guessed were marks from native animals just a foot or two from the ground. On his way down, he?d noticed several gashes in the bark of his and nearly all of the surrounding trees that looked as if they?d been haphazardly carved by a very sharp scythe. Those marks lessened in frequency, length, and depth the closer he came to the ground; he could find very few below twenty-feet up.

The forest floor was moist but relatively free of bushes or plants. The few he did see were thriving, but there was little room for anything to compete with the giant roots of the behemoth trees. The forest itself was dark, perhaps due to the time of day, but even at the sun?s peak, he guessed very little light could peek through the virtual wall of tree branches and their millions upon millions of lush green needles. Perhaps most surprisingly, he found very few fallen needles upon the ground; the trees seemed to keep a tight grip upon their buds as if engaged in a tight-knit competition to see which could obscure the largest part of the heavens. Combined, they were all winners, for he could see nothing but branches and needles when he looked skyward.

As he walked, his boots treading upon soft dirt, he took stock of himself. His flight-suit was ripped in several places and burned in several more, likely the result of spark-shooting wires and panels that had burst apart under the Clydesdale?s incessant barrage. His arms had suffered the worst due to the overhead paneling dropping down and two large blisters had already appeared on his left forearm ? one above the wrist and another in the elbow-nook. His right shoulder ached as he walked, but the dull constant feeling was worlds better than the sharp agony he?d first experienced upon moving it. Though his entire body was sore and, he guessed, filled with more bruises than he?d like to count, he was in relatively decent shape. Presuming he?d really seen Estella and they?d both miraculously survived their wayward flight, he at least wouldn?t be alone here. Wherever that was.

He quickened his pace toward the Orion. If she were indeed alive, it was time to have a reckoning with his captor.

The first bowl on the earth
The second bowl on the sea
The third bowl on the rivers
The fourth bowl on the sun
The fifth bowl on the beast
The sixth bowl on the stars
The seventh bowl on the air
And the earth turned grey
The sea turned black
The rivers turned red
The sun turned cold
The beast turned pale
The stars turned fast
The air turned to poison

? Enigma

As silent hours stretched into silent days, the endless forest continued to open up before them like the depths of a painting. For all they knew (and despite the NavTracks telling them otherwise) they could have been walking in circles; everything seemed the same in every direction and there was no give to the monotony of trees, the needle-less ground, the lack of any life-signs other than foliage. It was like being lost in a never-ending maze of maddening invariability. Neither had uttered a word since they?d left the crash site. What was there to say?

On the third day, the forest grew dark. The precious few specks of light which forced their way though the trees retreated and refused to return, casting an even more foreboding and gloomier shroud over the pair. Both could hear low rumblings throughout the day, at first so faint that neither could say for certain whether the sound was there at all. On the fourth day, the temperature dropped and Estella?s jacket became a permanent mainstay upon her body. The distant rumblings, growing slightly louder, continued like the uneven but persistent beating of a low-thrumming tribal drum. Perhaps, thought Estella, they were walking toward the source of the noise. Still, neither spoke.

The fifth day, a new noise reached their ears. Following it, which required a slight deviation from their original course, they found a fast-moving stream, the first sign of monotony broken. A few quick tests revealed the water as a perfectly safe drinking source, and both took their wordless fill. The temperature dipped again. The rumbling increased in frequency and volume.

Following the stream now in order to keep close to their freshwater supply, the two spent two more days at a brisk pace, stopping only to eat and sleep when their legs, aching from the incessant walking, pleaded for rest. Though his body welcomed these times of respite, Matt?s mind did not. When he slept, he dreamed ? dreamed of home void of homeliness, an empty shell, he dreamed of life cyclical, of a repeated mistake that cost him everything. Ginger had not stayed, she had not waited. She had taken herself, their children, and moved on, staying close enough for a tantalizing glimpse into the life he could have had, but for nothing more.

Koyliak too, surely, would do the same. As days became months, perhaps longer, she would feel the full brunt trauma of his broken promise. She would leave her shattered life on the ground, cutting open her feet as she tread over the sharp pointed pieces, leaving them behind as fresh scars formed atop those from yesteryear. And were he to return, those months later, she, like Ginger would not forgive him. She would be unable to let love through the steel-plated protective shell that entombed her broken heart. He would be responsible for another dispirited and wrecked life; his love was poisonous to the women who dared accept it and once they realized the full extent of its taint, they could do nothing else but flee and attempt to reshape their forever disfigured lives.

He saw his house, empty. He felt a jolt as the world shook and heard a sharp crack as the ground opened up and swallowed whole the joy that once was. And he felt something pelting him over and over in hard stinging bursts. And then he snapped awake, staring into Estella?s ashen face.

It was the eighth day. When the rains came.

It?s a sunrise and a sunset
From a cradle to a casket
There is no escape
The sunrise and the sunset
Hold your sadness like a puppet, keep putting on the play
But everything you do is leading to the point
Where you just won?t know what to do.
--Bright Eyes


Back in RhyDin life went on without going anywhere.

Koy woke up alone. She made herself a little breakfast and picked at it until it was time to go to the shop. Customers came in, customers went out. One order finished, another started. Her work did not suffer and she grew accustomed to the sad eyes following her, the whispering voices calling her delusional or decimated. None of it mattered. She stopped by places where people expected her to be when they expected her to be there. She returned to Matt?s room at the Outback, washed up and turned out the lights.

Her days blended together but her nights were filled with cruel colors and terrible noise.

She stopped praying to Damaris. The god of night and dreams had given her what she wanted. He gave her Matt, sewing up and wrenching apart her heart each time the moons appeared and then fled the rising sun.

She dreamt of his face, his hands, the way he said her name and the way the world stopped every time he kissed her. Koy saw the past and embellished the future. And then she would watch him disappear.

Sometimes she saw him floating away, sucked into the void through the mouths of stars that opened wide and died. They left behind them an unending stretch of black ribbon sky. Sometimes she saw him slip and fall through a trap door that would not budge no matter how her fingers bled or how many nails she ground down to their beds clawing at it. But most of all, she dreamt about him drowning.

They used to joke about their relationship as that of a fish and a bird in love when they sat in the dunes near their house at night. Koy would tell him stories of all the sea had given her and her family in the fishing village of Langenfirth and he would expound at length about his love for flying and the stars. The comparison helped Koy make some perverse sense of why this particular dream that left her in a cold sweat came to her so often.

She would find herself treading water in a narrow waterway surrounded by craggy cliffs. The passage led out to a dark and angry ocean but the current did not disturb her. When she looked up she saw Matt falling from the sky like Icarus with metal plates for wings instead of feathers and wax. But Matt was better at flying than that melting boy. Taking control he tried to reach her from above but the improbable wings were too wide. He swooped down low, skimming the water?s surface to reach her from the side of the cliffs, looking for the entrance to the waterway. When she swam to meet him the rocks shifted, blocking her escape and only leaving enough room to poke her face out and see the expanse of sea. Hovering just out of reach Matt was studying the cliffs to find another way in.

From an early age all the children of Langenfirth were taught one vital lesson: Never turn your back on the sea. Matt did not see the wave rising behind him. The water in the passageway pressed her up against the rocks but she could not find her voice. He smiled at her.

And then the wave swallowed him whole.

If she woke up at this point, she felt grateful. When she couldn?t wake she would be forced to watch the lifeless body eventually bob back up to the surface. The warped metal wrapped around him, choking and squeezing out any slim hope for survival. In stunned silence she couldn?t take her gaze off the ashen face, his eyes bulging and his lips blue.

It was sickening. It was also strangely fitting.

When she gave birth to her only daughter, Sienna Nel VanDuran smiled down at the squirming infant and called her Koyliak because she liked the sound of it. For a middle name she followed in the steps of her foremothers and passed along her own maiden name, Aldamiras. Loosely translated in Gweth it meant ?archipelago?. The name heralded back to Sienna?s ancestors who came from the volcanic Qi?Reshalia islands.

It was a name Sienna was proud of and one that Koy believed marked her the more the elf reflected on her life. Maybe she had never been whole, not even in her youth. She was a collection of scattered pieces barely held together by a tumultuous body of water. Brave and foolish, Matt dared to sail those seas. For years he struggled to reach land. Sometimes she let him come ashore and shared the achingly beautiful secrets hidden inland. For days, weeks, even months at a time there would be nothing but clear skies and tropical breezes for the two of them. Then, without warning, a hurricane would hit, blown in by memories and fueled by her insecurities. It left Matt exiled from the islands to tough it out until the storm passed.

And for all of that, he waited until she invited him ashore once more.

She deserved the torture of dreams. She could wait the way he had, even if that meant only having his ghost to welcome home.

I will always be here
I will always look out from behind these eyes
It?s only a lifetime
It?s only a lifetime

It?s only a lifetime

? David Gilmour

The next day, despite a pronounced limp, an empty stomach, and no sleep, he left the shelter for good. He?d carried Estella?s body back to the shelter but the journey was arduous, mostly due to the lack of weight he could place on his leg. He didn?t even consider leaving her body where it sat, slumped over, her viscera spilling onto the ground. Her final resting place would not, could not, be at the mercy of this harsh and bitter world.

Burying her was impossible; even if he could dig a hole deep enough, it would fill with water faster than he could remove the muck. Gathering up the remaining piles of wood within the shelter, he lay several rows thick nearly six-feet in length and lit them, her body atop the crude pyre, ablaze. For himself, he took her B&S 80GA lase-pistol, her credsticks and ID chips, and her NavTrack. He also donned her bloodstained jacket for reasons he wouldn?t or admit to, but which gnawed at his heart.

What are you afraid of?

Even with all the words that he?d spoken after Estella?s question, he?d wound his way around the truth, unwilling to form words from the fear. He?d told her of his fears, but not of their deep roots that threatened to tear him apart from within, not of the stranglehold they had upon his life, not of the dark cavern in which they?d entombed and mummified him.

What are you afraid of?

In spite of the thousands of hours he?d spent in solitude inside a cockpit, for all the times he?d left home as a youth to wander and explore by himself for a day, for all the times he?d traveled the long road home from Rhydin?s spaceport, he?d never truly been alone. There was always a wingman at his side, mom and dad to return to, children and wife he could kiss upon the forehead as they soundly slept. Always. Until always ended, for always was a fleeting tenet, the grandest lie of them all.

Wingmen died, their last words and screams forever imbedded in his mind, faces of friends that blurred together in a tragic painting of loss. His parents were gone, victims of their son?s mistakes. Ginger, Sarah, Darien, and Jordan had left, unable to cope with the stresses of an absentee soldier, a half-husband and half-father. They deserved better than he could give.

Always indeed.

And what of Koyliak? Gone, too. Living and breathing in his heart and mind though his thoughts of her were mere shadows of the woman herself. Their house? Cold and dark he was certain, as his heart would be once he learned the truth ? that even if she?d stayed in the city, she?d left his life. It was the way of things. And now Estella was gone, too. There was nothing for him, here. No-one for him, here. So he wore her jacket not for warmth or comfort, but for the irrational idea that if he did so, if he held onto this physical reminder of someone else, he wasn?t really alone. He watched for several moments as the pyre, and then the shelter itself, burned. With the heavy rainfall, he felt confident the fire wouldn?t spread and, if it did, would quickly be contained through the downpour. He watched, he murmured a prayer, and he left.

For the next twenty-four days, the merciless rain never relenting, he walked. He abandoned the flooding stream, instead continuing on their original southeast path. He slept in infrequent spurts, preferring to continue moving in the hopes that the next few kilometers might bring him to the end of this cursed never-ending forest. His constitution, even with the added benefits of his bio-neural enhancements, began to break down. For the first time in years, he felt feverish and weak. It didn?t matter. He willed himself to walk, forced himself to trudge forward no matter how weary his body became. This planet would not get the best of him. He had a promise to keep, the promise of life and a lifetime, even if the person he?d made it to was no longer there to receive it. Even if he was, once again, alone.

In the middle of a world on a fishhook
You?re the wave, you?re the wave, you?re the wave
Swallowed, borrowed
Heavy about everything but my love
Swallowed, hollowed
Sharp about everyone but yourself
Swallowed, oh no
I?m with everyone and yet not
I?m with everyone and you?re not
-Bush


?I thought you might want these.?

Six words written by a precise hand on Confederation stationary monogrammed with the initials RP stared up at Koy and twisted the vice around her heart until the blood ran dry. The words painted a death sentence in black ink carried out by an unwilling executioner. It was a large atrocity for one little piece of paper to bear.

Major Robyn Pemberton had seen to sending Matt?s things to the home her former Colonel shared with his girlfriend. That the Confederation felt no need to hold onto Matt?s belongings for when he returned confirmed for Koy what Robyn had already showed her. A lifetime of service and dedication boiled down to one cardboard box filled with uniforms, photographs, notebooks, and odd mementos from foreign cities. Koy only took a cursory glance through the container, a Pandora?s box filled not with evils but the truth. If she left it open long enough the world would know that Matthew Simon had fallen under Time?s scythe, left to the mercy of History?s interpretation and Memory?s instability.

*****

?Wait fer me!? The little elven girl?s breathless voice called out after the pack of boys she had been lagging behind all morning. Her tiny legs needed five steps for each easy stride the older boys took on their way out of the wooded areas and into the heart of town.

Already bearing the marks of speed and strength that would take him far in his future training as a Ranger, Beldron slowed down long enough to shoot an impish smile over his shoulder at the girl. ?Iffn ya can?t keep up mebbe ya oughta go home ta Mama, Koyla!?

Narrowing her Aldamiras eyes at him, the girl?s entire face folded in upon itself and chose her puckered mouth as the apex of the anger she sent Beldron?s way. He only winked and turned to catch up with his friends. Although her lungs felt ready to burst and her heart banged itself into her rib cage over and over again, Koy kept running.

?Ain?t those yar kids, Fox?? Isaih stopped his ongoing work lugging crates from one end of the pier to the other to watch the wild group tear past the bustle of fishmongers and longshoremen.

Kenneth VanDuran, nicknamed Grey Fox since the day the first white strand appeared on his young, charismatic head, paused as well. One side of his mouth lifted up in a lopsided grin, the pride evident. ?Aye, tha they are.?

The small girl dragged behind them, tripping over the handle of a cart that had been placed on the ground. She felt tears welling up and burning to spill out of her eyes. If she knew her father stood nearby she might have indulged herself in crying and letting him comfort her. Koy affected her mother?s Qi accent and not the Firthian dialect Kenneth spoke with but in all other regards she was her father?s daughter. The sun rose and set upon Kenneth?s silver head as far as she was concerned. She also worshipped her brother in a similar manner and since she thought Beldron was the only one who could see her now she picked herself up and continued after him without shedding a tear.

?Tha lil one of yars is some spitfire, eh?? Isaih smiled fondly as the girl continued on her way, skinned knees be damned.

?She?s my phofehle, my gerwen berid lirae telga.? The seamless switches Kenneth made between Gweth and the Common language were effortless and often expected in the seaport town, a crossroads for traders and travelers alike.

Isaih chuckled. ?A beautiful dream and a free child of the forest? Tha?s a lot of lofty titles fer a tiny girl ta bear.?

?She can handle it. There are worse things than a doting father.?

While Isaih and Kenneth swapped stories with each other about their children, Beldron and his crew raced their way down onto the sliver of beach accessible from the western side of the piers. The sand quickly led out to the rocky jetties that prevented the beach from washing away. It was low tide, allowing the boys to scramble their way further out on those stones that were typically submerged under water when the tide returned.

A cautious Koy took an unsteady step onto the first rock, already leagues behind the boys. Bending herself in half Koy placed her hands on the next stone in her path and let her upper body cross over before her legs followed. Her movements reminiscent of a crawling caterpillar she edged her way closer, pausing only when she saw Beldron take a joyous leap far out from the jetties and into the green foam.

Beldron always lead the way. In truth the sea was calm and free from seaweed that day, a glorious sight for the rambunctious boys. Beldron?s two friends Rivers and Murphy quickly followed, jumping into the water and proceeding to splash each other. As long as they stayed aware of the sea?s fickleness they were in no danger.

But Koy was petrified, even if she could swim. By the time her nerve carried her out to their launching spot she found her bare feet rooted to the rock. Unfortunately the boys noticed this as well.

?Ya comin? lil scaredy cat?? Murphy called out as he treaded water.

?Cat? I was thinking more like chicken,? Rivers countered and began to squawk for effect.

?Hey! Lay off ?er,? Beldron swam up behind his two friends and lifted his arms to dunk both of their unsuspecting heads under the water. His deft freestyle stroke was already taking him back towards Koy. ?Ya want me ta come help ya back ta the shore, Koyla?? He would save his teasing for later once they were home alone.

?NO! I?ma do it, I will.? Her words bigger than she felt but she couldn?t have them calling her a chicken for the rest of her days! Beldron swam back towards his friends then, leaving her space to jump.

A flash of embarrassed heat traveled from her toes all the way up to the tippy-top of her head. She was not only proud but still glued to the spot. The only things that moved were her small hands as they clenched into fists and opened up again in a repeated pattern.

?I can jump with ya, Koyla.? Kenneth had travelled down onto the beach to check up on his children. Crossing the rocks towards his daughter he held his large hand out to her.

She loved the gravel in her father?s voice, the way his words came out in a low rumble. He sounded so strong. She wanted to take his hand, to have him wrap her up and shield her from the likes of Rivers and Murphy. But even though Beldron?s dunking and the presence of Mr. VanDuran had shut the boys up Koy continued to hear Rivers? squawking in her head.

?Haveta do it myself,? her admission quiet but stern. Kenneth nodded and waited. When Koy stared out at the water but did not move he came up behind her and closed his fingers around her balled up fists. He lifted her arms around to her front, crossing her chest and placing them up by her shoulders.

?Achordin ama,? he whispered into her pointed ear. She shut her eyes, breathing in the scent of sea salt and wood chips he carried with him. He delivered the second half of his mantra with more vigor, bringing her arms down and out and forcing her hands open: ?Taisar ama!? He released her from his embrace and stepped back.

The forest-green eyes popped open and the little girl took a loud breath before springing off the rock and plunging feet first into the water below.

*****

Achordin ama; taisar ama.

I do not fear; I fly.

Those were her father?s words, his motto to live by. Koy resented him for taking it so literally, for flying away to new adventures whenever he felt cooped up and caged in by reality.

Now she wished she had followed them. She gave up so many things to fear when it came to Matthew. He wanted to fly in different ways and she refused to join him time and time again.

It was too late to wish for wings.

She could end it all and finish the job she started back in that rundown Riverhaven inn where she lost Lirisa. She could find a sharper knife and wield it with deeper resolve. But even those actions, bold and shocking on the surface, would be laced with fear. She feared what little life she had left without Matthew in it.

Suicide would be too simple. She didn?t deserve such a sweet release.

For all that the VanDuran?s and their Langenfirth neighbors took from the sea, she took plenty in return. The tales of brothers, fathers, husbands and sons devoured and left to roll their bones forever along her cold floor embedded themselves deeply into the village?s folklore.

When she heard these stories Koy always thought the men got off easy.

Men sailed away and died. The women stayed behind charged with the task of resurrecting the dearly departed in their minds, their hearts and the ears of anyone who would listen.

Koyliak VanDuran would take up the burden of the women who came before her. When people saw her they would be met with Matthew Simon?s living monument. She was a testament to all that had come before and a sad reminder of what could never be.

Jubilant June

The night starts here, the night starts here
Forget your name, forget your fear
The pleasure part, the afterthought, the missing stone in the graveyard
The time we have, the task at hand, the love it takes to become a man
The dust at dawn is rained upon, attaches itself to everyone
No one is spared, no one is clean
It travels places you?ve never been or seen before
-Stars

Koy, face down on the bed in a tank top and boycut shorts, heard the footsteps. But she heard those footsteps more often than she cared to admit. With her head buried in a pillow she imagined she must have fallen asleep already.

?Koyliak.? Matt wasn?t asking. She had to be there.

Koy heard the door unlock and then open. But she had had this dream before. ?Ye?re early, eh?? She didn?t pick her head up from the pillow right away.

Her question confused him but he softened his voice and spoke again. ?Koyliak. It?s me. It?s Matt.?

?I?m not sure I?m even fully ?sleep yet.? With a heavy sigh she resigned herself to facing what had often been both a dream and a nightmare. Matt would come back only for her to lose him again in the morning. The forest-green eyes trailed over him as she nodded. ??Course it is, ghost. It?s ?lways Matt.?

He let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. He stepped inside; the door slid shut. Inside, the only light came from the window. The moonlight casted shadows and radiated an angelic light across her face, her closed eyes, and the curls in her hair which cascaded across her forehead and the pillows like renewed hope.

She stood up, crossing the room to get to him, a pained look on her features. ?Gods ?bove, ye?re even more real than the last one.? The quiet astonishment as she wondered how her memory of him could get better with his prolongued absence instead of worse. ?Though the hair?s a bit much,? she added. She tugged on a curl without asking for his permission. He was a figment of her imagination after all. She didn?t need to mind her manners.

With her in front of him Matt breathed in her scent. His eyes closed and he let the feeling wash over him. ?Koyliak. It is me. I kept my promise.?

?Poor ghost, ye don?t know any better.? She brushed her hand across his forehead, moving the hair. She inhaled deeply. It hurt her more than any fist ever could. ?I wish ye were right.? But he couldn?t be. She had just gotten the last of his belongings from the Confederation. He was dead.

He gripped her shoulders; soft enough not to harm her, hard enough to let her know he was tangible. He wondered what she must be going through and ached for the pain he?d wrought upon her.

Koy shut her eyes, pressing her cheek against the back of his hand on her shoulder. She stayed like that for a moment before she started shaking her head, moving his hands away. ?Please don?t. It?ll only be tha much harder when ye have ta go.?

Matt couldn?t help it. She was too close and he, perhaps selfish, simply couldn?t stand it. He pulled her into a tight hug, burying his face inside of her hair, breathing on her neck. She was here. She was here! Deservedly or not, she had remained.

She gave into the embrace, but again only momentarily. The sooner the dream ended the sooner she could go on accepting the truth and not pretending. ?It?s not real,? she stammered the words with more force.

?It is. I am,? he whispered into her ear before pushing back to arm?s length. ?Go ahead. Try me.?

?Ye?re gonna know anythin? I ask ye. I dreamt ye up!? Her dreams had always been vivid. Otherwise, she might have questioned the argument she was getting into.

He moved toward the window and pushed the panes open. ?See? Watch.? The night air rushed inside like a wave.

She rolled her eyes. ?Geez, give me some credit. My imagination is a pretty heady thing.? She fumbled with the door, tugging it open before she went to retrieve her personal Ghost by his surprisingly real-feeling wrist. Heady indeed. She started to drag him out the door and towards the balcony.

He let her pull him outside into the comparatively bright light of the Outback. Below them, Rhydinian life continued on much as it always did. But on the balcony, the Fates furiously wove their threads.

?I?ll show ye.? Koy stood on the balcony and called out sharply to PJ and Charlie who were arguing about something below. ?Hey!?

Charlie gave her a thumbs up. ?Matt?s home! Great news! Have lots of great sex!?

Matt watched, torn between quite literally snapping her out of her dreamed-up dream state and letting her work it out on her own. He needed her to recognize him as real. He needed it more than he dared admit to himself.

It was then that Koy took stock of the situation. She imagined she looked rather crazed standing in her pajamas, her hair tossed back in a messy bun, asking them if they could see her imaginary friend. Charlie?s comment startled her. ?Wha? Ye can see ?em too??

?Of course I can. He needs a shave. I expect a full report in the morning, Legs!? With that she disappeared out the doors with PJ in tow.

Matt?s hands gripped the rough wood of the balcony railing. He looked down below at life. True life. Life that paled, became a shadow, a worthless figment of nothingness next to the disbelieving woman who stood mere inches, yet worlds, away.

Overwhelming didn?t quite do justice to the situation. Koy looked back at Matt with her mouth hanging open slightly. He did not, dared not, move. Her doubts carved him apart from the inside out...but she was here. She was here!.

She balled up her fist, shaking as all the emotions, fears and hopes she had bottled up for the last four months came flooding over her. He was real? He was real! He was real and he had let her think he was dead? There were a lot of things she needed to say to him. She should have said ?Thank heavens!? or ?Ye don?t know how much I missed ye!? or even a ?Hey, ye?re not a Ghost!? would have done the trick. Instead, the first thing she said came from her fist as she shot it out aiming straight for his shoulder as she yelled at him.

?Don?t ever do tha ta me ?gain!?

For a fraction of a second, the time between seeing her tense and her arm shooting forward, he thought about letting her do what she needed to do. But he had to play his part too and his part meant grabbing her arm at the wrist, holding it aloft. The triangle hung above their heads. Her words stung. They ripped through him, shredding and gnashing; her voice was Ginger?s voice. Their words were the same. Only there was a difference. She was here! Only, what if she didn?t mean to be?