“Homecoming" Series
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[indicates thoughts.]
*emphasis*
PG - 13 . . . home is where your heart decides to put down roots.
~~~~
“Oof!”
“Stop complaining, you’re the one that picked it up in the first place. You know the big ones are almost fifty pounds!”
“Lyta, can it.”
“Not until the aluminum manufacturing levels rise a great deal.”
Ivanova picked a clump of dirt off the ground and threw it at Lyta, who easily sidestepped it and continued working.
“There's no cans yet,” Lyta grinned as she pulled a smaller sack off the back of the wagon and carried it into the shuttle. A minute later, “Ow!”
“I hear you,” Ivanova chirped gleefully.
“That stings, you know!” Lyta stepped back into the sunlight, rubbing the spot on her side that had been pinched.
“Bitch, bitch, bitch.”
“You talking about yourself again, Susan?” Lyta complained loudly as she picked up a new sack and headed back to the shuttle, nearly running into a crewmember who’d stopped in surprise.
“Miss, you are a lot braver than I am,” he said.
“Or more foolish. Either way, the work gets done.”
The earthforcer got the message and kept carrying his load along.
“I heard that, missy.”
“I outrank you here, Captain. Please remember that. Besides, this grain is going to feed all your kids on their trip home.”
“I know. I’m just glad the power levels shipside are strong enough again to fully recharge the shuttles instead of whatever amount we could get to leak into them. Makes resupply a whole lot simpler.”
“I realised that when we saw this crate doing loop-de-loops on the way down. O’Dell! Is the next wagon on its way? We’ll have room for more than what’s left on this one.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I can see it coming, should be here in about half an hour. Less, if those are horses instead of oxen. Can’t tell yet.”
“Are you bossing my crew around, Lyta?”
“Of course, Captain. They’re *so* well trained.”
“Hey!” One of the people in question added his part.
[70 days,] Ivanova wondered to herself as she picked up another load. [Has it really been that long? We’re almost done. The ship’s repairs are almost complete. Gods, it took so long. But at times it feels like I’ve barely begun my time here; like I want to stay forever. There’s less paperwork in the mediation I’ve started doing for the locals than in solving the normal day to day problems shipside. And no annoying links buzzing at me, generals with starched ideas, or fear of being found out as a teep and risking a court-martial. But as long as anyone else from earthforce is around, I'm not 'fessing up to being a potential citizen. There’s still thousands of former Psi Corps members hanging around earth-controlled space, and I know I’m not popular with any of them. At least most of them are penned up on Earth, and can’t get out because of the quarantine. But still, if even one of the teeps here lets it slip I’m one of them . . . the subject of a recurring nightmare. Lyta was grumbling at me again this morning for screaming in my sleep. Not my fault!]
When Ivanova went back out to grab another sack, she realised there were none left. “We’re just too efficient, I guess.”
“We’re so well trained, Captain,” a private grinned as he leaned back against the cart to relax.
Ivanova blinked at him a few times, watching his grin vanish as his eyes registered that he'd made a mistake, and he scrambled to stand at attention.
“That was the last of the grains for today?” She asked with her most efficient tone of voice, and an expression to match.
“Yes, Sir! The arriving vehicle is scheduled to carry preserved meats, Sir!”
“Good. Until it does arrive, private, I want you on the ground, demonstrating the fine art of the push-up.” She walked away from him as he promptly dropped to the ground.
Lyta waited for a few moments, until Ivanova had stalked out of earshot. “For what it’s worth, Mr. Andell, thank you for proving my argument.”
“No problem, ma’am,” he grunted as he kept up the exercise. “It was in the interest of good neighbourly relations.”
The two other crewmen who had been assisting sat down nearby. “You just had to shoot your mouth off, didn’t you, Charlie,” one said. "That was really stupid of you."
“It’s alright,” Lyta injected. “She’s just cranky because of her pulled shoulder - and - the other shuttle's duty today."
"Retrieving the dead that we had to bury before coming here, we know, ma'am. Yesterday was great though, all the injured being flown in and us finding out how many hadn't died that we figured would. Andrew Mann was already walking again a little bit."
"They got the last of the scattered crew this morning, didn't they, Dan?"
"Yeah, I was there when Tanta's pod group got off. Never seen anyone so happy to see us!"
There was a slight pause, broken only by Andell's breathing sounds, as they remembered the day before.
O'Dell had a smile on for a few moments, then he sobered. "You weren't there last night, though, and I was. When we had to tell Chai that Tyler was in the graveyard instead of waiting for her with the rest of us. That was bad. That was how the Captain was injured, right Ma'am? Trying to calm Chai down?"
"Yes," Lyta replied at their questioning looks. "She was in a bad mood all today because of it. Often the nearest person is the target with her. You do have one consolation: she considers you worth disciplining. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open, and she’ll teach you a great deal.”
“True, Ma’am.” Andell puffed out. Up, down, up, down . . .
“And in the meantime, I better go see what trouble she’s about to get into.”
“Thank you for helping, Miss Alexander.” O’Dell said sincerely. "I know it's a long walk to get out here."
“Pleasure to meet you!” His younger companion added.
Lyta gave them all a smile as she walked away.
“Now there goes a classy lady.”
“I say she’s nuts, talking back to the Captain like that. But braver than hell and heaven combined, for the same reason.”
Andell tried not to laugh as he pushed. “She’s got a great pair of legs, too.”
“Speaking of stupid! You realise she practically runs the whole fraggin' city, don’t you?” Dan Capris glared down as his friend continued the push-ups.
“Hey, Dan, I calls ‘em as I sees ‘em.”
“He is at the right level to have checked, you know. And she is quite pretty, even with seeming so sad all the time.”
“Is that wagon here yet?”
“Almost. Keep on demonstrating your ‘fine arts’, Charlie.”
~~~~
Captain’s Log, morning of Day 73. Today, I finally get to re-enter orbit. The repairs have been progressing smoothly, and enough has been accomplished to make my going up for inspection worth the trip. Actually, the ship was close enough to spaceworthy for an inspection last night, but it took more than a few hours to convince a spooked mother to let her only surviving relative out of arms’ reach for the time it will take. I’m going to borrow Marie’s daughter, the child born here right after they first arrived, for a full medical workup. Lyta will be coming, partly because the toddler is going to need a familiar face, and partly to repay her for the guided tour of the Wall. Mind you, it’ll take considerably less than three full days to show her the Sophocles. It’s a great ship, but doesn't have the sheer size and complexity of a real city. There was only one species that built the Sophocles, for starters. The teep’s world had a couple hundred previous cultures to draw on for resources, and the determination to match. But my ship is still a damn good ship - mostly because it IS mine! I’ll need to double-check the arrangements of the cargo holds, however. The largest one should be kept empty, at least until we finish the stop at the outer moon. I haven’t told the crew exactly what the trade material is, besides metal ores. I’m waiting for visual confirmation, I won’t believe it until I see it. The rest of the holds we can fill with the food being brought aboard. I hope there’ll be enough room - the earthforce issued rations took up a lot less space, since they were processed into shrunken tastelessness. There should be enough room for a months worth if we ration, and hopefully there will be resupplies made from other ships along the way. The jumpengines are totally gone, so we’ll need an escort for the transfer points. And maybe to leave the Sanctuary System. We’d need an escort anyway - there was no way to repair the weapons systems here. The guns are beyond the repair capability of my crew anyway, there's just no spare parts left. They’ll need to be replaced once in dry-dock. Probably at the Proxima shipyards. Might be the one near Io. Either one has enough of a court system to nail my hide to the wall. I still haven’t figured out what Lyta meant by her comment when the White Star first arrived, but I am going to ask the crew that was on the bridge about what they can remember about arriving. Well, the ones who survived. 56 of the 57 sealed coffins were dug up yesterday and brought to the ship to be carried home for reburial. One won’t be exhumed for a few more days. He had no listed next of kin back in Earth territory, but a sister of his is still on her way here. She settled at the far end of the southern continent, it’s a long trip, especially when grieving. I hope to meet her when she arrives. He’d mentioned a sister several times in conversation, just never gave a location. Did he know about this place? A few outsiders did. Another mystery. Things are going well, anyway. All the remaining broken limbs have been healed, as of yesterday. Bone fusers are difficult to make, but time did most of the healing. Only a few recent breaks had to be mended, which is good. Very few meds survived, most are being restarted or are on the resupply list, to be filled as soon as we can physically meet another earthforce ship. The doctors have their fingers crossed none of the missing drugs will be needed. Artificial blood, for example. Which brings me to repayment. We’ve taken a sizeable chunk of the local’s harvest, in lost production time (them babysitting us), what will be taken for the return voyage, and what we ate while here. We can’t repay them in food, of course, but over the next few days a suitable return will be given. The medical synthesisers can make contraceptives, no problem. I hope to have enough for several hundred implants, if not several thousand. My chief medical officer has told me she knows a way to implant them, without the need of a powered injector. Painful and leaves a small scar, but still works. End log.
~~~~
“WEETA! Huwwo weeta! HUG ME!!”
Lyta, smiling, scooped up the demanding toddler in her arms and gave the required bearhug. “Hi, sweetie, are you ready for a very important day?”
“Wara getz a RIDE!” she giggled back. “Down!”
“Say please.”
“Pweaze?”
“Now there’s a pair of bambi eyes,” Ivanova observed dryly as the toddler scampered away.
“Lara is quite an angelic suck-up, yes.” Lyta replied as she turned to the girl’s mother. “But are YOU going to be alright?”
“You’ll be with her the entire time?”
“I will. She won’t get hurt, Marie. I promise.”
“ ‘k.”
Ivanova noticed the nervous woman had become even more skittish than she was the night before. “Ma’am, don’t worry, I-”
“*Don’t* ma’am me! I’m at least a decade younger than *you*, CAPTAIN!”
“Okay, sorry - Miss - but I do have complete confidence in Lyta.”
“And your crew? We all know what they did, what they tried to do!”
“The lawbreakers are sealed in the brig, and no one else is going to try anything. I’ll be with Lyta and your daughter, and I am fully capable of beating the crap out of anyone who serves under me. She - will - be - fine.”
Marie just gulped and looked sideways at the nearby shuttle, powered down and waiting patiently, then to her daughter who was running around at full speed, still giggling ‘a ride, a ride!’
“Marie?” Lyta asked calmly.
“Please hurry,” she whispered back.
“We will, Marie. Try not to worry too much. See that man coming?”
“The pilot?” She guessed.
“Yes. He has many years of experience, and the shuttle is working much better than our old crate was. Lara is perfectly safe. You have to believe me. You have to believe *in* me.”
“I - I do. I trust you. I just don’t trust *them*!”
Lyta gave Marie a hug. “We’ll be fine.”
“Please hurry back,” Marie again pleaded as she handed Lyta a small bag of clothes.
Lyta nodded, and went to scoop up Lara.
“Ride! Ride now? Weeta go wif Wara?”
“Yes, I’m going with you. You’ve never been offworld before, and I don’t know how you’ll take it. So I need you to hold my hand, ok? You can’t let go.”
“O.K. We go on ride now?” The toddler seemed to be wrapped up in the selective oblivion that characterised her age group.
Lyta lead her to the shuttle, and they followed the pilot in, picking a pair of seats near the front. Ivanova and several other crewmembers that were also on the flight started to filter in as Lyta strapped them both in.
“Wotz dat? And doze?” Lara’s nonstop babbling had turned to the darkened instrument panel a few feet in front of her.
Luckily, the pilot was a good sport. “All of these help me fly the shuttle. They tell me how high we are, how fast we’re going, all sorts of data. Ok?”
He received nothing but a blank look for his trouble. Trying again, he added, "lots of information."
Lara looked at the pilot, then back to Lyta. Then she proudly pointed to the console and stated, “Wibraree!”
Ivanova barely managed to not laugh out loud.
“Well, this library has much less to read . . . and this,” he said, hefting a smallish box with lots of wires and connections visible, “Is a power pack. We have to take all the charge out of the shuttle right after we land, so none of your friends get hurt. We store it in here, where it’s not in use so they can’t sense it, and to start the shuttle back up, we just plug it back in and crank it.”
Lara gave him another blank look.
“I put the wires in there and we can start your ride.”
“Ride! Ride ride ride ride ride ride ride . . .”
“Captain, does she have an ‘off’ switch?” a crewmember near the back commented as the one worded speech continued without pause for almost a minute.
“That’s not funny, Clements.”
“Yes it is, Susan,” Lyta smiled as she smoothed the babbling toddler’s hair.
“. . . ride ride ride ride ride ride . . .”
“Powering up!” The pilot said as he finished plugging in the box and opened the switch.
“. . . ride ride rrrr-uuuuuuhhhh!” Lara’s babbling abruptly dissolved into a strained whimper. Her fingers suddenly were imprinting white tracks in the back of Lyta’s hand. “M - muvic gone?”
Ivanova was suddenly unnerved as well. [It’s silent . . . it’s fraggin strange!] She suddenly realised how used to the background symphony she had become, but Lara was taking it a lot worse.
Someone else on the shuttle asked, “Is the little one going to be ok? She’s breathing strangely.”
“Wara want muvic baaaaack,” Lara whimpered before bursting into tears.
Lyta loosened her straps enough to reach over with her other hand, placing it on Lara’s face. Their eyes closed in unison and Lara’s crying halted as her breathing slowed and deepened to match Lyta’s.
[What are you doing?] Ivanova asked.
[Acting as a relay. My abilities are enhanced enough, I should be able to keep her calm even in orbit. Never tried it before, though. Never left the surface.]
“What music?” a puzzled crewmember asked.
Ivanova pried her own knuckles off the armrest and answered for them. “The EM fields from the shuttle must be getting to her. She was born here, and has never been around power until this afternoon.”
“Oh yeah. Teeps can sense electronics.”
Lyta blinked her eyes open to look at him. “Some of us can, yes. I think I had better hang onto her for the trip.”
Lara kept her eyes closed the entire flight, still breathing in the same pattern.
~~~~
As soon as she stepped off the shuttle, Ivanova knew the damage repair estimate was too optimistic. There were panels off some of the bulkheads in the first corridor, wiring was exposed and lying around, and some patches of the corridor were not properly lit.
Lyta tsk'd. “Not up to the usual level of housekeeping?”
“Not hardly,” Ivanova replied as she shifted over to get a closer look. “These systems aren’t considered major, so they’ve been put off.”
A wire sparked near Lyta’s feet, making her scoop Lara up in her arms. “I think I’m gonna carry you, my little one. Be brave for me.”
A muffled whimper from her shoulder was the only reply.
There wasn’t much to see along the way to medlab, but by that point Lyta was more concerned with safety rather than the grand tour. They soon arrived. Medlab was pretty much empty, just a few techs regrowing what medicine they could off in the side rooms, since most of the medical staff were still planetside, but the required doctor with pediatrics training was waiting. She helped the girl onto a table, but didn’t try to pry her hand away from Lyta’s, which was being held in an iron grip.
“Hi, there. Do you want to tell me your name?” The doctor asked.
The child just gulped, staring around at the room goggle-eyed.
“Her name is Lara,” mentioned Lyta.
“Hello, Lara, you’ve never seen tools like these before, have you?”
A slow, single headshake ‘no’.
“Well, that’s what happens when you decide to be born the day they land on a brand-new low-tech colony. They won’t hurt you, ok? They just take pictures of your insides so we can look. Lie down for me. There you go, ma chère.”
“She’s never been subjected to a direct EM field before, I don’t know how she’ll take it,” Lyta told the doctor. “She didn’t do well on her first exposure to even a general EM field. She’ll be able to sense it, but I doubt she’ll be able to *make* sense of it.”
Lara was okay up until the first major scanner was brought online, then she covered her face with her hands and started to scream, writhing away instantly. Lyta caught her and pulled her up, hugging and soothing her until the tears eventually slowed down and it was quiet enough for the adults to hear each other. “She’s got clean clothes in the bag, could you pass it to me?”
As they dried the toddler, Lyta continued to try to soothe her. “It won’t hurt you, it won’t hurt you. It just buzzes in your head for a bit. Please do this? For aunties Lyta and Susan?”
The doc tried to hide a smile at the captain's expression but failed.
Lara, sniffling, peeked an eye out from behind Lyta to look at Ivanova before retreating and saying, “No. Scary! Hurts.” Two little sets of fingers were all that was visible as Lara clung to Lyta’s back like it was a life preserver.
Lyta looked at the doctor apologetically, then thought for a second. “Lara, if I do it first, and show you afterwards I'm ok, will you do it?”
After almost a full minute, a very muffled “maybe. . .”
Lyta nodded at the doctor, who re-set the scanners to adult, and Lyta went through the tests with ease. When the doctor commented on it, Lyta replied, “I’ve had them enough.”
She was pronounced as basically healthy. “A little low on iron and a few vitamins, but otherwise alright. You’ve even gone back to normal weight distribution. Your uterus is still returning to a non-pregnant size, and you’re probably still sore in places, but otherwise . . .”
Lyta nodded in depressed understanding, and looked at Lara expectantly. Lara seemed to squint at Lyta for a few seconds, then sighed and said in a tiny voice, “ok.”
Lara went through the scans, hanging onto Lyta’s hand tighter than ever.
“Well, you’ll need to update her vaccines, but since we don't have any of the drugs around, it will have to wait. She's quite healthy otherwise. Most of the locals seem to be. There are a few things I’ve noticed on the surface that could be cured with advanced meds, but since no powered tools are permitted, it's a moot point.” She sighed and placed the data pad down. “I won't argue for installing power, since I’ve met one of the reasons . . . at least you got the external implants removed, but the scarring won't heal on their faces, no matter how much tech you've got. Oh well. Maybe when that island port they've started to talk about is set up, there can be a modern hospital there for treatment of the non-alts. Time will tell. Your medical abilities planetside are already quite remarkable for a low-tech world, because of all the different species that brought their individual medicines along.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Lyta said. “See? You’re fine. I take you back home soon.”
Lara pulled her face away from Lyta’s shirt only long enough to blow a raspberry at the closest machine. “Pbtbtbtbtbttt!”
Smiling wanly, the doctor asked, “Ivanova, could we speak later, but before you go back down?”
The captain agreed, and went to give Lyta and Lara the rest of the tour.
~~~~
The captain stayed for a few more hours after her guests were shuttled back to the surface, Lara glad to be gone from that "bad pwace. Don't wike!" Lyta had continued to soothe her, and the pilot later recalled to Ivanova that the little girl ran out and hugged the nearest tree as soon as the shuttle set down, babbling about 'muvic'. Her mother wasn't too impressed to be passed over for a plant, but was glad to be able to hold her again.
“Carlson, you mentioned to me a while ago that I should look at some of this rewiring?”
“Yes, Captain. These circuits are a little out of my expertise.” He pointed into an open panel he was kneeling in front of. She noticed that three of his fingers were wrapped in burn-treatment bandages.
“Yeah, these junctions can be tricky,” she replied. “Mind if I ask you a question?”
“I am here to serve, Captain.”
“My memory is fuzzy for a few minutes after the beam clobbered me.” She tapped the slight scar from the line of stitches running across her forehead. “What can you recall?”
“Blood, shooting, shouting, explosions, death, injury, and a somewhat lucky break,” he replied. “Or are you after more precise details?”
“Carlson, either a break is lucky or it isn’t. Are you talking about the Drakh ships getting crushed? Only thing I could figure is that they got too close to the walls of that tunnel thing. Why would that be not so lucky, or is that a rhetorical question.”
“The beings whose doorstep we were dumped on do not rank very high on my list, Captain, I’m sure you are aware of that fact. That is the down side, although the destruction of the enemy was a bright spot. No, what I was actually referring to was the direction the helmsman picked when you told him to try to lead the enemy far enough from the beacons to get them lost in the gravity wells.”
Ivanova stopped what she was doing for a few seconds to concentrate. “I don’t remember that part.”
“You don’t? Odd, I sure do. You gave up on trying to keep a lock on the beacons, told the helm to ‘get us and them lost forever’, and about a minute later, fwoosh, the tunnel. Interference vortex. Whatever.”
“I must have gotten knocked harder than I thought,” Ivanova muttered under her breath, and re-focused on the wires.
“There are others who were there, perhaps you or I could speak with some of them, try to get a exact phrasing.”
“If you wish. I tend to be a stickler for having all the details down pat, I’ll see who I can talk to. There. That should do it,” she said as she snapped the panel back over the fixed wiring. “Was that the last thing you needed me for? I’m wanted back in Medlab.”
“No, that’s about it for now. Thank you. Sir.”
~~~~
“Well, I’m back. You wanted to talk to me?”
"Captain . . . Susan," the doctor paused, then started again. "What has your friend been told about herself? The local doctors said she's lost three in a row, all by similar ways - too early birth, underweight, couldn't breathe properly. I couldn't get too many details. Did she know why they died? The cause, I mean, of their illness?"
"Byron - the father - said it was the damage caused by the Vorlons. She helped drive one off B5 back during the shadow war, and it nearly fried her in return. He said it was probably her last chance, this time, because the scarring has spread. That her organs were damaged. Why?"
"And she was sick, right? Morning sickness, all day type? Extremely low weight gain?"
"Yes, very much - but why?"
"Captain . . . I'm guessing he wasn't a doctor."
"No. Now tell me why!"
"Was he raised by the Corps?"
"What does that have to do with Lyta's miscarriages?"
"Possibly everything. Did you have a chance to get a DNA sample like I requested?"
Ivanova, by now very suspicious, pulled the cloth with Nathaniel's locket of hair out of her pocket. "Denise, I've known you for years, and I trust you. But answer me: WHY?"
The doctor put a few hair strands into a different scanner than the ones she’d used on the human patients before she continued. "The corps arranged breeding among its members, as you well know. DNA samples were taken from every telepath, whether or not they joined or went to jail or went on sleepers. 'The Corps is Mother, The Corps is Father'. The corps did a lot of incest, with many parents meeting only in a petri dish. Inbreeding was common, if they wanted to try to increase a certain trait, just like it's done on animals. This means many corps-raised teeps had genetic flaws. Some more serious than others. The Corps knew all of this, but would rarely give anything other than an excuse for why the teep was ill in some way. They rarely told the cause, just the condition . . . oh, merde. And they only told that much to - to a few in power . . . damn. I'd been 'oping - zhe symptoms matched several zhings but - I guess not . . . 'ere it is."
"Here WHAT is?"
"Captain, zhis is - *this* is a genetic profile of Lyta's baby. I wasn't lying when I said your friend was just fine in the motherhood department. There isn't *anything* wrong with her. What killed her children was an inherited genetic disorder, a very serious and rare one. It can only be passed on by paternal DNA, and if Byron was raised by the corps, then he must have known he had it, and that without treatment - a very simple, if extremely painful gene replacement therapy - any children he fathered wouldn't develop a proper placenta, causing intense nausea for the mother and hindering growth in the womb, and wouldn't form lungs strong enough to survive outside a respirator upon a guaranteed-premature birth. The fact that the last two even made it into the 8th month was a sign of Lyta’s very healthy state, many wouldn’t have made it halfway into the second trimester. I've seen - before, you know, I served in the clinics for the telepaths who survived the corps' collapse - I saw - with the prisoners in that re-education center - the usual result. Sometimes the poor mother bled to death, even, we just couldn't save them, and we had every modern tool you could imagine. But without powered equipment - here, for these ones . . . Was Byron the one who proposed the idea of no-tech?"
"Yes." Ivanova said bluntly. There was a few seconds of silence. "Even before he knew of the alts, some of which were in B5’s cryotubes. He was a second generation Psi Cop. He was born and raised by the Corps. He knew . . ."
"It seems likely," the doctor said.
Ivanova turned and left in a dark cloud. [I have to find Lyta.]
The sky was clear that night. Calm, a light breeze, a billion stars and 4 moons visible during the time span from dusk until dawn. That didn't prevent the worst storm the teep's home had ever sensed from striking, however, as Lyta went from disbelief to anger to rage over the course of the hours.
She'd been lied to, even blamed.
Deliberately and repeatedly.
For years.
She didn't take it well.
She linked in telepathically, interrupting an early session of the First Council, hauling Byron aside by telekinetic force and confronting him, a burning glyph of herself blazing in front of him for all the others to see. A one-sided, ugly argument followed.
He confessed. He also said he did it to protect her. She scanned him, harshly and deeply, ignoring the ways the other councillors were reacting to this display of brute force, ignoring the physical pain he was experiencing at the invasion.
She’d known there had been blocks in his mind, deep ones that went twisting over many areas, but she had never been one to use aggression, and so, had never broken past them before. What she now saw, she let all the others present witness as well. The clamour for her to stop died down quickly as newly exposed scenes played out in their minds.
“You . . . actually . . . *believe* in what you’ve said? You actually believed doing this was helping me, was helping the others?! Why? Why didn’t you admit this before? Before we began to travel, even during those years, and even after we found this new home, there were times, places, CHANCES to heal yourself. Chances to have let my -OUR!- children live! Chances to have mended a shredded heart! And for what, did you refuse? For WHAT?! Because - you - didn’t - want - to - admit - there - was - something - wrong - with - you! You could have been treated, Byron, there were times - do you remember this one? Or . . . how about THIS time? We were there a MONTH! It was more than enough . . . you . . . you’ve had more than enough. I can learn, Byron, I can *learn* from my mistakes. Even if you can not.”
Laughing with black humour as much as it was crying, her image staggered back a few steps, letting him slump down to the smooth marble tiles. The glyph did not appear to do anything for a few long minutes, and in the complete silence that surrounded them, no one moved to help the stricken First Councillor to his feet.
Her voice was syrup-sweet but completely flat in tone when she did finally speak again. “Never a word as to why . . . well . . . no wonder you made me believe those LIES. I have news for you, my dear, sweet Byron . . . the truth ALWAYS finds a way to be heard.”
Then she smiled, slowly. "Goodbye, Byron.” Her image turned to face the council, voice raised to be heard more easily, and she seemed extremely calm now. “Continue the session, I want to know the names of those permitted to be on the trade envoy to Alliance space. Have them ready to go by the time the physical message reaches me . . . and, Councillors . . . I advise *against* any delays."
His screaming started a few heartbeats after she disappeared.
No other telepath had the power to link in that far, they had to pass messages by land. Including the time it took to reach the consensus, the fastest message they could send didn't cross the distance to The Wall until the morning of the 83rd day after the Sophocles had entered their territory.
~~~~
On the 79th day, the ship was declared as fully functional as it would get without more equipment and spare parts. An invitation had been sent out the day before, among the crew on the surface and to those in orbit, for ‘any unmarried women of kind disposition and freedom of past’ to come down and join them that evening, a final farewell party. Of sorts. Most parties didn't require the guest to sign a legal release form before attending, for example, that stated they were aware of what they were doing, and that it was of their own will that they were participating.
When the crewmembers who were curious asked about it, and the replies came, some blushed, some were shocked and declined, and some just grinned. But most of the invited women did a combination, then tried not to be too conspicuous on their way in. The colourful cloth facemasks you could pick up once inside helped, but still . . .
It wasn’t very easy, considering to actually *get* in they had to be fitted with a skirt. What shirt they wore didn’t seem to matter, as long as is wasn’t valuable or a favourite. But the skirts were odd. Strong and plain, they were snug at the waist - tied off so tightly that a woman would need to be literally cut out of it for removal. Generously loose elsewhere and going just past the knees, it didn’t seem very functional. They had no pockets, which was strange.
Until, of course, the participant was participating and discovered that it served its purpose well enough . . . the one slight concession to modesty.
‘What? Oh no, no, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, and you can leave at *any* time. Getting back home before the sun rises is recommended, in fact. If you *are* married, or have a boyfriend you want to remain - um - loyal to, they’ll make you leave anyway, before us single girls can even think about trying to coax the men off the stage. They won't bring out anything stronger than beer before then, either; it's afterwards when the real fun begins.’
‘Yes, that’s what the masks are for, if you want one. If you’re shy, you don’t have to take it off. Or just leave it on until the lights are dimmed. You can’t see much of anything after that.’
‘Of course it’s not poisonous! And it won’t turn you into a teep, either. The drug even acts like sleepers do, for a few hours, otherwise some of the higher P’s wouldn’t even want to participate. Most of the people here won’t come anyway, only maybe a couple hundred will actually arrive over the evening. That’s few compared a typical concert or play being performed. And just humans, the drug only works on the one species. We think. It was discovered by accident, but none of the other races brave enough to try it were affected by it. Just be ready for a helluva hangover afterwards. Going into heat like that can put a massive strain on your body.’
~~~~
“Oh, Holy Mary Mother of God, I huuuurt,” came a feeble moan from the floor of the archway.
“And it’s no bloody wonder, young woman! Do you realise it’s almost DAWN? You were there the whole night! It’s a wonder there were any men left *alive*!” A firm pair of hands picked the inebriated girl off the matting and helped her to a bench nearby. “Gah, you’re almost as bad as she is. If she’s gone to sleep in there and left me waiting, I’ll shave her head as bald as her backside. Which won’t be much!”
“Please don’t shout. My head hurts.”
“I’m barely speaking above a whisper, young Rianna. *You* are still intoxicated.”
Brandan managed to crack an eyelid in an attempt to see, but quickly decided it was a bad idea. “That plant of yours is great, you know. Better than being drunk.”
“And the hangovers are just as much worse, even without the vomiting. Just be glad it won’t be able to affect you again for months, or else we’d have a real problem to deal with. Here. Drink this, and I don’t care how bad it smells to you. All of it. Now swallow. Good girl. Sit for a while, let your head clear enough to walk home by yourself. All the other babysitters have gone home, and I can’t leave with you.”
“I hurt.” Brandan complained again.
“That’s your own dang fault. The effects were explained to everyone, several times, before the curtain went up. You’re the one to choose going into heat, so you had better be ready to face the consequences.”
“I don’t wanna be lectured,” she mumbled.
“Tough! You’re the only one left here for me to talk to. Did you think I enjoyed all your noise? Did you think us guardian angels liked hearing all that cheering and moaning and yes, *screaming* from next door? Ha. Deal with *me* now.”
Brandan groaned weakly as she slumped against the wall. “I hurt,” she repeated.
There was a pause while one person sighed and the other attempted to remain upright, then the latter giggled.
“It was WORTH it,” and she faded away.
Another sigh rose from her protector. “I’ll give you this, girl, you’ve got great stamina. There’s only a few left inside, and most of them arrived late, including *her*. ‘Image to maintain’, nothing. Try ‘it took until almost midnight to get up the courage’. Huh. I tell you - not that you’re awake enough to hear - her lasting this long was a bit of a surprise. Not a big one, of course, given the dreams she's been broadcasting . . . but still . . .”
Beside her, the other occupant of the room started to shiver, arms crossed over her bare chest.
“Tsk. Here, some of the men were kind enough to simply remove the shirts and toss them aside instead of ripping them, but from the cloth-burn marks on your shoulders, I’d say you inspired your fellows to be more forward than average. Put this one on. Better? It’s a big large for you, of course, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
“I still 'urt.”
“And you’re a mess in other ways, too. If you’re awake enough, I strongly suggest a shower on your way to bed. Your whole body is a mess. Tsk! Bite marks, even. As for the pain, it simply shows you’ve overexercised. Did you even TRY to keep count of how many men you . . .?”
“No,” Brandan giggled. “Like it said, it was worth it. Uh. My eyes are stinging me.”
“Well,” the other said cheerfully, “That’s easy to fix.” She picked up a cloth, dipped it in a bowl of water, and wiped Brandan’s face until it was cleaner than it was before. “Now, try to see again.”
“That water smells funny. Hi - AAAH! YOU!!! But - what are - WHY are-”
“Like I said, waiting for someone to come out still. Oh, calm down. I promise not to tell a soul about who was and was not here at what time. There’s no need to! Besides, the sun's risen, and you had better scoot. I’m going to have to go in there and wake people up now. If you wash before you take a nap, there won’t be much evidence left.”
“Th - thank you, Ma’am. Miss. I mean - uh-”
“Just go.”
Brandan got, as fast as she could, to grab a towel and wash off.
Chuckling, her nursemaid smiled to herself. “Not much evidence at all . . . Miss Dawn.”
Wandering back through the inner archway, her would-be helper picked up the bowl and cloth, yawning to herself as she strolled leisurely into the second, much larger, room. Several sleeping bodies were scattered around the room, in various states of undress and disarray, sprawled over carpets and couches and each other. A few stray 'toys' that had been left around she kicked out of her way gingerly, not quite daring to touch the objects. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such behaviour. Now, where are you?”
Going from sleeper to sleeper, she carefully bent down next to each one and washed his or her face with the cloth and bowl. Several of them, not sleeping as deeply as others, wrinkled their noses at the scent of it. “There you are. Huh. I’ll be right back, just have to take care of the rest of them.”
When all the faces had been treated, she went out again. Picking up a small jar of powder, she went down the corridor to a washroom and dumped the powder onto her hands, dusting herself liberally until she was covered in powder from fingertip to elbow. After inspecting her arms, she carefully added a second layer just to be sure. Then she dumped the remaining powder into the bowl and let it fizz for a few minutes while she carefully rinsed herself off.
“All clean, my dear,” she told herself. Then, careful not to let any spill on the counter or herself, she poured the bowl down the drain and rinsed away the evidence.
She returned to the large Hall, roused one of the sleepers while ignoring the rest, and helped cover and then support the groggy woman back to their quarters. “Hoo, girl, you need a shower too.”
Mumbling, the half-asleep one resisted the cup that was offered to her lips. “No. Go ’way. I hurt.”
“Drink this. I’m not going to let you go to sleep on my nice new bed smelling like a cheap half-naked whore. You need to shower. Drink this, it’s a mild stimulant to wake you up. Drink all of it. Now swallow. SWALLOW! Good girl. Now, get on your feet again. I’m *quite* sure you will want to be in and out of the bathrooms before anyone else wants to use it. Get up . . . good. Stay up. Here’s soap, a towel and a robe, let me - there - your skirt is off. Put the robe on, you won’t get it dirty enough to matter in the time it takes to go down the hall to the bathrooms. There. Go!”
“Lyta,” she mumbled, “You’re a good roommate. Did I ever tell you that?”
“Let’s just say I’m glad to hear it now, instead of later. Go!” After watching Susan make her way tiredly out to the hallway, Lyta quickly stripped off her own clothes, putting on the closest pair of pants and shirt she could grab. Then she grabbed a small money-purse out of a cupboard and bolted for the door, heading off in a different direction than her friend.
She stopped only once, to buy a wrapped, warm meal and a cold bottle of juice, eating on the way as she hurried, grinning the whole time.
~~~~
“Come ON, Ria! It’s WAY past noon! WAKE UP! I can see you under there!”
A faint moan issued from beneath the covers.
“You're hung over again, aren't you.”
“Uh - huh.”
“Tsk. Well, I’m thinking of going down to sign up for a seat for later today if I can, tomorrow if not. Today’s will probably all be full. Do you wanna stay longer, or not? I want to go up with you and Jan. That way if we crash, I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you won’t outlive me.”
“Marcella Augustine Jianna Trudel de van Ortensia the third. SHUT - UP!”
“Calm down! What’s with you?”
“Tell me, Marcie, in your vast and numerous studies of the unique and wondrous culture here, did you ever, ever, EVER find out why instead of the traditional phrases, the locals used the term ‘yellow faced’? Was there ANY clue, any clue at ALL, WHY when someone gets in trouble *despite* being warned, that is the term used?”
Marcie squealed in glee. “Oh, Lordy, did you get down to level ten this morning? Some of the ones who’d been at the same party you were at, when they started to stagger out, their faces had been painted yellow! Bright yellow! Well, no, they weren’t really. It wasn’t until they tried to wash off - uh - I don’t know how long you stayed, ok, but knowing you it was probably ‘til 3 in the morning - when they tried to wash up, their faces turned yellow! Bright yellow! And it won’t come off! Everyone who sees them calls each of them Dawn! It’s hilarious! It’s -URK!”
A fist had reached out from beneath the covers and clutched her by the throat.
“Marcie. I. Said. To. Shut. UP!” With that, the fist shoved her away.
Gasping and coughing sounds filled the room for a few moments, then she wheezed, “Ohhhhh Lordy, you didn’t! Rianna Brandan!! YOU were out until the sun came up! Your face is yellow too!” She collapsed to the floor, laughing hysterically.
The object of amusement buried her face under the blanket again.
After a while, the laughter faded to wheezing, then to silence. “It’ll fade in a day or so, they told the others. Don't get it wet again though - Hammond's sister had to pry the soap away from her, I saw, to try to keep the colour from setting even further. Stay hidden here and keep it dry, I guess. Has anyone seen you?”
“Just you, and two others.”
“Who’re the others?”
“The second was a little teep girl who was using the bathroom, who was ‘kind’ enough to show me what I looked like. I wouldn’t have known otherwise, since there’s no real mirrors here. As for the first, suffice it to say if you even mention it, the Captain will hear about it, and gut me.”
“Gee, that clarifies the matter.”
“Go away. Tell them I’m hung over again. They’ll believe that.”
“And when you get hungry, Ria? What then? We’re not suppost to have food in this room.”
“I can go hungry. It’s only a day or so.”
“Huh. Hey, if you want, I can go ask the Captain who she goes to, to get a tray delivered when she’s working. Or maybe that local kid who hates you, he’s still working with her on some days.”
“She was waiting for someone . . . he he he.”
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m not so sure the Captain will be able to see you.” Brandan had started to giggle so hard that her whole body was shaking.
“Huh?”
“She might be busy . . . for a day or so . . .”
“She was there too?!?”
“It’s just a hunch I have, Marcie. Look, see if you can borrow some money from someone, to buy me some food in a market someplace.”
“Ok. I’ll be back in a while.”
“If you even THINK of telling ANYONE!!!”
“These lips are as sealed today as your legs were open last night.”
“. . . just go . . .” Brandan moaned, and hid again.
~~~~
The members of Earthforce began the long process of saying goodbye on that, the 80th, morning. They did not finish until the evening of the 82nd, partly from the small capacity of the shuttles to carry passengers, and partly because some were reluctant to depart. Gifts were exchanged upon leaving: a few instruments from the ship, copies of books, more medicines, an occasional painting that someone decided their bunk could do without. A few musical scores were found intact in the trashed computer databanks, and several printouts were delivered with some ceremony and a great deal of appreciation.
In return, the crew received the shipments of food, trinkets - handcrafted especially for each person; such as a necklace or the flutes that had become so popular, the journal entries they'd made, and memories. Ivanova got a local couch moved up into her quarters to replace the earthforce-issue one she'd had before, which she transferred to a rec room.
Not all ‘gifts’ were smiled at by Ivanova, once she’d decided to appear. Lyta Alexander was also absent, not reappearing until she’d heard Ivanova was up and about and in a slightly better mood after the ‘mild flu’ that had kept her isolated . . . A few people - both crew and colonists - overheard snatches of the lively discussion that followed Ivanova's eventually having tracked Lyta down, something about 'limits to the lessons' and numerous russian swearwords. The listeners, having a great deal of common sense, never so much as whispered a word as to the overheard argument.
There were almost a dozen ‘gifts’ that had to be reported to the ship's medlab as soon as suspected, or as soon as the woman in question set foot on the Sophocles. Ivanova was less than sympathetic to the ones who’d deliberately gotten pregnant - most of which she'd already suspected of being latents. The only one she’d make time to talk to was a woman whose arm had been injured in the battle, and so had lost her implant. Her husband, however, was thrilled . . . after he got over the surprise.
As for the ‘fools’ in the crew, each of whom claimed a local was the father, all they were told was their requests to stay were flat-out denied, and that their requests to return would ‘be considered by the appropriate parties’. A clean up had taken place, scrubbing off or painting over the smoke damage, repairing holes, dents, and in general trying to make the ship look closer to presentable. They had company coming, and Ivanova steeled herself for silence and noise, long enough to go up and make a full inspection. She needed enough time to make a decision. And to ensure things were prepared for the arrival and stay of the Trade Delegation who would be coming with them. Bunkrooms had been set aside, enough for the 30 individuals who would be coming. The crew did not know their names yet, but no relatives were to come on board, avoid the risk of conflict of interest. There were representatives from six different species this trip, to spread out the resource gathering among the Interstellar Alliance more smoothly. This might be the only trip the telepaths ever made to the outside, depending on how it went.
Neither reminder of the Sophocles' temporary home was much appreciated by Commander Carlson. He started out annoyed at the beginning of his conversation with Ivanova, and ended up downright grumpy about allowing telepaths on ‘his’ ship. She’d even had to remind him it was NOT his ship, it was HER ship, and they had saved his, hers, and the crew’s butt so he had better stay in line.
She completed the last of the necessary paperwork that night, then tried to sleep in her quarters, in her own bed. But it wasn’t until she got dressed again and went to her office to lie down on the teep-made couch that she was able to fall asleep. Still, it was too quiet to sleep well, her brain kept running the pros and cons of the choices, and the ship made too much noise.
The lack of psi-music was the deciding factor. She wrote her letters as soon as she got up.
~~~~
“ ‘morning, Captain,” the pilot said cheerfully as she walked onto the shuttle. “Straight down for the pickup?”
“No, actually. I want you to make a pass over the end of Valley 14.”
“Same one we picked up all the equipment from? How close to that point?”
“About a mile north-west. A field the telepaths use for a graveyard.”
“Didn’t know there was one up there. We’re cleared for takeoff, Sir.”
“Go . . . it would be hard to spot. But I want to see it from the sky, at least once.”
A few quiet minutes passed while they flew down, Ivanova immersed in memorising the view of Teep from orbit.
“Um . . . sir?” the pilot asked tentatively.
“Yes?”
“It’s where she had to bury the baby, isn’t it. Your friend.”
“. . . yes.”
He nodded, and they flew in silence again. Ivanova had lost interest in the view.
A few minutes later, “Captain? Which one is hers?”
Ivanova swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth, choosing to look at the floor rather than outside. [Maybe this was a mistake.] “There's 3 grey-purple stones in a row, near the south-east corner of the clearing. All hers, but the one on the south is the newest. Might be hard to make out in the grasses.”
He let the shuttle hover for a few seconds, looking. “Which stones?” he asked, still confused.
Ivanova bit back a snarl and leaned over the console to clarify the obvious, but her retort died in her throat. [Ohhhh . . .] She suddenly understood the pilot’s confusion, and wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to cry at what was laid out before her.
The entire field has been cut and tended, with flowers planted near each grave-marker. There were almost 200 of them, in rows like she suspected. Gray, white, mottled. Heart-shaped, crosses, slabs in the ground, arches. Bouquets of tame flowers, piles of wild-picked, with several dolls and teddy bears in sight by some of the graves. A few tiny-looking people were in sight as well, clustered around one of the new markers.
[Byron's influence is crumbling. The families finally came to pay respect to the lost.] "I can't tell . . ." she admitted finally. "Not from here. But I know she mourns them all."
Nodding, the pilot turned the shuttle and flew over to the plains, passing high over the scattered buildings and the raised levy at the valley’s end, then swooped gracefully out and down to the plains; to the designated landing site where the other shuttle had landed a few minutes ahead of them.
After the door opened, Ivanova got up and began to walk around a little, welcoming the music’s return like a beached fish the incoming tide. Her mind was in a hundred places, flitting around like the birds did at pollen time. First, she thought about how sweet the orchard would smell when spring arrived and the blossoms would come out, then she considered the scent of the breeze after it passed over a stretch of newly turned soil. The next eclipse was supposed to end during the daytime; they'd be able to watch the sun peek out from behind the planet this time instead of rising over the horizon like it did most days - the effect in the Watcher's atmosphere was supposed to be very colourful. The chance to feel snow falling again once winter arrived, the chance to feel the sun baking her skin a deeper shade of brown until then. The colours the forests would turn in Autumn: the deciduous trees in the uppermost slopes were already hinting at the shades possible. The food that would be available once the harvests were all in for the year; already the amount being stored was surpassing what had been gathered all of the year previous, and more was still growing in the miles of flourishing crops that surrounded her. Like painted streamers, happy anticipation wound around her for anyone with a teep’s eye to see as she hummed quietly along with music. [Home is where the heart is, they say.]
Stopping to rest her back against a handy tree trunk, she paused to close her eyes and fling open her senses. Listening, smelling, aware of others nearby, emotions, a breeze on her face, the music, a bird chirping nearby, the feel of tree bark against her back through the cotton shirt, dry grass stems rustling at her ankles, the strong thump of her heart beating. Opening her eyes again, she looked up and saw the Watcher hanging serenely, the slow motions of storms and swirling rings on it’s surface; a proud parent regarding its child worlds. Two tiny-seeming moons were visible through the tree’s branches, and a third one was setting on the horizon. The early morning sky wasn’t quite light enough yet to hide to the sparkles of the far off asteroid belt.
It was the 83rd morning, and it was a very beautiful one.
The shuttles waited for the delegates, the two pilots leaned against the side of one to chat. Ivanova could see them through the orchard, waiting for the locals to come and be picked up. Sealed in an envelope, the formal letter was on her desk for Carlson to open and read as soon as she gave word. A resignation, and confession. [Carlson’ll make an okay captain, at least for as long as it takes to get the ship and crew back home. Maybe when the trade begins and news comes back, I’ll be able to get a feel for how the outside has reacted. I know Lyta would be sure to protect me, no matter what the rest of the universe says. It’s good to have a friend like her. But who else . . . Sheridan knew about me . . . but would he still consider me a friend? Wouldn’t matter. I’d have to be tossed out of earthforce anyway, for keeping the secret. Even if all the ‘proof’ says I never knew this place was here . . . I can’t allow myself to be scanned by anyone outside, ever. I’m not going.]
She smiled.
~~~~