I have a message from another time...

		     Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
			       presents

		UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT
		   - SYMPHONY OF THE SWORD No. 3 -

		   Fourth Movement: Coming to Terms

			 Benjamin D. Hutchins
			   Kris Overstreet

		(c) 2002 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited


			MONDAY, JULY 24, 2406
		INTERNATIONAL POLICE STATION BABYLON 6
	       EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM, CENTAURI SECTOR

	Susan Ivanova had the distinct and unpleasant feeling that it
was going to be one of those weeks.  She based this assumption on two
primary facts: one, that the weekend had been lousy; and two, that she
had been awakened two hours early this morning to deal with an
anomalous situation.
	Susan Ivanova did not like anomalous situations.
	Now she stood on the station's command deck, looking out the
window at a starship parked outside.  There was nothing wrong with the
parking job; the ship was right where it ought to be, out of the way,
not bothering anybody.
	Well, anybody except Ivanova, who stood scowling at it through
the command-deck windows.  It was a peculiarly configured vessel, of a
type Ivanova, an experienced spacer, had never seen before.  It looked
to her to be a bit more than 200 yards long - comparable to a large
destroyer or light frigate, perhaps, but the length was a deceiving
statistic in this ship's case, since most of its length was in a pair
of long, blade-like strakes projecting forward from a much smaller
main body.  Without the strakes, the core body of the ship was no more
than corvette-sized, albeit with a rather oversized set of sublight
thrusters.
	The control deck door opened and Ambassador Delenn of Minbar
entered, looking a bit perplexed.
	"You sent for me, Commander?" she asked Ivanova.
	"Yes, Ambassador, thanks for coming," Ivanova replied.  "I
have a bit of a mystery on my hands that I thought you might be able
to help me with."  She gestured to the unknown ship and asked, "Is
that one of yours?"
	Delenn looked, considered, and replied, "I do not believe so.
Some elements of its design are reminiscent of ours, perhaps, but...
the drive configuration looks Corellian to me.  Have you asked
Ambassador bel Vardis?"
	Ivanova nodded ruefully.  "He's the one who said he thought it
looked Minbari."  She sighed.  "Thanks for your help, anyway."
	Delenn looked at the ship again, then turned back to Ivanova.
"Have you not been able to contact it?"
	"Nope.  It doesn't respond to hails.  No crew response, no ID
transponder, nothing."
	"Where did it come from?"
	"Nobody knows.  One minute, business as usual; the next, it
was just parked there.  It hasn't done anything since.  If I can't
find someone who's willing to claim it soon, I'm going to ask
Garibaldi to take a squad and see if they can get aboard."
	"It doesn't seem to be aggressive... "
	"No, which is why I've left it alone for the time being, and
let Captain Bacon sleep," Ivanova agreed, nodding.  "But it's damn
irregular, all the same."
	"Mm," said Delenn, nodding.  "Well... good luck unraveling the
mystery, Commander.  If I can be of any further help, please let me
know."
	"I will.  Thanks."
	Ivanova watched the Minbari ambassador leave, then leaned
against her console and sighed glumly.  Why did this stuff always
happen on her watch?

		     NOVAPLEX GRAND CALRAN HOTEL
		  CALRA, CORELLIA FREE TRADING STATE

	"Maury, I do not particularly care what commitments Millenium
has made in our name.  Not only would performing in the Earth Alliance
be illogical, it would be -foolish-."
	"Ssssh!  Keep it -down- in there!" one of the four young men
seated on the penthouse suite's largest couch shouted back to the
bedroom, where the fifth of their number was on the vidphone to their
agent.  "We're trying to watch the news!"
	The group were, in general qualities, alike.  Each had dark
hair, black or nearly so, cut close and brushed neatly.  They shared
the same greenish complexion, slanted eyebrows and pointed ears of the
Vulcanoid race.  They all wore black, ranging from the loose bathrobe
worn by the broad-built one on one end of the couch to the full formal
robes of the skinny one with pen and notepad on his lap to the black
T-shirt and jeans of the big-boned lad on the other end.
	And, most telling of all, all of them followed the Network 23
repeats of the Earth-in-Crisis coverage with intense scrutiny, not
wanting to spare any time for agents or record labels and their petty
demands.
	"Now -listen-, Maury," the group's leader said, only a little
quieter, "S'bann didn't want to do any Earth concerts anyway.  He's a
Freespacer... yes, Maury, I know the audience doesn't know that, but
he doesn't want to go.  And now neither do I.  My family's back in New
Avalon.  And Sketh grew up on New Athens, he's technically an Earth
Alliance citizen - do you think he wants to go back now?  Do you want
the Psi Corps to get their hands on a Vulcan, Maury?"
	"We have got to change labels," the large Vulcan rumbled in a
basso profundo that belied his youth.  "Corellian record companies
don't know when to quit."
	"We've still got three records to go on our deal," the skinny
one replied, scribbling idly on his notebook.  "Not counting the one
that - " He looked up, his pointed ears visibly twitching at
something.  "Turn up the sound on the TV," he muttered.
	A few seconds later, as Network 23's video cut between footage
of the Battle of Titan (man, whoever is piloting that one little ship
can -fly-) and a rock band on the roof of a building somewhere, the
skinny one shouted, "Surel!  Get off the phone and get in here!  You
gotta -hear- these guys!"

			    IPS CHALLENGER
	       ON STATION OVER TITAN, SOL VI TERRITORY
		    SOLAR SYSTEM, CENTAURI SECTOR

	Wakaba Shinohara woke up, sat up, and briefly wondered where
the hell she was.  The room looked just enough like the cabin she and
Saionji had been sharing aboard the Valiant this summer that its
differences - like the fact that it was much larger, and the bathroom
door was on the wrong side - were more startling than they would have
been had the room been -radically- different.  The feeling passed
quickly enough, though it was replaced by another, even more
unpleasant sensation: remembering what had happened yesterday.
	She got out of bed and ran to the bathroom, prepared herself
to face the day as fast as possible, and then went back to assess her
clothing prospects.  The clothes she'd been wearing for the defense of
Beltane's Government Center were pretty much ruined, but the
processor on the wall (another thing her quarters on the Valiant
lacked) was quite happy to take her sizes and provide her with new
ones.  The thing even had a menu of special t-shirts it could make,
from a database stocked by the ship's crew and the graphic arts
department.
	Thus, when she arrived at the ship's sickbay at a dead run,
she was wearing new jeans that didn't feel new and a Scarlet Sentinel
t-shirt.  In her haste, she'd forgotten about her boots entirely and
left her hair down.  Doctor Phlox, who, like everyone else who knew
Wakaba, had become used to her usual onion-like hairstyle, had to stop
for a moment and wonder who she was when she came skidding through the
doors and into sickbay.
	The doctor's confusion only lasted a moment, though, and by
the time she registered the somber look on his face and started to
become alarmed, he had recognized her and held up a hand.
	"As far as we can predict right now," he said, "Mr. Saionji is
going to be all right.  He's in nanoregeneration now, and stable.
Complications could still arise, of course," Phlox went on seriously,
"but Dr. Selar and I both think them unlikely.  He has a very strong
constitution and a powerful will to live."
	Wakaba seemed to sag slightly with relief; then she looked
concerned and asked, "Then why the long face?  Is... is Guy not doing
as well?"
	Phlox shook his head sadly.  "Young Mr. Morgan is much more
seriously injured," he said.  "Mr. Saionji's wound is major, but of a
fairly simple type, and there's only one.  With Mr. Morgan... well,
it's easier to make a list of the parts of him that -aren't- damaged."
The Denobulan clucked worriedly.  "I very much fear that there's
little we can do to help him."
	"Oh."  Wakaba looked downcast.  "That's... that's too bad.
Guy's a good kid.  We've all grown to like him a lot since he's been
with us this summer.  He was... he -is- thinking of applying to DSM
next year... "  She sighed.  "I hope he pulls through.  If anybody can
pull him through, it's you."
	Phlox smiled, a little sadly, and inclined his head at the
compliment.  "Thank you, Miss Shinohara.  We'll do our best, of that
you can be sure.  Would you like to see Mr. Saionji?  He's not much to
look at right now, I'm afraid, but I've noticed that humans like to
visit their loved ones anyway under such conditions."
	Wakaba gave him an odd little glance, then smiled.  "Sure.
That'd be great."
	Phlox was right; Saionji wasn't much to look at, floating in a
big tube of pink goo in his underwear with an oxygen mask strapped to
his face.  Fortunately, the awful wound in his right side couldn't be
seen; it was covered by a thick sheet of regen-matrix membrane,
protecting the injured area as it guided the nanosurgeons in their
work.  Wakaba had gotten one look at it, when she'd run to his side
upon arriving in the basement of Government Center, and one was
enough.  She felt her stomach turn just thinking about it, and had to
think about something else in haste to avoid being sick all over
again.
	Instead, she looked at his face, what she could see of it with
the breathing mask in place.  He looked at peace, asleep, the lines of
his visage relaxed and his eyes closed but not clamped shut.  His wavy
green hair floated in a cloud behind him.  His long limbs floated,
arms at his sides and a little before him, hands slack and spread.
His whole form was perfectly relaxed, buoyed by the thick nanofluid
suspension medium.  Wakaba placed her hand against the cool side of
the tank and regarded him for a few moments, and was a bit surprised
to feel tears filling her eyes.
	Phlox was surprised as well.  A little awkwardly, he offered
her a tissue, then said, "We really do expect him to make a full
recovery."
	Wakaba nodded.  "I know.  It's just... I was just thinking...
I was about to break up with him."
	Phlox raised an eyebrow.  "I beg your pardon?"
	"I was planning to go back home to Cephiro next month," Wakaba
replied.  "Back to our old school.  I have... certain obligations...
there.  And, of course, he's staying here.  His life is here now."
She sighed, a slight tremor in it, and went on, "So once we were done
here and on our way to Proxima, I was going to give him the 'while I'm
gone we should see other people' speech.
	"You know, it was no big deal, us getting together," she
added, leaving the perplexed doctor further behind.  Human
relationships didn't make sense to him at the best of times, but by
standing there and listening, he felt he was helping to do his job as
a physician and relieve pain, so he stayed and tried not to look too
lost as Wakaba continued,
	"It wasn't like I had this all-consuming passion, like back in
the old days when I wrote him stupid notes and stuck them in his
locker.  I just thought, well, I'm a big girl now, and he's reasonably
sane, and he's still cute as hell - so why not have a few laughs?
It's no big deal... "
	She splayed her hand against the nanotank, bowed her head, and
said in a softer voice, "Or at least it wasn't until I almost lost
him... "
	Phlox took a breath, then hesitated, abandoned what he had
been about to say, and tried again.  "Well," he said gently, "then I
suppose you'll have something to talk about with him when he
recovers."
	Wakaba turned to face the doctor, her expression troubled.
"It doesn't change anything, though.  I still have the same
obligations, and so does he."
	"Yes," said another voice, making both Wakaba and Phlox jump
slightly.  They both turned to see two figures standing in the regen
room's doorway.  The speaker was the shorter of the two, a man not
much more than two feet tall.  At first glance, the ornately robed
little figure appeared to be a child - but no child ever had eyes like
those.
	"We have to talk about your obligations, you and I," he went
on gravely.
	"Master Clef!" gasped Wakaba.  She looked as if she didn't
know what to do with herself, whether she should curtsey or bow or
perhaps kneel, and ended up just sort of nodding at him.  Only then
did she register the person standing behind him, the tall, slim form
in red and white with the long midnight-black hair.  "Lady Skuld!" she
added, now even more disconcerted.
	Skuld smiled, going a long way toward putting her at ease,
though the Master Mage of the Tenth World was still giving her that
unnervingly intense look.  "Can we have a few minutes of your time,
Wakaba?" said Skuld.  "There's nobody in the observation lounge just
now... "

	Down on the surface of Titan, in the diplomatic quarters of
Government Center in the city of Beltane, Utena Tenjou woke slowly,
turned over, looked at the clock on the bedside table, and groaned.
Her body clock had anticipated the alarm by seven minutes - just long
enough to get back to sleep before the alarm rang, not nearly long
enough to enjoy doing so.  Grumbling under her breath, she reached,
turned the alarm off, and then got out of bed.
	Her wife Anthy stirred, curled up again, and went back to
sleep.  Utena stood for a moment by the bed alternately adoring and
envying her, then bent down and kissed her on the forehead before
trudging off to shower.
	Fifteen minutes later, her hair still damp, she was entering
the office of the Governor of Titan, fastening the shoulder strap of
her IPSF dress tunic as she went.  Had she possessed just slightly
less regard for the niceties of social discourse, she'd have been
scarfing down a piece of toast as well; as it was, she merely hoped
that a) this wouldn't take too long and b) her stomach wouldn't make
an embarrassing noise during the process.  After all, the Chief was
present.
	Miriam Ondeen, Governor of Titan Colony, was an elderly woman
with silver hair, bright green eyes and a smile that must have been
something to see in her youth.  Utena knew she meant well, and so
tried her best not to hold it against the Governor that she'd had to
get up at 8:45 in the freaking morning for this little gathering.
Instead she smiled her most winning smile as Governor Ondeen rose from
her chair behind her enormous desk to greet her.
	"Captain Tenjou," said the Governor.  "Thank you for coming."
	"My pleasure, Your Honor," Utena lied with a smile.  Social
dishonesty, like any other kind, didn't come easily to her, but for
this nice old lady she felt obligated to make a special effort.
Next to her, Utena noticed Gryphon stifling a yawn of his own, which
made -her- have to stifle a giggle, which made -him- have to stifle a
giggle, and the whole thing became very precarious indeed until Utena
had the presence of mind to break eye contact with him and defuse the
danger.
	Governor Ondeen didn't seem to have noticed.  She bade Utena
have a seat, resumed her own, and folded her hands on her desk
blotter.
	"Well," she said primly.  "It's a great pleasure to meet you
at last, Captain - the girl who saved Titan."
	Utena felt a blush creep into her cheeks.  "Well, Your Honor,
I'm not sure that - "
	"No, no, not a bit of false modesty, dear," said the Governor,
waving a hand.  "You were the ranking International Police officer in
the area, you took charge of the defense of Titan, and under your
leadership, the day was carried.  That's why I asked you to come here
this morning, so I could thank you personally for your heroism."
	"It was my honor, Madame Governor," said Utena, her blush
deepening as she inclined her head.
	"In recognition of your great service to Titan Colony and the
Sol VI Territory," the Governor went briskly on, rising from her chair
and rounding the end of her desk, "I have a little something for you."
	Utena blinked, got up, and stood at attention as Governor
Ondeen rummaged in one of the pockets of her voluminous green dress.
"Now, I know I put it in here," the Governor muttered to herself;
then, with a sound of triumph, she drew a glittering metallic object
from her pocket and held it up.  Governor Ondeen was so short that
Utena had more or less to bow in order to make the front of her
uniform available for the Governor to pin the medal to it; then she
straightened again and was surprised when the smiling old lady gave
her a very respectable salute to return.
	"By the power vested in me by the Zeta Cygni Assembly and the
Council of Selectmen of the Sol VI Territory," said the Governor
formally, "it is my privilege to award you the Order of the Platinum
Rings."
	Utena glanced down at the medal, which hung just below her
IPSF commbadge by a beautifully iridescent blue-green ribbon.  It was
a gold Saturn with bright, silvery rings, about the size of a
half-credit piece.  Around the front arc of the outermost ring were
engraved the words, "FOR VALOR".
	"Thank you very much, Madame Governor," Utena said, "but I
didn't do this alone."
	"Oh, I know that, dear," said the Governor as she went back to
her seat.  Once seated again, she leaned forward on her elbows and
said with a twinkling smile, "That's why I want you to draw me up a
list of everyone else you think should be rewarded, and suggest
appropriate rewards for them.  Just in your own contingent, mind you -
I know who among my own defense forces deserve recognition already."
	Utena blinked, blinked again, then smiled the slightly forced
smile of someone who has just been handed a lengthy and tedious school
assignment by a favorite teacher.  "I'll... ah... get right on that,
Your Honor," she said.  She angled a quick, desperate glance of
consternation at Gryphon, who shrugged almost imperceptibly.
	Missing the byplay completely, Governor Ondeen smiled
beatifically.  "Good, good.  Thank you so much for all your help,
dear.  And do take care.  I look forward to talking over your list
later on.  Just come see my secretary, she'll let you in.  You're such
a nice girl."

	Gryphon and Utena were emerging from the Governor's outer
office, the Chief admiring his protege's new medal as she made
distressed little noises about the amount of fiddly work Her Honor had
just dumped on her still-fatigued shoulders, when Captain Jean-Luc
Picard, Starfleet, met them in the hallway.
	"Ah, Gryphon, Captain," he nodded gravely to them in turn.  "I
was looking for you.  I've recieved new orders from Starfleet of which
both of you should be made aware."
	"Shoot," Gryphon said.
	"I'm here to inform Captain Tenjou and her crew that the Earth
Alliance has been denied extradition of those involved in the incidents 
in Toronto," Picard said carefully, holding his hands behind his back
in a formal stance, almost a parade-rest.
	"Is that so," Utena said lightly, anger welling inside of her
at the thought of extradition.  Just -let- anyone try to drag her back
to Earth...
	"However," Picard continued very reluctantly, "should any of
the Valiant's current crew or passengers return to Earth Alliance
space, the Federation will not interfere in any future attempts to
apprehend them.  This is by order of the Federation High Council."
	"Understood, Captain," Utena replied coldly.  She would have
said more, but Gryphon laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed
gently.
	His eyes were focused on Picard as he said, "This can't have
been easy for you to tell us, Jean-Luc."
	"I felt it better you hear it from me in person," Picard said.
"Particularly in light of my orders.  Starfleet has ordered Enterprise
to escort IPS Valiant clear of Earth Alliance space."
	"-Excuse- me?" Utena asked angrily.  "Escort -who-?  My ship
is not going anywhere.  Maybe the Federation High Council isn't aware
of such minor details," she added with a bitter twist on 'minor', "but
the Earth Alliance's thugs put two of my crew in intensive care.  One
of them may still die, and if he does, then by God - "
	"Nobody's 'escorting' one of my ships out of one of my own
ports, Jean-Luc," Gryphon interrupted.  He squeezed Utena's shoulder
again, a little more firmly this time, and added, "Captain Tenjou has
my full support	in this.  Valiant leaves Titan when she's good and
ready, and not a moment before."
	Picard stared back for a moment.  Slowly, his grave demeanor
gave way to a wry little smile, and with an uncharacteristically
Gallic shrug he said, "Then my reports to Starfleet will say that
you're moving very, very slowly.  It cannot be helped."
	Utena looked faintly taken aback, charmed despite herself by
Picard's sudden transformation.  It mollified her slightly toward him
in particular, though her anger toward both the Federation and
Earthforce remained undimmed.
	Picard's smile faded as he added, "But I do agree with
Starfleet's concerns.  Things are still very tense here, especially
with fighting still going on back on Earth.  Admiral Morrow is
concerned that agents from Earth, with or without authorization, will
attempt to seize your ship or crew.  I strongly recommend you remain
on your guard."
	"Any agents, Earth or otherwise, who try to seize -my- ship
or any member of my crew will go home in a number-two shipping tube,"
Utena said flatly, "third-class parcel post."
	"No doubt."  Picard's smile returned, slight but present.
"Would you like Mr. Worf to assign some officers to assist with the
packing tape?"
	"All things considered," Utena said, "I think we'll pass,
thanks.  After the High Council's other decisions, I don't think my
crew would appreciate Federation officers on board."  After a moment's
silence, she added, "You're invited to the band's next concert,
though.  I'm sorry I snapped at you, Captain.  It's not you I'm angry
with."
	"Then I will most certainly be there," Picard nodded, "if my
duties and orders permit.  At present, however," he added with an air
of reluctance, "I must report this interview to Starfleet Command."
He smiled wryly at Utena and added, "I'll be sure to tell them that
you were most uncooperative, Captain."
	"Good," Utena replied with a smile.  "I wouldn't want to
damage my reputation as a hard case.  Clear skies, Captain Picard."
	Picard nodded to her, then to Gryphon, touched his commbadge,
and disappeared in a wash of blue-silver light.
	Once he was gone, Utena dropped the smile and sighed.
	"What do you think?" she asked Gryphon.  "What he said about
Earth sending agents - am I endangering the rest of my crew by staying
here?"
	"Maybe," Gryphon admitted.  "Or maybe Earthforce was planning
to use Enterprise as a Judas goat to lead you into an ambush."
	Utena's eyes widened.  "Are you serious?"
	"Jean-Luc wouldn't knowingly have anything to do with a plan
like that, of course," Gryphon hastened to add, "but I wouldn't put it
past Al Parker," he went on, shaking his head with a scowl.  "That son
of a bitch would skin his own grandmother if she made him look as
stupid as you did yesterday.  Anyway, don't worry.  I've contracted
with the Wedge Defense Force to reinforce the defenses of Sol VI
Territory.  They'll be here in six hours.  Meantime, T'Vek's on the 
job."
	Utena looked puzzled.  "The WDF?"
	"Mm-hmm."
	"Not the Freespacers?"
	"I was going to ask for Aya Nakajima's task force, but Terri
Curtiss says the CFMF is prohibited from getting involved in this
case.  So I asked Noriko to send someone who would annoy the EA and
Starfleet Command almost as much."
	"Jim Kirk?" asked Utena, the sparkle coming back to her eyes.
	"Jim Kirk," Gryphon confirmed.
	Utena chuckled darkly.  "You are an evil, evil man, Dad," she
said, hooking an arm around his waist.
	He responded by draping his arm over her shoulders, and as
they went down the hall he replied, "I know.  Ain't it cool?  I'm an
evil -starving- man, though.  Let's get some breakfast."

	Wakaba felt a little like a lab animal as she sat on the couch
in Challenger's forward observation lounge.  That was mainly because
Clef was standing in front of her, regarding her intently through the
gemstone lodged in the crook of his beaked mage's staff, while Skuld
sat beside her, Wakaba's left hand held before her, examining the
Duelist's Lens with a jeweler's loupe.
	"Hmm," said Clef.  "Very interesting."
	"Indeed," Skuld replied, a bit absently.
	"What?" Wakaba replied.  "-What-?" she repeated, a bit more
strongly, when neither one responded.  "Am I going to turn green or
something?"
	Clef blinked, his eye comically magnified by the gem, then
moved it aside and smiled at her.
	"No, Wakaba, you're not going to turn green.  At least I don't
think you are."  He glanced a question at Skuld, received a nod for an
answer, and went on, "I believe I understand the source of the strange
power you displayed in the battle yesterday."
	Wakaba nodded.  "Your gift of magic?"
	"So it would seem.  It appears I bungled the job a bit," he
added with a slightly sheepish look that really didn't suit the Master
Mage, in Wakaba's opinion.  "The Gift is supposed to awaken the latent
sorcerous potential in its subject, opening the way for the
development of a spellcasting talent.  That's how it worked with the
three original Rune Knights."
	Wakaba nodded.  "Yeah, I know.  We've talked.  Hikaru tried to
explain to me how to tap into it the way she and the others did - you
know, feel the words come to mind, and all that - only there weren't
any."
	Skuld let go of her hand, slid to the other end of the couch
to view her from a more conversational distance, and nodded
thoughtfully.  "But when I gave you the Test of Light, I could sense
there was something different about you - something which was similar
to the sort of thing my sister sensed in Utena when she helped seal
her runaway power.  I thought there was a chance that your Lens might
help you harness it; they're designed to interact with their owners'
unique characteristics... and it seems like, under the stress of the
battle, that's what finally happened."
	Wakaba looked at her Lens.  "I thought it might be something
like that."  She glanced up at Skuld, then Clef.  "It was... an
incredible feeling," she said.  "But a little scary, too.  It was like
I didn't have complete control of it.  Like I could... could make
-suggestions- to it, but... "  She shrugged.  "It's hard to explain."
	"Not to me," Skuld said with a smile.  "I went through the
very same thing with my own power when I was a girl.  I think, though,
that with the Master Mage's help, I can adjust your Lens to do a
better job of focusing your gift for you, if you don't mind."
	"Sure," said Wakaba.  She unbuckled the strap that held her
Lens to her arm, took it off, and handed it carefully to the goddess.
Skuld took care not to touch the now-dark Lens itself, holding it the
strap, and eyed it contemplatively.
	"If it's to be used as a weapon as well as a shield," Clef
mused, "then the wrist isn't the most convenient of locations.  If I
might make a suggestion?"
	Skuld turned her eyes to him, smiling.  "By all means," she
said.

	Elizabeth R'tas Shustal knelt in darkness, deep in
meditation, her t'skrangish saber laid crossways over her knees.  Her
eyes were closed, her breathing deep and regular, as she sought and
felt and merged with all the rhythms and patterns of the life flowing
through her body, gathering her strength for what she was to attempt
today.
	Last night she had been in agony, not physically but
emotionally, trying to decide which of her two horribly wounded
crewmates and friends to help with her anodyne factor, the extremely
rare talent of psionic healing.  Exhausted by the almost non-stop
sprint that the previous forty hours had been, with only a short nap
between the end of the Sneaky Dee's show and the sounding of yellow
alert aboard Valiant for Earth's declaration of martial law, she had
tried to help both of them and succeeded only in knocking herself out.
She'd awakened this morning, after nearly twelve hours of sleep,
filled with the terrible fear that both Saionji and Guy had died
during her absence.
	She had been tremendously relieved to learn that Fate had
dealt them a different hand entirely, that Saionji was now out of
danger and she could concentrate all her efforts on Kaitlyn's
brother.  She'd known him all his life, and yet not for very long at
all, thanks to the way she'd lived her life for the first sixteen
years of it.  She'd really only known Guy since June, when he'd joined
the crew of the Valiant to get away from his twin sister Priss for a
while.  The Morgan twins were thirteen, an awkward age, the same age
as Liza's youngest sister Mary, and Guy was growing up more slowly
than his sister, which let him in for considerable torment.
	He was, Liza thought, a terrific kid - helpful, thoughtful,
caring like his eldest sister, but bolder, with that particular sort
of social courage that came from being naturally attractive.  He
wasn't really conscious of that last fact, but it was there all the
same.  Both of the Morgan twins had received a full measure of their
mother's beauty, tempered with some of the better elements of what
their father thought of as his own much more modest offering, and the
result, all the women of the Valiant agreed, was a young man who was
very easy to look at.  Granted, he was no Miki Kaoru, but could any
ship's company have gotten anything done with two of him around?  Such
sweet distraction!
	Anyway, Liza liked Guy, because it was pretty much impossible
not to, and she wasn't going to let him die if she had anything to say
about it.  And, thanks to a quirk of genetics, it was just possible
that she had.
	She got up smoothly, sheathed her saber at her side, and left
the darkened conference room.

	Anthy Tenjou emerged from the bathroom at 10:30, feeling
mildly decadent for having stayed in bed so long.  After dressing for
the beautiful weather outside in a light yellow sundress, she went to
out into the suite's sitting room to find Utena in an armchair, her
dress tunic slung over one of the arms, a notepad propped up on her
knee, scribbling and occasionally pausing to chew thoughtfully on the
end of the pen.
	"What are you doing?" asked Anthy curiously.
	"My homework," Utena replied wryly.  When that elicited only a
puzzled look, she smiled and explained, "Governor Ondeen wanted me to
give her a list of everybody in my command I think deserves a reward
for their performance yesterday, and what I think they should get."
	"Goodness," said Anthy, raising an eyebrow.
	"So that's pretty much everybody," Utena went on, then puffed
out her bottom lip and blew her bangs up in exasperation.  "It's like
figuring out what to get people for Christmas, and you know how bad I
am at that."
	Anthy smiled.  "You'll do fine," she said.  "At any rate, if
you're busy, I think I'll go up to Challenger and find out how things
are going there."
	Utena nodded.  "I called up after my meeting with the
Governor," she said.  "Saionji's going to be OK, but they still don't
know about Guy."
	Anthy sighed with mixed relief and worry.  "Poor Guy.
Well... I guess I'll go up and see if there's anything I can do for
anyone.  Will you be all right here?"
	"Sure, I'll be fine.  I'll holler if I need you."
	Anthy smiled.  "All right."  She bent down and gave Utena a
kiss, then left the suite and went upstairs to the transporter office.
	She arrived in Theater 3 of Challenger's sickbay just in time
to see Liza Shustal faint and Doctor Selar catch her.
	Guy Morgan lay on the medibed in the middle of the room with a
blanket drawn up to his chin.  To look at his face, a person would
think there wasn't much wrong with him - a minor burn on his cheek,
his eyebrows a bit singed, his formerly-long orange hair burned off to
shoulder length.  The raised area under the blanket, though, told the
real story, or enough of it to leave a taste of horror in Anthy's
mouth.  There was far too little of it for Guy to be whole under
there.
	Liza regained consciousness almost instantly; she hadn't even
finished falling and being caught when she recovered her balance and
wobbled back upright.  Selar hovered near her, a look of profound (for
a Vulcan) disapproval on her face, as Liza leaned against the edge of
the medibed on trembling arms, panting and dripping sweat from her
face to the blanket.
	"This is folly," Selar insisted, a hand on Liza's shoulder,
trying to urge her back from the bed.  "You persist in this attempt
despite the agony it causes you, despite its hopelessness.  If you
keep trying, you may kill yourself.  It is an act driven by passion,
not sense."
	Liza turned her head to smile at the Vulcan doctor, tossing
her blonde curls behind her head and then wiping the sweat from her
brow with a forearm.  "I'm a human being, Doctor, who rediscovered her
soul in the ways of the t'skrang and took a Dantrovian for her lover.
Passion drives everything I do.  Passion is what I am."
	Selar backed up a half-step, folded her arms, and shook her
head.  "Most illogical," she insisted.
	"Ah," said Liza, "you're catching on," and she bent over Guy
to try again.  She put a hand gently, very gently, on the middle of
his chest, outside the blanket.  Her other hand softly caressed his
cheek.  It was almost, Anthy noted, like the touch of a lover - soft,
caring, and just a little bit proprietary, though not in a greedy or
jealous way.  It was such a little thing, and yet it spoke volumes.
	In the next instant, Liza's body went rigid with pain, or
effort, or both.  A stifled grunt forced its way past her suddenly
clenched teeth; Anthy could see the muscles at the corner of her jaw
bunch and quiver.  Tears squeezed out from under her tight-clamped
eyelids.  A low, raspy moan started deep in the blonde's throat as she
strove with all her strength and power against the horrible weight of
Guy's injuries.  It slowly built and built, kept furiously in check,
until finally it would no longer be denied and burst out of her in a
long, wavering cry that trailed off into nothing as she swooned back
away from the bed again.
	This time it was Anthy who caught her, and she didn't recover
as fast.  Anthy had finished lowering Liza carefully to the floor by
the time the blonde's eyelids fluttered open and her crystal-blue eyes
focused on her rescuer's face.
	Selar knelt down, ran her medical scanner over Liza, and
informed her impassively, "Your heart rate is one hundred fifty-eight.
Your pain reaction level is at the top of the scale.  If you persist,
you will kill yourself.  I cannot permit you to do that."
	"It's - my life - not yours," Liza panted.  "Anthy - help me -
up... "
	Deep concern touched the dark girl's face, but she did as she
was asked, for Anthy Tenjou knew a thing or two about persisting in
the face of anguish and possible death.
	"Self-sacrifice is an admirable thing," Selar noted, "but only
when it has meaning.  You -have- caused some improvement in Mr. Morgan's 
condition, but the rate of change produced by your efforts so far does
not indicate that significant improvement would result from a fatal
effort on your part."
	"Why did you - ever become - a doctor?" Liza asked her,
without rancor.  "Healing - isn't about - numbers."
	"For those of us born without gifts bordering on the
supernatural," Selar replied, equally without rancor, "it is."
	Doctor Phlox, observing from the doorway, disagreed, but
wisely held his tongue.
	Something tickled at the back of Anthy's mind.  She furrowed
her brow and chased it whle Selar went on, "Your dedication to the
fate of your friend is also admirable, but your refusal to accept that
your efforts are futile is foolish.  I do not impugn your will to help
him.  I merely state that you lack the raw power required."
	"Listen, you," Liza began, but Selar cut her off, raising her
voice ever so slightly.
	"All four of Mr. Morgan's limbs have been at least 90%
disintegrated," she said clinically.  "His remaining body surface is
almost completely covered with third-degree burns.  His internal
systems have suffered disruptor bleed damage as well as the massive
shock of his burns.  His Detian heritage has kept him alive this long,
but even it cannot save him.  If he were an -adult- Detian, fully
established, even -then- his survival would be extremely doubtful.  I
take no pleasure in telling you this, Miss Shustal, truly I do not,
but the fact is the fact: Gai Morgan is dying and cannot be saved."
	Liza, her strength returning rapidly at least to a point,
straightened up from Anthy's supporting embrace and grinned at the
Vulcan, an open, friendly, no-hard-feelings kind of grin.
	"You must be a damned good doctor," she said, "because you
sure didn't get the job based on your bedside manner."
	Selar didn't seem to know what to make of that, but it didn't
really matter - before she could have framed a reply, Anthy had
spoken, softly, almost to herself, but clearly audible in the quiet of
sickbay:
	"Will."
	"I beg your pardon?" said Selar.
	"Will," Anthy repeated, a little louder.  "Will... and power."
Then she turned to Liza and said urgently, "Don't do anything until I
get back.  All right?"
	"Uh... all right, but - "
	"I won't be long!" Anthy assured her, already running from
sickbay.
	She ran all the way to Transporter Room C, dashed up onto the
platform and ordered the startled tech on duty in a voice that brooked
no debate,
	"Send me to Valiant and stand by.  I'll be back in less than
five minutes."
	"Uh... yes, ma'am," said the tech.
	"Energize!"
	As soon as she'd finished resolving, Anthy was down off the
Valiant's platform and out into the corridor.  She entered Corwin's
office, searched his desk quickly but thoroughly, and, not finding
what she was looking for, went next door to his quarters.
	He was still asleep, having had as busy a day as any of them
the day before and not having been awakened at 8:45 to be given a
medal.  Anthy paused in the doorway for a fraction of a second to
smile at him as he slept, then turned to business and started rapidly,
methodically searching his room.  She found what she was looking for
in his sock drawer.
	Smiling at the knowledge that the universe was in order, she
turned to leave, then paused and impulsively kissed him before
hurrying from his room.  (He didn't awaken, but the fact of it
reverberated interestingly in his dreamscape for a little while.)
	Anthy returned to Challenger's sickbay at the run, her
precious cargo clutched in her hand, and then paused to catch her
breath before displaying it triumphantly to Liza.
	"An emerald?" Liza wondered; then her eyes widened slightly.
"No... more than that.  What is it?"
	"It's a gem from my homeworld," said Anthy.  "We call it
gaolith, or G-stone.  Corwin's been experimenting with it lately.  He
told me once that its energy output can be amplified by the exercise
of will."
	Liza looked impressed.  "-Really-," she said, interested.
"The more you put into it... "
	"The more you get out," Anthy confirmed.  "Several Cephirean
gems work that way, but G-stone is by far the most powerful."
	Liza smiled slowly as Anthy's intent spread across her own
mind like a breaking dawn.
	"Think it'll work?" she asked.
	"We have only one way of knowing," Anthy replied.  "Are you
ready?"
	"As I'll ever be," Liza declared.  "How do we go about it?"
	Anthy went to the head of the medibed, looking down at Guy's
sleeping face, upside down from her perspective.  She folded her arms
over her chest in a prayerlike attitude, closed her eyes - 
	- and with a sudden breeze and a dazzle of golden sparks, her
clothing changed from the yellow sundress to the distinctive scarlet
gown and golden tiara of the Priestess of Cephiro.
	Selar arched an eyebrow, but evinced no other reaction, while
Liza let out a quiet, respectful "oh."
	Anthy held the G-stone, a glowing green gem roughly the size
of a hockey puck, in both hands above Guy's chest, as if making an
offering of it.  She bowed her head and closed her eyes again, held
the pose in silence for a moment, and then said in a quiet but intense
voice,

	>Gaolith's light, green flame of life,
	Hear the voice of the Priestess of Your World
	  and lend your strength to that which must be done.<

	The gem pinged with a high, musical tone, glowed brighter, and
levitated out of Anthy's hands.  Ceremoniously she raised her right
hand so that it cupped the stone again, placed the palm of her left
gently on Guy's forehead, and entered the second phase - the amplifying 
spell itself.

	>Elemental spirits,
	Unseen forces which move the World,
	Hear the voice of She Who Calls
	  and take this body as your conduit
	  to be of aid in that which follows:
	Gate of Strength!<

	The gem glowed even brighter, ringing with a higher note and
filling the whole room with its light.  Liza gazed into it, her face
awash with wonder.
	"Now, Liza," said Anthy through her teeth.  The Priestess's
head was back, her hair rustling in the mystic wind that blew around
the G-stone, her face set like a mahogany mask.  Slowly, reverently,
Liza Shustal reached into the glow, placed one hand softly on Guy's
chest, put the other on the G-stone.  Her hand and Anthy's linked,
palms facing each other, each pressed to a side of the stone, and the
light poured out between their fingers.  The stone was warm, almost as
though it were alive, and in it Liza felt the thrilling blend of
powers already there: all poised to throw their strength behind her
own, if only she had the will to wield it.
	She closed her eyes, felt through its link with Anthy to the
sputtering spark that was Gai Morgan's life, and threw all her will
into the stone.
	The brilliant green glow washed out everything else, causing
even Selar, who was from a planet famed for its bright, harsh light,
to look away, lest her second eyelids reflexively close and blind her
outright for an inconveniently long time.  The musical sound of the
gem built in intensity and complexity until it was a veritable crystal
symphony, an exultant hallelujah chorus filling Challenger's sickbay.
	Presently, both the glow and the song faded and died away.
Liza and Anthy stood by Guy's bed, their hands linked, and for a
moment there was stillness.  Then, with another wash of golden sparks,
Anthy's clothes returned to their former state.  Slowly, the two girls
fell away in opposite directions, both unconscious.  Selar sprang to
catch Liza once more, while Phlox, the dumbfounded expression still on
his face, bounded across from the doorway to catch Anthy.
	When Anthy's hand and Liza's parted, there was nothing between
them.
	The two physicians carried Anthy and Liza to diagnostic beds
along the wall and, working in silence that betrayed even Selar's
concern, checked them over.  The relief on Phlox's face when it became
clear that both were fine, just passed out from the exertion, was much
more obvious than that on Selar's - but it was there on both faces.
	The two doctors stood silently looking at each other, as if
daring each other to try and make some comment that would in some way
sum up what they had just experienced.  This went on for several
seconds; it was broken up at last by a quiet, faintly confused voice
behind them:
	"Excuse me... can someone tell me what's going on?"
	Both doctors turned - and saw Guy Morgan sitting up on his
medibed, bare feet hanging over the side, blanket bunched up in his
lap to cover him from waist to calves, right hand raking back through
his thick, jaggedly unruly waist-length orange hair, the other splayed
modestly over his slim, slightly muscular chest.  Through the smooth,
unbroken skin on the back of his left hand, the doctors could just
make out a faint, familiar green glow.
	Doctor Selar blinked and said softly, "-Fascinating-."

	Juri Arisugawa lay on a bed in the guest quarters she and
Kaitlyn had claimed aboard Challenger the night before, trying and
failing to read Mark Twain's "Roughing It".  It was one of Kate's
favorite books, and Juri had been meaning to read it for some time,
but today was really not the day to be tackling a new reading project,
and Juri ruefully admitted this to herself as she rolled onto her back
and laid a forearm across her eyes.  Kate was at the desk, playing
Bach's third Brandenburg Concerto on her small portable keyboard, but
that wasn't what was preventing Juri from reading.  She liked to read
while Kate played classical music on her piano or keyboard; it was
relaxing and helped her focus.
	It just wasn't a good day to read.
	Sergei the tiger, who was too polite to bother Juri when she
was reading, noticed that she wasn't any more, climbed up onto the
bunk, and snuggled up to her with an ingratiating growl.  Juri smiled
faintly and played with the tiger's ears in the way she knew he liked,
closed her eyes, and tried to lose herself in Kate's music instead.
She couldn't get the image of poor Guy out of her head - the awful
ruin he had been reduced to as his payment for heroically saving her
life and those of the four Romulan guardsmen Amanda had sent to help
defend Government Center.
	Such fearlessness, such selflessness... and what was his
reward?  An agonizing death, all but certainly.  Kate was still in
denial, but Juri was the realist of their realist-romantic pairing,
and she knew death when she saw it stalk another.  Hadn't she seen it
before, after all?  Kaitlyn never had, but Juri remembered its face.
	Juri sighed and hugged Sergei with her free arm.  Why the
hell did she have to think of Ruka at a time like this?  She turned
her face from the overhead lights, buried it in the tiger's fur, and
wished, most irrationally, that he were her old friend Miki Kaoru.
Miki's presence was soothing, especially when the old wounds in the
past she shared with him but not with Kate festered and itched.
	But Miki was down on Titan, probably still sleeping off the
day before in the arms of his patient robot lover Dorothy, Dorothy who
could bend steel without effort and yet treated him so tenderly that
it was a warmth and a wonder to behold... 
	... My goodness, Arisugawa, she mused to herself, your mind is
just a total ferment today, isn't it?
	But then, I suppose a brush with death will do that to a
person.
	The intercom beeped and announced twice in the passionless
voice of Doctor Selar, "Kaitlyn Hutchins to sickbay please."  Kate
stopped playing and slowly rose.  Juri raised herself on an elbow and
asked quietly,
	"Do you want - "
	But Kaitlyn shook her head before the redhead could finish the
question.  She knew, Juri could see it in her face now, and she wanted
to face it alone.  There would be a time for Juri to help, but it
wasn't the moment itself.
	Juri saw all this in a moment, understood it, and nodded.
	"I'll be here," she said, and Kate left the room.
	While she was gone, Juri lay back, rubbed Sergei's head, and
chased her thoughts in circles some more.  How would she feel if her
sister died?  Well, she almost had once, hadn't she?  Anyway, they
weren't very close.  Her family wasn't nearly as closely knit as
Kaitlyn's, and Guy was probably the sibling Kate knew -least- well.
It was an odd sort of irony that Kate's best friend among her blood
relations, after her father, was probably her half-brother, Corwin,
rather than one of her full siblings or her mother.  But even the
relatively distant ones were so close by Juri's standards...
	... This will tear her apart, she thought sadly.  She's never
had to face tragedy like this before.  Never thought she would have
to, with her family's immortality.  She's strong, she'll get through
it, but for a while... 
	The door hissed open again, and there was Kaitlyn, her lower
lip quivering, tears streaming down her face.  Juri closed her eyes,
coming as close as her agnostic heart could to saying a prayer for
Guy's soul, and then sat up.  She felt her own eyes get hot as she
said softly, hoping her voice wouldn't break,
	"Kate, I'm - "
	But Kaitlyn interrupted her, her tear-streaked face breaking
into a luminous smile as she held out her hand for Juri to take and
said in a breathless, wonder-filled whisper,
	"J-Juri... c-c-come and see the m-miracle."

	Three corpses, plus scattered fragments of two others, lay on
coroner's slabs in the basement of Beltane's city police headquarters.
Looking them over slowly were the Chief of the Beltane Municipal
Police, Enron Krez; TDF commander Maylira Corleen; IPO Chief Hutchins;
and a young woman wearing a leather jacket over well-worn spacer's
coveralls.  Her long dark hair flowed around a pair of long, curiously
bent horns, yellow and black stripes framing her head.
	"I'm sorry, Captain."  Rianna Santova, Dark Knight of the
Sith, shrugged.  "None of this looks or feels familiar to me.  I've
only known one other true Sith for certain, and that was my mother."
	"You've encountered more than your share of dark Jedi in the
past," Gryphon said.  "You're the closest thing to an expert I could
find in this sector."  He stared at the dead cyborgs and said, "Does
anything about them look familiar?  Any hidden symbols, the style of
the armor, anything like that?"
	"Nothing," Rianna said decisively.  "If they had been Sith,
even initiates, I would have felt something about them.  I did feel
traces of a powerful Sith warrior, the one you told me about, at
Government Center... along with another talent, partly formed and very
strong."  She looked up from her study of one body to give Gryphon a
warning look.  "If you know who that is, I suggest you keep a very
close eye on him.  He is at a dangerous stage."
	"He's well in hand," Gryphon said.  "But nothing from these
guys?"
	"Nothing," Rianna nodded.  "I can't speak for the modern Sith
tradition - in fact, I wasn't sure there was one until you told me -
but the Sith didn't go in for cyborg implants and powered armor in the
old days.  We did not -need- them."  She pointed to one body, whose
helmet had been pulled off to reveal several cyber-plugs and other
evidence of implants in his skull.  "Nor did the Sith need electronics
to control those they wished enslaved.  The Sith use trickery, deceit,
and mental domination - not props."
	"Then we're back at square one," Chief Krez grumbled, running
a hand over his bristly grey hair.
	"No, we aren't," Gryphon said.  "Not quite.  Mia Ausa
recognized the Sith Knight as our old friend from the Psi Corps, Roger
Tremayne.  Since we can be -pretty- sure that these aren't Sith
warriors," he nodded his acknowledgement to Rianna, "then we have to
presume that Tremayne got them from his more conventional employers."
	"You mean those are Psi Corps officers?" General Corleen
asked.
	"Probably not officially," Gryphon said.  "No Psi Corps badge,
for one thing.  Although... "  He reached past Rianna, brushed up the
short-cropped hair on the helmetless cyborg and noted a bare spot, a
brand in the shape of the Greek letter omega burned into his scalp.
"Ten to one the Corps has a deniable-ops branch set up somewhere, full
of guys just like this.  A hundred to one."
	"No proof, though," Chief Krez said.
	"None we could take to the Federation."  Gryphon shrugged.
"Maybe the autopsy will turn something up."
	As the IPO chief and the Sith left the station together and
went on out into the bright sunlight of Government Center's plaza,
Gryphon said, "Thanks for coming, Rianna."
	"You're welcome," Rianna replied.  "I'm sorry I wasn't able to
shed more light on the subject... so to speak."
	Gryphon chuckled.  "Well, like my grandmother used to say,
it'll all come out in the wash."
	"Mm," said Rianna, nodding.  "I just hope it doesn't stain.
Listen, there's one favor you can do for me, if you feel like it."
	Gryphon regretted that he didn't know her well enough to
reply, "OK, but I've only got an hour," instead responding, "What's
that?"
	She gave him just the faintest hint of a smirk, then went on
in a businesslike tone, "You said the Sith the kids encountered left
behind his lightsaber.  I'd like to see it."
	"Sure.  It's up on Challenger, I - "
	Gryphon's communicator tweedled.
	" - hold on a second."  He drew it from his belt, flipped it
open, and said, "Yeah."
	"Your presence is requested aboard, sir," said the voice of
Hoshi Sato.  "Stand by to beam up."
	"I was just about to call you.  Make it two."

	Kozue Kaoru stood amid the noise and confusion of one of the
Titan Defense Forces' aerospace hangars and looked over what probably
three out of five people asked would have called, charitably, an
obsolete vehicle, and uncharitably, a heap of worthless junk.
	It was a Salusian-built Subpro Z-95E Headhunter starfighter,
long-nosed, snub-tailed, straight-winged and sleek.  Called the "Mark
IV" in Subpro's official literature (there had been no Z-95D), the
Z-95E was the last of the Headhunters.  With its sophisticated target
tracking equipment, missile delivery system, and integral hyperdrive,
it represented the absolute state of the art, the last word in space
superiority fighters...
	... in 2002.
	The fighter before her now, Kozue read on the datasheet she'd
been handed by the TDF 21st Fighter Wing crew chief, had come off the
Subpro line in April of 2005, which made it... ye gods, four hundred
and one years old.  And yet, she had to remind herself, that wasn't
all that old for a spacecraft.  Corwin's converted freighter, the
One-Hit Wonder, had been built in the 1950s sometime, and it was still
going strong.
	Most of the freighter's systems had been replaced, admittedly.
Little about it was original now save the spaceframe; but one of the
many, many things Kozue had learned from Corwin Ravenhair was that a
good spaceframe with dead systems was a spacecraft, while a bunch of
good systems with a bad spaceframe was scrap.
	This spaceframe, Kozue thought, was still good.  She wouldn't
have been able to quantify exactly why she thought that, if anyone had
asked.  It was just the way it sat, parked patiently in the corner of
the hangar, upright on its landing gear, wings straight and level,
waiting.  Most of the TDF's Headhunters had been stripped, sold off to
even less significant military forces, or scrapped outright.  Four
remained, and none were spaceworthy now that Jung Freud had burned the
power core out of the last flyable one in yesterday's battle with
Earthforce.
	Of the three others, one was missing a wing, one had suffered
an electrical fire, and this one... well, according to the record in
her hand and the master tech's memory, there was nothing wrong with
this one.  The pilots had just stopped flying it when the TDF's
secondhand T-65E Dragonflies had arrived the previous year.  It wasn't
fueled and its storage cells were dead; it was covered in dust, its
paint was drab and faded, its official markings had been removed
(leaving odd blank patches in its paint job), and its cockpit bubble
had yellowed with age... 
	... but something about the way it sat here, like an old horse
retired to a corner stall, told Kozue it was still sound.
	She felt a presence behind her and turned her head to see
Corwin, dressed in one of the smudgy coveralls he wore when working in
Valiant's engine room, approaching across the hangar.  He raised a
hand in greeting; Kozue smiled and returned the gesture.
	"Doing a little shopping?" he asked as he reached her.
	"Governor Ondeen said I could have anything the Defense Forces
didn't want to keep."  She smiled, chuckling, and added, "Captain
McCarthy tried to give me one of the X-wings anyway, but I managed to
convince him that they should really hold onto those."
	Corwin laughed.  "You're a legend in your own time."
	"I know.  It's a little unnerving.  I was on the -news- this
morning."  She touched the medal on the front of her IPSF duty
uniform's jacket - having fought the entire engagement in her party
clothes, Kozue had felt it only fair to wear her uniform for the
downtime afterward - and added, "Being a hero feels weird."
	Smiling, Corwin put a hand on her shoulder and assured her
wryly, "You'll get used to it."  Then he took a slow walk around the
Headhunter, making little 'hmm' noises every now and then, tapping on
body panels gently with his fingertips, and crouching down to look at
the oleos on the main gear with a critical eye.
	Then, straightening, he said, "Needs a lot of work, but the
spaceframe's good and straight."
	Kozue grinned.  "I thought so.  Can you help me with it?"
	"Sure.  Give us something to do after school again next year,"
Corwin replied.  "We'll have to take the wings off to fit it in
Valiant's shuttlebay alongside the Swordfish.  Or Dad could take it
with him - Challenger's got plenty of bay room - and we could sort it
out later."
	"That works," said Kozue.  "We won't really have the
facilities to do anything with it the rest of the summer anyway."
	"By the way," said Corwin as he flipped the Headhunter's
boarding footstep down and hiked himself up to have a look in the
cockpit, "do you know where you're staying yet?"
	"Looks like with the Roses," Kozue responded, "ironically
enough.  You?"
	"Dad thinks he's found a place for me down in the Millrace, by
the Morgan River," said Corwin.  He cupped his hands around his eyes
and peered into the cockpit, then went on, slightly muffled, "I'm
probably going to check out a stimsim of it later today."
	"Cool.  Mind if I tag along?  I can give you that feminine
perspective."
	Corwin took his hands away from the age-clouded transaluminum
and gave her an off-axis look, which made her giggle.
	A moment later, his handlink beeped.  He raised it, tapped it
and answered, "Corwin here."
	"It's Utena," replied a voice consistent with that claim.
"Can you come up to Challenger?  There's something you need to see."
	"Uh... sure."  He climbed back down the side of the
Headhunter, toed the step back into its stowed position, and asked,
"Can you give me a hint?"
	"I think it's best if you just come and see."
	"... OK," said Corwin, a little puzzled.  "Kozue's with me, do
you want her too?"
	"Sure, the more the merrier."
	Kozue turned, waved to the man in the TDF Master Technician's
uniform, and shouted to him across the noisy hangar, "THIS ONE!"
	Master Tech Sesteen nodded with a broad grin and gave her a
thumbs-up.  "GOOD CHOICE!"
	"WE'LL BE BACK FOR IT LATER!  OK?"
	Another thumbs-up.  "OK!"

	The starship Challenger's forward lounge was no longer
deserted by the time Corwin and Kozue were brought there by Utena.
Instead the place was packed with people.  Most of the Valiant's
complement was here, as were a few of the blue-suited personnel from
IPO HQ Beltane and some members of the flagship's crew.
	The room had a festive atmosphere, more like a party than the
modest award ceremony the visiting defenders of Titan had been treated
to when Utena had completed her list.  People had drinks and snacks,
were laughing and talking in animated tones.  It struck Corwin as a
bit inappropriate, given what had happened to - 
	"GUY!" he cried as he spotted the redheaded figure in black
jeans and Art of Noise t-shirt at the center of attention.
	Guy turned, grinned, and made his way through the crowd to his
brother, but before the two young men could say anything more, the
redhead's name was shouted again, this time as a high, almost keening,
two-part-harmony cry that came from behind Corwin.  The engineer found
himself jostled as two smaller shapes darted past him, one on each
side.  One was topped with a streak of orange not unlike Guy's, the
other a smudge of coal black.
	The orange one reached Guy first, and hit him so hard it
knocked him flat on his back on the carpet.  Having underestimated her
own strength a bit, Priss Morgan found herself not hugging her twin
brother, but rather lying on top of him.
	That didn't seem to daunt her, though, as she kissed him and
squeezed him in her arms, then rested her head against his chest and
tried with an almost total lack of success to apologize for everything
she'd ever done to him and beg him to forgive her and come home, all in
less than five seconds.
	For his part, Guy just lay there on the floor, arms bent at
the elbow, hands raised in the air as if in surrender, a look of
bemused surprise on his face.  A moment behind Priss, Sylvie Daniels
arrived; she was at least smart enough not to pile on, but instead
knelt down beside the twins and grabbed Guy's left hand, adding her
voice to the incoherent chorus.
	"Easy, easy, easy," said another voice, and the twins' mother,
Kei Morgan, made her way through the crowd with an amused smile on her
face.  "Don't kill him again."
	Priss released her brother, scrambled to her feet and whirled
indignantly to her mother.  "Mom!" she said.  "Don't even joke!"
	Kei brushed aside her daughter's indignation, reached down,
grabbed Guy's free hand, and hauled him to his feet.  "You OK, Lion?"
she asked him as she drew him into an embrace of her own.
	The young man grinned and replied, "I feel great, Mom.  Better
than I ever have."
	"Hey!" Priss blurted, tugging him back out of their mother's
arms and grabbing a fistful of his thick orange hair.  "Your hair got
lighter!"
	Guy looked, and sure enough, it had; his hair was now a shade
or  two brighter than his sister's.
	"So it did," he said.
	"We don't MATCH!" Priss cried.  "That's not fair!"
	"Sorry," said Guy.  He saw that she was really upset and put
his free hand on her shoulder.  "I didn't have a choice... "
	"Hey," said Sylvie, who still had hold of Guy's left hand.
"What's with your hand?"  When Kei glanced curiously at her, the
black-haired girl held up Guy's hand, showing his mother the pale
green glow shining through the back of it.
	"Oh, uh... we're not really sure yet," Guy replied, gently
retrieving his hand and regarding it thoughtfully.
	Kei laughed, head back.  "Not another one!" she remarked with
a merry twinkle in her brown eyes.  "Ben, has another of our children
found some kind of cosmic calling?"
	"So it would appear," Gryphon replied.  "But you know what I
say," he added, shrugging nonchalantly.  "As long as they're happy and
stay off the stims... "
	Kei laughed, gave her younger son another hug and mussed his
unruly orange hair, then released him back to the tender captivity of
his still-slightly-disgruntled twin and her best friend.

	Off to one side, Kozue Kaoru chuckled and leaned over to her
own twin, murmuring, "Maybe that's what we needed."
	"What?" Miki replied mildly.  "A co-conspirator to help you
more effectively torture me?"
	"Yeah," Kozue replied, hugging her brother's arm.  "Something
like that."
	"I'm not generally the volunteering type," Azalynn dv'Ir
Natashkan observed as she slid up behind them both, "but... "
	Kozue laughed.  R. Dorothy Wayneright gave them all an odd
look, then shook her head with mock resignation, carried her grey cat
Peril to the piano, put him down on top of it, and sat down to play.

/*  L. van Beethoven  Sonata No. 8 in C Minor, Op. 13 'Pathetique'  */

	Utena surveyed the scene and smiled.  Guy's miracle recovery
was the perfect cap to the adventure, the perfect reversal of the
gloom that had hung over them all and kept them from enjoying their
victory.
	Sure, the galaxy at large was still a bit of a mess.  As
insane as it seemed to the crew of the Valiant, political opinion had
come out in -favor- of Earth's actions.  The Earth Alliance's member
worlds off-Earth were overwhelmingly in support of President Clark.
So were a number of other worlds, including not a few independent
ex-Salusian colonies.  Vulcan had approved of Earth's actions,
although the persons polled there 'deplored the use of violence in
solving political differences.'  Corellia... well, the polls there
went according to who paid for the polls, so their massive support was
no surprise.
	What was surprising, though, was that the numbers were
-rising- with every successive poll.  Even Network 23, now exiled from
the Earth Alliance, reported that opinion polls taken on human worlds
favored Clark's actions by substantial margins.  Only on a handful of
worlds - Narn, Salusia itself, some parts of the Greater Galactic
Co-Prosperity Sphere, Zeta Cygni, some more enlightened spots on the
Rim - did the majority disapprove of the Earth Alliance's acts.
	Utena knew -why- this was happening, of course; she was no
master schemer, but neither was she the hopelessly naive creature who
had arrived at Ohtori Academy years ago, hunting a legend.  She knew
the way things worked.  The reason for the massive approval was
because the only news coming from Earth and its Alliance now came from
the new, "improved" ISN (The Truth When You Need It).  And the new ISN
was only showing things that painted the new world order in a positive
light: crowds of cheering Argentines showering the occupation forces
with flowers, the new "popularly elected" Governor of Texas sucking up
to President Clark, the King of England smiling and waving as he gave
up his crown and his country "voluntarily".
	There was nothing on ISN about the stubborn, heroic resistance
of the United States of Australia and New Zealand.  The Royal
Australasian Air Force had been wiped out almost to their last
fighter, the Australia-New Zealand Army Coalition all but erased from
history.  That much Utena knew for a fact, having seen it on Network
23 as that network fled Australia in transports belonging to their
major sponsor, the ZikZak Corporation.  And the rumors filtering into
Titan from resistance groups on Earth, relayed by sympathetic Free
Martians, were even worse.
	If those rumors were to be believed, thousands of Muscovites
had stormed Red Square in the wee hours of Monday morning, armed with
nothing but rocks, bricks and bottles, and been gunned down by
Earthforce soldiers shipped in from outside Russia.  The patriots of
Texas had chosen guerilla warfare instead of Anzed's heroic but futile
stand, and their ongoing resistance was being dismissed by Earthdome's
puppet press as "scattered attacks by terrorist cells."  The Prince of
Zanzibar was in solitary confinement in Geneva, or possibly on the
Moon, or maybe he had been executed.
	The report Utena liked best, and most hoped was true, was the
one about Canada.  According to the Martian drums, the military
leadership of Canada had been quite aware that their forces could
never stand up to Earthforce, and they had chosen neither guerilla
war, which would tear the peaceful country apart, nor open defiance,
which would cost thousands of lives.
	Instead, the former Dominion had submitted peacefully on
Sunday... and not shown up for work on Monday.  No one.  Not one
soldier, not one cop, not one lawyer or judge or doctor or auto
mechanic or bus driver.  The hundred fifty million people of Canada
were sitting out the civil war en masse, making their disapproval of
the situation known by their vast and contemptuous silence, and
Earthforce didn't have enough personnel to go and force them out.
	It wouldn't last, of course, even if it were true - people had
to eat, and would go back to work when the food ran out - but Utena
hoped it was true all the same, because it struck her as enormously
funny in a perverse sort of way.
	So the universe had lost its mind, or at least the Earth
Alliance had.  Tensions were running high, the Federation was kissing
the Alliance's boots, everyone was eyeing his neighbor and keeping a
hand near his blaster...
	... but Saionji was going to be OK, Guy was better than new,
and Titan was still free, and Utena Tenjou had learned to take her
victories where they found her.  So she was reasonably content as she
leaned against the wall near the lounge entrance and smiled at
everybody.
	She noticed Wakaba and Imra Ardeen sitting on one of the
lounge's sofas off to one side, laughing and talking, and went over
to join them.
	"Hey," said Wakaba, shoving over to to make room for her.
"How's Anthy?"
	"Fine," Utena replied.  "Worn out, sleeping it off, but happy
she could help.  She and Liza both."  She yawned, stretching, and
added, "I know the feeling.  How are you guys?"
	"Not bad," Imra allowed.
	"I'm great," Wakaba said with a grin.  She held out her left
hand, fingers splayed, like a girl showing off an engagement ring, and
said, "Like my new toy?"
	Utena looked, blinked, and looked more closely.  Wakaba's Rose
Seal, which marked her as both an Institute Duelist and a member of
the Cephirean Order of the Rose, had changed.  It was no longer a
silver band with the Tenjou Academy rose signet atop it in pink; now
the signet was green, a rich, full, emerald green, and the metal of
the ring was black.  It was that last detail which distracted Utena
momentarily, delaying her notice of the subtly shifting green light in
the gem of the signet.  When she did notice that light, she realized
immediately that the Seal was also a Lens, replacing the one that was
now absent from Wakaba's wrist.
	She gave Wakaba a faintly uneasy look and asked, "Why is it
black?"
	"It's not," Wakaba replied, turning her hand so the faintly
glowing gem caught the light.  "It's green."
	"I know it's green, but the ring itself is black," Utena
replied, exasperated by her old friend's deliberate obtuseness.
	Wakaba sighed.  "Because black goes better with green, Utena,
relax," she said.  "It changed when Master Clef and Skuld combined it
with my Lens, that's all.  It's supposed to help me channel the power
Clef gave me more effectively."
	"Does it work?"
	"I haven't really tested it yet," Wakaba replied, shrugging,
"but it -feels- better.  Less... restless.  I'm not sure I can really
explain."
	Remembering the uneasy way the Power of Dios had sat within
her at first, Utena grinned.  "I understand," she said.
	"So," Imra asked with an impish grin, "are you going to design
yourself a costume?  What will you call yourself?"  She raised her
hands in a framing gesture and said pompously, "'The Emerald
Crusader!'"
	Wakaba rolled her eyes.  "Don't be a weirdo, Imra."

	Gryphon laughed at the joke Kei had just made and remarked to
himself that today was turning out to be a much better day than he had
expected it to be when he got up (obscenely early) to be present, for
solidarity's sake, at Utena's meeting with Governor Ondeen.  His train
of thought on that subject was very similar to hers, and doesn't need
to be retold, but as he was considering the Canada shutdown (he too
hoped it was true; it was so in character for the country, of which he
was quite fond), he found himself rousted from his reverie by the
arrival of Mia Ausa.
	"Excuse me, Captain," she said diffidently.  "Could I have a
word with you?"
	Gryphon blinked.  "Sure," he said.  "Rianna and I were just
headed down to the dojo.  Walk with us.  Kei, you can hold things
together here?"
	Kei eyed the pleasant gathering with a mock-dubious eye and
said, "Well, I'll -try- to keep these animals under control, but... "
	Gryphon laughed, kissed her, and then squired Mia out into the
corridor with Rianna following behind them.  The Sith Knight followed
silently and patiently (and, thought Mia, a little unnervingly),
keeping her nose out of Gryphon's business with the girl.
	"What's on your mind, Mia?" asked Gryphon.  "You don't have to
call me Captain, by the way.  Not when your dad and I go back as far
as we do."
	It was a little-known fact that John Trussell was the member
of the core of twentieth-century Wedge Defense Force immortals whom
Gryphon had known longest.  Alone among the group of WPI students
thrust by circumstance and ancient machination into positions of
galactic prominence, Truss had known Gryphon -before- WPI, several
years before, when they'd met at what Truss had described, rather
vaguely, to his daughter as "summer camp for smart kids."
	That little tidbit went a long way toward muting Mia's natural
tendency to be slightly in awe of the man: her father had known him
before he was a space hero, before he was a samurai, before he was
anything other than a seventh-grade kid from Maine who couldn't stand
the food at the College of the Atlantic.  It gave her the confidence
she needed to go up to him, one of the most important men in the
galaxy, and ask a favor.
	"When I left Minbar," she told him, "I had to renounce my
Minbari citizenship to do it, and claim Australian citizenship based
on my blood tie to Dad.  That... might be kind of a problem now.  Or
it will be as soon as the EA has finished subjugating Anzed and
absorbing all their records."
	"When did Truss become an Australian citizen?" asked Gryphon,
puzzled.
	"When he started working for Network 23," Mia replied.  "It
was easier than trying to go through the Salusian consulate all the
time."
	"Oh.  I guess that makes sense."  Like all the WDF's original
WPI core, Truss had been made a Salusian subject when their original
country had declared the Wedge Defense Force persona non grata after
the destruction of Neo-Worcester in the early 1990s.  Most of them
still were, or had converted over to the Republic of Zeta Cygni when
Gryphon and Lord Fahrvergnugen had founded that state in 2380.  He
couldn't think of a single one that had gone back to Earth, at least
legitimately.
	"Anyway," said Mia, "my Earth citizenship could be a legal
liability now.  After all, I'm a wanted criminal on Earth.  All of us
in Utena's crew are."
	Gryphon nodded.  "And you've certainly made yourself an enemy
in the Psi Corps," he added, "not that that's necessarily directly
relevant to you, but - "
	"It is," Mia told him flatly.  When that stopped him and got
him giving her an "oh really?" look, she added, "P2 or worse - contact
empathy, basically - but with my... other talents... well, that Sith
Psi Cop was definitely interested... "
	Rianna interposed herself for the first time.  "Excuse me,"
she said.  "Are you the girl who recognized him for a Sith?"
	Mia nodded.  "Yes, I am."
	"Oh, sorry," said Gryphon.  "Rude of me.  Um, Mia Ausa, Rianna
Santova."
	"Nice to meet you," said Mia politely; then she got back to
business and continued, "I have an ancient Atlantean text on the Jedi
Knights and their enemies - it dates back to the Second Epoch, when
both orders were at the peak of their power."
	"Really," said Rianna.  "Mother has a similar book, except
it's Santovasku, of course.  Possibly a translation of the same work.
It would be interesting to compare them someday."
	Mia took a closer look at her interlocutor, taking in the
horns, and then said, "Are you... you're Santovasku, aren't you?  That
explains your name."
	"Half," Rianna replied.  "And you're half-Minbari, which
explains yours."
	Mia nodded.
	"Interesting," Rianna repeated.  "Aside from his garb, did the
man you encountered do anything that indicated he was a Knight of the
Sith, and not simply a Psi Cop with a lightsaber?"
	Mia took this question in the spirit in which it was meant;
Rianna didn't know her, didn't know the ways of the Anla'shok, and so
had no reason to be confident in her assessment.  So instead of
getting upset and defensive, she just nodded.
	"He employed several documented Jedi techniques, but the most
obvious one, and the one that marked him as a darksider, was the
lightning."
	Rianna's eyebrows rose a tenth of an inch.  "He cast
lightning?" she asked.
	"Mm," said Mia, nodding again.  "Anthy said it was what he
knocked her out with.  He also used it against Saionji - I'd come to
in time to see that."
	Rianna tapped her chin thoughtfully with a fingertip.  "Thank
you.  That's not good news, but it does help us in considering what
we're dealing with."
	"You're welcome.  I'm glad I could be of some help... I
certainly wasn't any -against- him," she said ruefully.
	"If he was a genuine Knight of the Sith, you have no cause for
shame," Rianna replied (with, Mia thought, more than a trace of
arrogance - the woman reminded her a little bit of a member of the
Warrior Caste).
	Choosing not to argue the point, Mia merely nodded polite
acknowledgement and turned back to Gryphon.  "Do you... think you can
help me?"
	Gryphon nodded.  "You have your current ID on you?"
	"I gathered up all my paperwork before I came over from the
Valiant."
	"OK."  Gryphon paused at the next corridor intersection and
punched the intercom panel online.  "Gryphon to the bridge."
	"Bridge here, O Mighty One," replied the voice of executive
officer Lore Soong.  "You're missing No Pants Day."
	Gryphon gave the panel a dubious look.  "That's... nice,
Lore.  Is Lu there?"
	"Yeah, but she's not being any fun," Lore replied.  "Not
getting into the spirit of our Special Days.  I think you're going to
have to keep shopping."
	In the background, Gryphon could hear Luornu Durgo, his new
yeoman, giggling; he smiled and said, "Stop trying to freak her out,
Lore, it's only her second day.  Put her on, will you?"
	"I've been putting her on all day," Lore replied petulantly,
"but she just won't bite."
	"I'm right here, sir," said Lu.
	"Lu, I'm sending up a girl named Mia Ausa," said Gryphon.
"She's John Trussell's daughter and she's in a jam - she was rash
enough to get Earth Alliance citizenship last year," (he paused to
wink at Mia), "and now she figures that could get inconvenient.  She's
got all her current paperwork with her.  Run it through the gizmos in
my office and tell Vision she needs the standard package, will you?"
	"Sure thing, sir!" Lu replied.
	"Great, thanks.  Gryphon out."  He thumbed the panel offline
and grinned at Mia.
	"That's all?" she asked, grinning back.
	"After Utena and all her friends last year," Gryphon said,
putting a hand on Mia's shoulder as he led the way to a turboshaft,
"we've got this stuff down to a science."

			      BABYLON 6
				16:39

	When Susan Ivanova sent Babylon 6 Security Chief Michael
Garibaldi to check out the mysterious ship that was parked near the
station, she had expected him to come back showing some kind of
reaction to what he found inside.  She hadn't expected that reaction
to be giggling, though, and that's what Garibaldi was doing as he
removed his environment suit's helmet in the Command-level airlock.
	"What's so funny?" Ivanova wanted to know.
	"This whole situation," Garibaldi replied, still snickering as
he undid the rest of the suit, put it away, and smoothed his uniform.
"The ship's got a command AI."
	"It was what let you on board?"
	"Yeah.  Opened the main hatch right up for me."
	"Why didn't it admit the other security officers I sent over?"
	"She didn't have orders to," Garibaldi said.  He reached into
the pocket of the spacesuit and removed a piece of paper before
shutting the locker, then turned to Ivanova and asked, "Where's
Truss?"
	"The reporter?  He and his crew were dropped off by Princess
Dessler's ship two hours ago.  I think they're in the Marche now."
	"Good.  C'mon along if you want.  I've got a message for him."
	"Wait a minute, what about this mystery ship?"
	"That's what the message is about," replied Garibaldi with a
grin as he left the room.
	Throwing her hands in the air, Ivanova uttered something
impolite in Russian and followed him.

	John Trussell, ace reporter for Network 23, surveyed his
tablemates with a touch of glumness, for they were a rather
bedraggled-looking lot.  He and his pilot partner, Jung Freud, had had
a chance to shower and change clothes, since they lived aboard the
station, but they still looked tired and frazzled.  One of their two
Neimoidian security droids was scuffed and dented, the other was
missing an arm, and their R5 unit looked a bit ungainly with an
improvised carrier pack strapped to him.  The pack contained the core
of their late ship's onboard machine intelligence, Al.
	"So," said Jung.
	"So," Truss replied.
	"We need a new ship," Jung said.
	"That we do."
	"A -better- ship."
	Truss hadn't seen anything wrong with the old Morning Sun, but
then, he hadn't been the driver.  He shrugged equably.  "If we can
afford it," he said.  "I don't know what kind of budget the network
will have for things like that now."
	"We don't know if the network even -exists-," grumbled Jung.
"For all we know, we could be out of jobs.  You suppose ISN is
hiring?"
	"Don't even joke."
	At the end of the table, G-3N3, one of the battle droids, had
taken an interest in a pair of chopsticks which Jung had been given
with her beef chow mein, but which she hadn't used.  The robot was
fumbling with them in his rather clumsy two-fingered hands; his thumbs
weren't quite fully opposable.  Truss and Jung stopped talking and
watched with a kind of disturbed fascination as the droid - designed
for war, adapted for security, and certainly not interested in human
food - tried to figure out how to use the table implements.
	Their fascination (and possibly their disturbance) grew as the
other, R-06R, turned to his counterpart and said in his monotone
synthetic voice:
	"What are you doing?"
	"Please enjoy your Nice Chinese Food with Chopstick," replied
Gene, "the traditional and typical of Chinese glonous history and
cultual."  For illustration, the battle droid gestured to the red
paper wrapper the chopsticks had come in.
	Roger seemed to accept this as a reasonable (for that matter,
intelligible) answer; he watched Gene fumble for a moment more, then
leaned over, took hold of his counterpart's hand with one of his own
and the chopsticks in the other, and told him,
	"No no - like this.  Hold this - move this.  See?  Now you can
pick up anything."
	Gene opened and closed the chopsticks several times, then
turned and tried to lift R5-T1.  The only part of the astromech droid
small enough for the battle droid to grasp with the chopsticks was his
comm antenna, and trying to lift him by that appendage accomplished
nothing other than to elicit a stream of indignant electronic noises.
	Stymied, Gene turned to Roger and observed, "Not anything."
	Truss and Jung looked at each other in astonishment.
	"Those droids need a memory wipe," Jung observed.
	"Hey, Truss," said Garibaldi, slipping up to the table with
Ivanova in tow.  "Got a minute?"
	"I've got a lot of minutes," Truss replied ruefully.  "What do
you need, Chief?"
	"I've got a message for you," said Garibaldi.  "Would you mind
coming up to the observation deck?"

	Ten minutes later they were all in the observation deck,
looking out at the mysterious white ship - Truss, his crew, Garibaldi,
Ivanova, and Minbari Ambassador Delenn, who looked slightly perplexed.
	"Ambassador, this message was found aboard our mystery ship,"
Garibaldi said.  He held up the piece of paper he'd taken from his
spacesuit pocket, which appeared to be a standard pale yellow sticky
note.  "I thought you might be interested in being present when I
deliver it to its intended recipient."
	Then he turned and handed the note to Truss, who, looking even
more puzzled than the Minbari ambassador, unfolded it and read aloud:
	"Dear Truss, Sorry about your ship.  I figured you would need
a new one, and this one has some features I think you'll appreciate,
so I sent it along.  Hail Eris!  Love... "  The blue-haired reporter's
brow furrowed in extreme consternation.  "... VALEN?!"
	Ambassador Delenn blinked, then turned to Garibaldi and said
with a distinct coolness in her voice,
	"Mr. Garibaldi, if this is your idea of humor, it has exceeded
the boundaries of good taste."
	Garibaldi spread his hands.  "I swear, Ambassador, it's just
like I found it.  The ship has a humanoid-interface machine
intelligence, and she told me the same thing.  She says she - the
ship, I mean - is a present for John Trussell from... well, Valen."
	Delenn would have arched an eyebrow if she'd had any.  "This
machine intelligence - does it look like a Minbari?"
	"Well... no," Garibaldi admitted, "but she said that was
because Valen was sending her to work with humans, and so she adapted
her appearance to suit."
	The Minbari diplomat studied Garibaldi's face carefully.
After more than a year stationed at Babylon 6, she had become quite
familiar with Garibaldi's fondness for gags and pranks, even if she
still didn't quite understand the human version of humor.  Despite
that, she had the impression that he was sincere.  She didn't think
him capable of such a crass mockery of another people's traditions;
the man was a bit coarse, but he was essentially good-hearted and his
jokes were never intended to hurt.
	She let it pass and turned to Ivanova.  "If this is to be
believed," she said, "then that ship must have come to this place from
the distant past.  Valen died over a thousand Standard years ago."
	"Then how did he know Truss would need a ship?" wondered
Garibaldi.
	"Why does he CARE that Truss needs a ship?!" Ivanova blurted,
throwing up her hands in frustration.  "This doesn't make any sense at
all!"
	"Careful, Commander, remember your blood pressure," Garibaldi
admonished her, drawing a well-deserved glare.
	"I guess there's only one way to find out," said Truss.
"We'll have to go over and talk to the ship."

	With the mystery ship still not acknowledging any hails,
transporting over was impossible, so Truss and Jung had to be fitted
with environment suits, given a quick refresher on operating the
thruster packs, and then guided over by Garibaldi.
	Inside, the ship was just as white as outside, or at least the
airlock was.  Once it had finished cycling, they checked their
readings, removed their helmets, and Garibaldi pressed the control for
the inner door, which looked fairly standard.
	As it trundled open, they were met by a young woman in an
elaborate dress.  She had long green hair in a fat, heavy braid and
greeted them with a big, friendly smile - and the most disconcerting
thing about her was that she had just appeared from nowhere when the
door opened.
	"Hi!" she said.  "You have been recognized as John Trussell
and Jung Freud, owner and primary operator of this vessel.  Welcome
aboard the Swordbreaker.  My name's Canal; I run the ship.  I'm sure
we'll all be great friends!"
	Truss blinked.  He glanced at Jung and saw that she was also
blinking, then glanced at Garibaldi and saw that -he- was struggling
not to laugh, which wasn't much help.
	"Uh... pleased to meet you," he said.
	"Now that you're aboard, would you like me to set up a
standard routine for answering hails and identity queries?  I have
everything programmed and ready."
	"Then... why aren't you already doing it?"
	"Valen told me not to talk to anyone who wasn't on the list,"
Canal replied.  "I do as Valen instructs me."
	"Valen the ancient Minbari prophet?" said Jung skeptically.
	"That's the one," Canal replied, nodding.
	"Ambassador Delenn had a good point.  If you're a Minbari
computer," said the redhead, "why don't you look like a Minbari?"
	"Oh, that's easy," said Canal cheerfully.  "Originally, I
did," (and she did,) "but Valen reprogrammed me," (and she didn't.)
"He said Captain Trussell had a thing for girls with green hair."
	As Truss felt his face go red, Garibaldi leaned over and
muttered behind his hand, "BUS-ted," which didn't help, and Jung
stifled a laugh and added,
	"(And blue, and purple, and red, and... )" which didn't help
either.
	"Uh... yes, well," said Truss.  Canal didn't seem to have
noticed his discomfiture or the others' comments at all; she just
stood there with her hands folded, beaming at him.  "Can you tell me
why... uh, Valen... sent me a ship?"
	"Because you needed one," Canal replied simply.  "Now, would
you like a tour?  The sooner you get acquainted with the ship, the
sooner you can move in and get back to your important work.  Did you
bring the processor for your controller AI with you?  There's an
installation module and separate superprocessor for him in the core
chamber... "
	Canal nattered happily on about the various features of the
ship as she led Truss, Jung and Garibaldi deeper into the interior,
pointing out different rooms and systems; but Truss hardly heard her.
He was too busy being hopelessly perplexed.

			    IPS CHALLENGER
				19:21

	As afternoon became evening over Beltane, the party
celebrating Guy's miraculous recovery gradually evolved into a more
general victory celebration, now that the shadow of his impending
death had been removed from over the participants' heads.  People came
and went from Challenger's forward lounge and mingled in shifting
groups.  Guy, still the guest of honor, was rarely alone, which he
would have liked.  He was grateful that people were glad he had
survived, and his cheeks still burned at the memory of the kiss of
thanks he had received from the normally undemonstrative Juri for
saving her life with his heroic action, but he would have appreciated
some time alone to think about all that had happened to him.
	Ah, well.  That time would come, he supposed.  In the
meantime, he was happy just to be alive and whole.  He went to the bar
and got a Coke, then made his way forward to look out the big windows
at Saturn.
	Mimi Shinguuji, the girl from Ishiyama who had joined the
Valiant's crew there to get a feel for life among the Duelists, came
up beside him and stood looking for a moment, then said, "Hey."
	"Hi, Mimi," said Guy.  "How are things?"
	"All right, I guess.  I tried to write a letter home today,
but I didn't have much to say, so it was kind of embarrassing."
	Guy cocked an eyebrow.  "Embarrassing?"
	"I didn't -do- anything yesterday," Mimi explained.  "Oh, it's
all very well for B'Elanna, -she- was down in the engine room helping
Mr. Cochrane fill in for Corwin.  She wasn't in the fighting directly,
but she had something to -do-.  I went down to Titan to try to help
out, like you and Juri and the rest, and nothing HAPPENED on level 5!"
	Guy chuckled.  The girl's dark eyes flashed at him.
Recognizing the look of danger from long experience, he hastily
explained, "You didn't miss much, is all I mean.  Would you rather
have been blown up in a disruptor overload?  It wasn't much fun,
believe me."
	"I suppose not.  But still... my parents are both these great
heroes, you know?  I just want to feel like I'm measuring up."
	Guy chuckled again.  "Believe me," he repeated, "I know."
	Mimi blinked at him, then laughed.  "Man, I'm so clueless,"
she said.  "Of course you do.  Say - why does your mother call you
'Lion'?"
	Guy smiled.  "Family joke.  She once called me 'Tiger', but of
course Kate's the one in our family who's into tigers," he said,
pointing across the room to the spot where his sister's pet neotiger
was balancing on a large rubber ball to the delight of onlookers.
"Kate was seven and very gravely informed Mom that -she- was the tiger
in the family, but then she thought about it for a second and said,
'Well, I guess Guy can be a lion.'  And it sort of... stuck."
	"Oh.  That's cool.  I'm just Mimi because otherwise people
would mix me up with my godmother."  She paused for a moment, at a
loss for a way to continue, then asked, "Um... so... are you going to
go home like your sister wants?"
	Guy shook his head.  "She was just upset.  I'll go home at the
end of the summer like we planned."  He smiled fondly.  "I'll pay for
it, but that's life with Priss and Sylv.  I never really realized how
much I'd miss them until I ran away from them... "
	"Hmm.  I wish my parents had had another kid," said Mimi.  "As
it is, I'm the only one anywhere near my age back home.  That's why I
want to go to DSM next year."
	"I've been thinking about that myself," Guy mused.  "But I
think Priss would kill me."
	"Bring her along," Mimi suggested.
	"I don't think Jeraddo is ready for Priss and Sylvie," said
Guy with a wry grin.

	Down in the ship's dojo, Rianna Santova finished a series of
saber drills with the lightsaber Roger Tremayne had left behind, shut
it down, and turned to Gryphon.
	"Interesting," she said.  "He must not have had it for very
long; there's no trace of him in it.  Most lightsabers acquire a
certain resonance with their owners over time, if the owners invest
any emotional value at all in their use."
	Gryphon nodded.  "The same thing often happens with our swords
in Katsujinkenryuu," he said, touching the grip of his ancient katana,
Ryuu-no-tsume, over his right shoulder.  "Sometimes I fancy I can feel
the spirits of my predecessors as O-sensei, all the way back to Tetsuo
Asagiri, guiding my hand."
	"So you know what I'm getting at," said Rianna.  "Traditionally, 
Jedi and Sith both build their own sabers, and the investment process
starts there, but this one feels almost unused.  This Roger person must 
have been a very cold fish - which is very odd for a Sith.  His weapon
is practically a blank.  It doesn't feel like a Sith's weapon at all."
	She held the saber up between them, turning it in her hand,
examining and displaying the intricate workmanship of its silver body
with its ribs and its three elaborately shaped, clawlike prongs
surrounding the emitter.  "And yet somebody obviously worked very hard
on it.  It's no simple slap-together job.  If I had to guess... "
	Rianna trailed off, looking pensive.  Gryphon let her think
for a few seconds, then prompted gently, "If you had to guess... ?"
	The horned Sith Knight shook her head, silencing him; then she
ignited the saber again, struck a stance, and said, "If you would
oblige me?"
	Gryphon blinked, then drew Ryuu-no-tsume and faced her.  She
didn't bother to warn him that his metal blade would be useless
against the saber; she knew what it was to be a master of the Asagiri
Katsujinkenryuu.
	They clashed, retired, clashed again, and then engaged for
five minutes or so, not working terribly hard, just enough to get
things flowing.  Then, when Rianna was satisfied, they disengaged and
she shut the saber down again.
	"I'm almost sure of it now," she said, weighing the weapon in
her hand.  "This isn't a Sith lightsaber - it was made by a Jedi."
	Gryphon blinked.  "Wha?"
	"The man your daughter's student fought didn't build this,"
Rianna told him.  "He killed the man who did, and took it as a trophy.
I'll bet you anything you want to name.  That's why it feels so
strange to me.  The differences are subtle, but important.  I've never
handled a brightsider's blade before, or I'd have realized it sooner."
	"Interesting," Gryphon mused as he took the saber back from
Rianna.  "Very interesting indeed."
	"What will you do with it?" Rianna asked as they left the
dojo.
	"Put it with the other one, I suppose," Gryphon replied.  "I
have the one that belonged to Talar Kem, the Jedi who helped Tetsuo
Asagiri found Katsujinkenryuu.  I keep it in a trunk at home."
	"Why not carry it, if your form has the styles for it?"
	Gryphon chuckled.  "Never been confident enough that I
wouldn't chop my own damn legs off," he replied, which made Rianna
laugh slightly.
	"It does take getting used to," she allowed.  She let the
joking moment pass, then went on more seriously, "If this is what it
appears to be - if some splinter of the old Order of the Sith has
survived and is intertwined with the Earth Alliance government and the
Psi Corps... well, I don't have to tell you, it doesn't bode well.  We
can't assume that another offshoot of the Order will have the same... 
enlightened view, if you'll pardon the expression... that Mother
taught me."
	Gryphon nodded.  "I've been thinking about that.  I know the
Jedi survived the Fall of Atlantis, after a fashion.  If the Sith are
making a comeback, and if they're tied in somehow with the Corps or
Earthgov... well, I think we're going to need them."  He gave Rianna a
wry smile.  "I don't suppose you know any."
	But she surprised him by getting a thoughtful look.  "As a
matter of fact I do," she replied.
	"Besides Redneck?" asked Gryphon.
	"Yes," Rianna said.  "A Jedi Master.  I met him a few years
ago during a job on the Rim."
	That got another chuckle from Gryphon.  "That must have been
interesting."
	Rianna smiled dryly.  "Mm, it was exciting for the locals for
a few minutes there.  Anyway, we parted on decent terms.  I've got his
contact information somewhere - when I get home I'll dig it up and
send it to you.  He might know where to start looking for others."
	"Thanks.  I appreciate it.  Buy you dinner?"
	"No, thanks.  I've got to get back.  Who knows what kind of
disaster Mayl's caused while I've been gone... "

	Not everyone who had participated in the previous day's
excitement felt like celebrating.  Azalynn dv'Ir Natashkan was one of
those.  She'd gone to see Guy, who she was pleased was all right, and
she'd done her part to make the occasion festive - but she wasn't
fully committed to it, and when she noticed one particular person's
absence, she decided to slip away from the party early and go in
search of him.
	She found him down in Beltane, sitting on a stone bench in the
deserted and silent Government Center Plaza, not far from the smashed
fountain.  The shadows of day were starting to lengthen toward evening
as Azalynn crossed the plaza and sat down quietly next to him.
	"Hey," she said quietly.
	"Hey," Moose MacEchearn rumbled in reply.
	"You're missing Guy's party," said Azalynn, her tone merely
informative.
	"Mm," said Moose.  "How's he look?"
	"Great.  Better than new.  If he were just a little older... "
	Moose chuckled.  "Well, someday... "
	Azalynn nodded, then leaned back in the bench with her feet
splayed out in front of her, balanced on their heels.  "Mm-hmm," she
said, folding her hands across her stomach.
	"So," said Moose after a few moments' silence, "why are -you-
missing Guy's party?"
	"I've done my part," Azalynn replied.  "Besides... I don't
feel much like celebrating."
	Moose glanced sideways at her.  "Funny," he said.  "I thought
I was the only one."
	"Mm, no," said Azalynn thoughtfully.  "I think more and more
are going to drift away from it as the evening goes on.  We've all got
a lot to think about.  Kate and Juri had already gone to bed by the
time I left, and some of the others were thinking about it too.  Quiet
time.  After yesterday, we needed the release, but now we need the
quiet."
	Moose nodded.  They sat in silence for a while, watching the
shadow of the Government Center Tower stretch and move across the
plaza.  It swung toward their bench little by little as the sun sank
away and the afternoon light turned gold.
	"I never saw anybody die before," said Moose suddenly, in that
same quiet conversational tone.  "I mean, I know Janice killed one of
the Klingons who were trying to take the Valiant last month, but I
didn't see it.  And then yesterday... those people started shooting
each other at the club... I'm pretty sure some of the soldiers trying
to stop us at the spaceport died... a -lot- of people must have died
when Amanda's ship blew up that destroyer.  All of that was kind of
unreal, though.  It didn't really hit me what was happening until
Dorothy threw that guy out the window up there... "
	He gestured to the ruined fountain, which had been ruined by
the impact of one of the armored marauders who had attacked Government
Center.
	"He was trying to kill all of us," Moose went on, before
Azalynn could point it out to him.  "I know that.  He nearly burned
down Edward where she stood... but still, it was a shock to see
Dorothy just... -kill- him like that.  You think you know someone,
what they're capable of, and then they surprise you that way."
	Azalynn nodded.  "I've been feeling strange about it all too.
I -have- seen people die; Dantrov isn't the safest place to be a
lifeform that weighs less than 500 pounds.  But I've never seen war
before, and that's what yesterday was.  On a small scale, but war, all
the same.
	"But... I'm proud of the role we played.  We had to fight to
protect ourselves, but our main job was to inspire our side, and we
did that well.  I don't feel bad about having been involved.  You know
our side was right, right?  You're not having doubts about -that-?"
	Moose shook his head.  "No, no," he said.  "I'm not a
simpleton," he added mildly.
	"I didn't think so," Azalynn replied.  "It's like the old song
goes, Moose - we didn't start the fire."
	Moose nodded, a small, nostalgic smile crossing his broad,
pleasantly ugly face.  "We didn't light it but we tried to fight it."
	"Yeah."
	"Yeah."
	Silence followed.  Night fell.  Hoffmanite and Dantrovian
remained on the bench as the stars came out and a few thin clouds
scudded past Saturn.
	"Getting pretty cold out here," Moose observed.
	"Mm-hmm," Azalynn replied, in a tone that indicated that she'd
noticed, but it didn't really matter to her.
	"How's Liza?" asked Moose.
	"Still in sickbay," said Azalynn.  "She's fine, but Selar
wants to keep an eye on her while she sleeps it off."
	"Mm.  So you're alone tonight?"
	"I hope not.  Today is Survivors' Day."
	Moose chuckled.  "Well, that's appropriate.  Are you sure
you're not just making these holidays up as you go along?"
	"Cross my heart," Azalynn replied piously.

CAPTAIN'S LOG
NETWORK MEDIA STARSHIP SWORDBREAKER (NM-1963-A)
MONDAY, JULY 24, 2406
20:03 GMT

This ship is incredible.  There's no other word for it.  Canal claims
that Valen sent it from his own time, over a thousand years ago, and
yet some of its systems are so futuristic I've never seen anything
like them.  Some of the technology is Minbari, some of it is... not,
and I have no idea what it is.  Canal is cheerfully evasive if pressed
on the subject.  It's frustrating.  I'm supposed to be a reporter and
I can't even find out who built my own ship?

We went out for a little testing run, to the Denorios Belt and back.
Jung is happier than I've ever seen her.  She says the ship
outperforms the Morning Sun in every respect.

I -liked- the Morning Sun.

I guess I'll get used to this ship, but it'll take some time.  The
color scheme's awfully dull.  We'll have to liven it up.

On the other hand, the shipwide holographic projection system is
light-years ahead of the system on the Sun; it can maintain both Al
and Canal simultaneously anywhere on board.  Al's almost as happy as
Jung, with a supercore to play in, and he claims that this ship's comm
array blows away anything Network 23 ever installed anywhere.  He says
once he learns all the ins and outs of it and we hit the field, we'll
be all-powerful - his word.  We'll see.  I know one thing already:
Canal doesn't think much of his taste in clothes.

Whoever built this ship knew exactly what I would need for facilities.
It's eerie.  It had that extra core and module ready and waiting for
Al; there are maintenance bays for Rusty, Gene and Roger - even spare
parts for the battle droids, which we thought we would have to
special-order from the manufacturer.

What the heck is going on?

Rhetorical question.

Wherever it came from, and whyever it came to us, this ship has
everything we need to cover the crisis I think we all know is coming.
It's like a gift from the gods (which I guess Delenn would say it
is).

I just hope we're still getting paid to do that.  Murph called and
said that Cheviot was going to make an announcement tomorrow, so I
guess we'll see.

END RECORDING

			   SOL VI TERRITORY
				22:57

	Eventually, as Azalynn had predicted, the party broke up and
people returned to their rightful places.  Back aboard Valiant and
yawning prodigiously, Utena made one sweep for form's sake through the
bridge, made sure that all was in order, then headed back to take one
last look in the engine room before calling it a night.
	On the upper balcony of Main Engineering, the part of the big
two-story room that was on Deck 1, she found Corwin Ravenhair leaning
against the safety rail, gazing thoughtfully at the slow idling throb
of the warp core.  Aside from the two of them, the engine room was
deserted.
	"Hey," said Utena, leaning against the rail next to him.
	"Hey," Corwin replied.
	They stood like that, shoulder to shoulder, in silence, for
several minutes.
	"Copper?" said Utena.
	"I was just thinking," said Corwin, "about what a crazy
universe it is.  You know they finished the autopsy on those armored
goons who covered Roger Tremayne's attack on Government Center?"
	"No," Utena replied.  "I didn't.  What'd they find out?"
	"They're some kind of enforcer unit for the Psi Corps.  Dad
thinks they're designed to hunt down and kill rogue Psi Cops."  His
voice got lower, coming from a tighter throat, as he added, "They're
normals."
	"Normals?  Working for the Psi Corps?"
	"Genebank records identified them," Corwin said.  "They're all
convicted criminals who are listed as killed in prison disturbances."
	Utena turned a puzzled look to him.  "Wha?  That doesn't make
sense.  Why would criminals work for the Psi Corps?"
	"They didn't get a choice," Corwin replied.  "Their brains had
been altered.  Butchered.  They'd had cybernetic barrier elements
installed, pieces of brain material removed, especially in the parts
of the frontal and temporal lobes where esper ability and memory are
concentrated.  Made them invulnerable to telepathy... and removed
their free will.  As far as Selar can tell, they were basically just... 
organic droids.  Mindless killers.  Drones."
	Utena was struck speechless.  Slowly, she turned to face the
warp core again, watched it pulse a few times, and then murmured,
"God, that's horrible."
	"I used to think the Psi Corps, as an organization, was wrong.
That their conscription policies were inhumane - that they were
basically a bunch of telepathic fascists," said Corwin quietly.  "But
now I know different.  Now I know they're -evil-.  They do things like
that to their own citizens - NORMAL citizens, citizens they're not
even supposed to have any legal dominion over - and they employ men
like Roger Tremayne... "
	He trailed off, his disgust and anger swallowing whatever
elaboration he might have made.  His hands gripped the rail as though
he meant to crush it.  After a few moments, he said in a low voice,
"And they damn near killed my brother... "
	Utena covered one of his hands with her own; after a few
moments he relaxed his grip, released the rail and turned the hand to
take hers.
	"When Klaang got the message that Guy and Saionji had been
hurt," she said softly, "Dad was on the viewer.  I'm sure he didn't
mean to, but Klaang just about scared me to death.  He said, 'Several
of the others have been injured, two gravely.  One is your son,' and
my heart just about stopped.  Then he said it was Guy, and... "  She
hesitated.  "I was so relieved I almost fainted.  And then I hated
myself for being relieved that Guy was almost killed and not you.
But... I was."
	Corwin nodded slowly, turning to look her in the eye.  "It's
OK," he said.  "Don't worry about it.  He pulled through - because of
you, in a way."
	"Because of me?  I didn't do anything," Utena said.
	"If you hadn't been here, would Anthy have been?  Would I have
had that G-stone?  Hell, would Saionji have turned Liza's life around?"
	Utena smiled despite herself.  "If you're going to go -that-
far back, if I hadn't been here none of this would have happened to us
in the first place.  Guy wouldn't even have been here to get hurt."
	"Maybe," said Corwin, "but you see my point."  He squeezed her
hand gently.  "Anyway, Guy wouldn't hold it against you if he knew.
He understands things like that."  He smiled.  "We can't help the way
we feel - we just feel it."
	"Isn't that the truth," said Utena with a chuckle.
	They stood there for a few minutes longer, side by side, hand
in hand, looking thoughtfully at the slow pulse of the warp core.
Then, as if obeying some silent cue, without exchanging any apparent
signal, they slowly leaned together into a long, gentle kiss.
	"Good night, Corwin," said Utena when they parted.
	"Good night, Utena," he replied, and she left him.
	He remained, watching the engine with a little half-smile on
his face, for several minutes before lifting himself from the rail
with a mild sigh and leaving the engine alone with its thoughts.

			      BABYLON 6
			TUESDAY, JULY 25, 2406
				09:00

	The broadcast center was a bit smaller and a lot more
improvised than the ones Ben Cheviot was used to working with, but
that was all right.  The message he was conveying was a lot more
important than any he had conveyed in years, and, if pressed, he would
have had to admit that he was feeling more alive than he had in
years.  An elderly man - nearly 150 - Cheviot was still spry, still
had a full head of hair to go with his aristocratic face, and his
hands were steady.
	He remained vigorously involved with his network despite his
periodic semi-retirements, and had personally led the evacuation.  His
employees had rallied around him; when they'd arrived at Babylon 6,
their temporary home, he'd offered anyone who wanted to call enough
enough a generous severance package and a good recommendation to
anywhere they wanted to try their luck.  Almost no one had taken him
up on it.  It was well known throughout the broadcast industry that
Ben Cheviot took care of his people, and in return, his people took
care of Ben Cheviot.
	Cheviot adjusted his tie and looked past the camera - Edison
Carter's ethercam, wielded by one of John Trussell's field security
droids - and met the eyes of his network's news director.  Carter
nodded, then tapped the droid on the shoulder.  The red light atop
the camera illuminated, and Ben Cheviot was on the air for the first
time in almost ten years.
	"Good morning," he said.  "I'm Ben Cheviot, president and
chief operating officer of Network 23 Broadcast Services, coming to
you live and direct on Network 23.  As you are probably aware, the
Earth Alliance annexed all its interior territories yesterday, save
for the Free Republic of Mars and the Sol VI Territory, including
Titan Colony.  What you may -not- be aware of is the fact that the
Alliance government seized control of all media outlets at the same
time, as part of their institution of Alliance-wide martial law.
	"We at Network 23 have always prided ourselves on our
independence.  We have a long history of impartial reporting and a
solid commitment to the truth.  Unfortunately, the truth, like civil
liberties and the sovereign rights of nations, has been suspended in
the Earth Alliance for the duration of the supposed crisis," Cheviot
added dryly, "and so we had to leave.
	"By now you have probably heard Inter-Stellar News, the Earth
Alliance's new government mouthpiece, say that Network 23 is finished.
That we can't possibly go on without our Sydney Broadcast Center.
That our network of reporters is too scattered, or too afraid, to keep
reporting the news.  That we've been absorbed by our primary sponsor,
the ZikZak Corporation of Neimoidia, and will return, if we return at
all, as a ZikZak home shopping channel."
	Cheviot folded his hands in front of him, leaned forward
slightly, and informed the camera grimly, "I'm here to tell you that
that none of that is so.
	"This morning, I concluded negotiations with the Salusian
Crown reincorporating Network 23 Broadcast Services, Incorporated as a
Salusian corporation, under the protection of the Crown's Freedom of
Broadcast Communications Act.  Our ships will carry Salusian
registry.  Our news staff will continue to report the news as they
have always done - by sniffing out, digging up and displaying the
truth for all the galaxy to see.  Until our new Saenar Broadcast
Center is completed, we will transmit from our temporary quarters on
Babylon 6 - but we will transmit, of that you can be sure!"
	Cheviot paused to collect himself, turned the steely glare
that had seen Network 23 through its hardest moments on the camera
again, and went on in an uncompromising tone.
	"In the coming years, I fear you will hear a great deal of
misinformation, propaganda, and outright lies from the organs of the
Earth Alliance.  We at Network 23 are going to tell you the truth, and
we're going to keep telling it until there is nowhere left in the
galaxy for an honest man to make a stand.  The Clark administration
can shoot at our reporters.  It can chase us from our home and grind
that home under its heel.  It can smear us, slander us, and lie about
us.  But it cannot kill the truth - and the truth is still in business.  
	"Thank you."

		   BELTANE, TITAN, SOL VI TERRITORY
		    SOLAR SYSTEM, CENTAURI SECTOR

	Janice Barlow switched off the TV and chuckled.
	"Pretty good speech," she said.  "Don't you think?"
	"Sure, whatever," replied Neal Krummell grumpily from his
hospital bed.  He moved a little, making the rigging rattle on the
traction harness which kept his right arm sticking out from the side
of his body at a 90-degree angle.  "Why the hell can't they give me a
bone-bond already?"
	"Because, you big baby," Janice replied patiently, "they have
to make sure there's no nerve damage."
	"If there was nerve damage, it wouldn't goddamn HURT," Neal
grumbled.
	"Well, Sergeant," said a voice from the doorway, "I haven't
got a bone bonder or any pain meds, I'm afraid, but I might have
something that can take your mind off the pain."
	Neal brightened as Professor Skuld Ravenhair entered the
room.  "You brought me a double cheeseburger and fries?"
	Skuld made a face.  "At nine o'clock in the morning?  No.  But
maybe," she went on with a smile, "you'd like a promotion to sergeant
and a transfer to CID?"
	Neal blinked - he was distracted enough that it hadn't
registered she'd called him "sergeant" when she came in.  "Uh...
that'd suit me fine, Professor," he said.
	"Janice," Skuld went on, "the Chief thought I might find you
here.  He wanted me to tell you that, after Sunday's little adventure,
you can consider your internship pretty much foregone."  She grinned.
"Would you rather spend your college career as a reserve Tac Div
officer or a reserve CID constable?"
	Janice glanced at Neal, then said, "Um... not to be rude,
ma'am, but what do -you- think?"
	Skuld nodded solemnly.  "You're right - it would be a terrible
distraction.  Tac Div it is."  She held the straight face for several
awkwardly silent seconds of Janice goggling at her, then laughed.
"I'm joking, Constable, put your eye back in your head."
	Janice blinked, self-consciously poked at her cybereye to make
sure it hadn't actually jumped its mount, and then went a bit red.
	"Sorry," said Skuld, winking.  "Well, congratulations, you
two.  One more bit of business, and then I'll leave you to your
medical misery."  She became serious again, genuinely serious, and
looked at Janice.  "It's not your time yet," she told the redheaded
Ragolian, and Janice knew immediately what she was talking about and
nodded.  "But you, Sergeant Krummell," added Skuld as she turned to
face Neal, "have been selected to undergo the Test of Light."
	Neal blinked again.
	"Uh... me?"

	Corwin entered the Valiant's wardroom in search of sustenance
to find the captain working the grill, treating her award-winning crew
to a good, old-fashioned Duelists' Castle breakfast.  He gave her a
good-morning wave and grin, which were returned, and then sat down at
one of the long tables next to Anthy.
	"Good morning," he said to her.  "I wasn't expecting to see
you out of bed today.  Word is you tapped yourself out pretty well
helping Liza with Guy."
	Anthy smiled.  "Nothing a good night's sleep... well, all
right, twenty hours... couldn't fix," she replied.  "I was actually
going to come looking for you when I was finished with breakfast if
you hadn't come."
	Corwin raised an eyebrow.  "Me?  What for?"
	"I want to step up my staff training," she said.  "After all
my pretty words about learning to take care of myself and pull my
weight, I was all but helpless against that horrible man from the Psi
Corps."  She shook her head, green eyes flashing, and said, "I must
work harder."
	Corwin chuckled, putting a hand on her shoulder.  "Slow down,
Anthy, slow down," he said.  "Roger Tremayne was a -Sith Knight-.
From what I heard about his fight with Saionji, I might have had a
hard time against him myself, and I've been trained to fight all my
life.  You can't become a world-beater with just a couple months'
work, however determined you are."
	"Utena did," Anthy replied, and Corwin had to admit, with a
genuine, delighted laugh, that this was true.
	"But Utena is Utena," he said.  "And you're not, you're you."
	Anthy considered this statement, rather simplistic on the face
of it, and then smiled.
	"You're right, I suppose," she said.  "But still, I want to
work harder if you have the time to train me.  I've asked Mia about
doing the same with my sorcery lessons - you know she's been continuing 
them while we're away from Aunt Bell - and she said she'd see what she
could do.  I think she's a bit chagrined by the ease with which
Mr. Tremayne overpowered her as well."
	"She shouldn't be," Corwin said, shaking his head.  "Part of
being a warrior is knowing and accepting your limitations.  I'm
surprised Mia doesn't know that - she's had training from some of the
best.  People laugh at the Anla'shok, but that's only because people
are stupid."
	Anthy smiled gently and told him, "Ah yes, Corwin.  I've seen
first-hand how adept -you- are at accepting -your- limitations... "
	Corwin choked on his orange juice, managed to keep from
spraying it across the table onto a bemused Moose MacEchearn,
swallowed, and said, "Touche.  OK, I'll see what I can do too."
	"Thank you," she said, squeezing his arm.  "I do appreciate
it."
	"I know you do," he said, smiling.  Then he became more
serious, leaned closer, and said in a quieter tone, slipping his voice
underneath the breakfast conversation, "Listen... I want you to know
something."
	"Mm?" asked Anthy, interested.
	"On Sunday, when I was out with Big O fighting, I felt this
sudden, terrible pain.  Like I was being electrocuted or something.
And I just... instinctively knew... that it was -you-.  That you were
in danger.    I finished them off as fast as I could and beat it back
for Beltane, but by the time I got there it was all over.  So there's
a limitation I've had to accept, whether I wanted to or not.  You were
in danger and I couldn't help you.  It was... it was an awful feeling."
	Anthy looked thoughtful for a moment, then murmured, "You know, 
that's amazing.  Utena told me almost the same thing Sunday night,
after we went to bed."
	"Really?"
	"Mm.  She said she almost abandoned the fight up above,
ordered Kozue to fly the ship down to my rescue, but Kozue and
Amanda's ship commander talked her out of it.  She was ashamed that
she'd thought of abandoning her duty -and- ashamed that she couldn't
help me at the same time.  You see, that's why I want to become a
better sorceress, and get better with the staff... so the two of you
can be at ease when your duties keep you from being right at my side,
and tend to those duties."  She paused, choosing words, then said, "I
want to be your partner, Corwin, yours and Utena's - not your
responsibility."
	Corwin absorbed that in silence, then slowly nodded.  "I
understand," he said.  "I'll help you get to that goal any way I
can."
	She thanked him and they made a date to meet for staff training 
later in the day.  Then they broke out of their private conversational
knot and rejoined the community of their table, thanking their stars
for friends who understood a conference like that and stayed out of it.
	It wasn't until much later in the day that it occurred to
Corwin how odd it was that she'd included him explicitly in the
statement of her goals.

	As for the goals of the Art of Noise, Juri covered those
fairly comprehensively at the band meeting that afternoon.
	"Obviously," she said, indicating the large calendar taped to
the wall of the band's impromptu studio in Cargo Bay 3, "the remainder
of the shows in the Earth Alliance are off.  That means the next
scheduled show will be the one at the opening of Liza's resort, on
Saturday.  On the one hand, perhaps you could use the rest; last
weekend was a tough time for all of us and a little downtime might not
hurt."
	"And on the other... ?" asked Miki Kaoru with a smile.
	Juri returned it in her usual understated way, then said, "On
the other, over the last five hours I've been asked by everyone from
Governor Ondeen on down if the Art of Noise might consider playing a
few extra concerts in Beltane this week to make up for the loss of the
rest of the tour's EA leg."
	"Where?" wondered Azalynn.
	"Weather permitting," Juri replied, "Government Center Plaza.
The Governor and Police Chief Krez have told me that if we like,
they'll set up a stage near the tower and provide crowd control for
any or all of the next three nights."
	"C-c-crowd control?" said Kate dubiously.  "W-we're not - "
	She was interrupted just then by the opening of the powered
door into the cargo bay and the entrance of Liza Shustal.  Kate broke
off what she'd been saying, jumped to her feet, and went and embraced
her former arch-foe.  The rest of the band and their manager broke
into applause.
	Liza blushed slightly, accepted Kate's embrace and her hushed
thanks for saving her brother's life, and, once released, bowed with a
slightly embarrassed little smile, and said wryly,
	"OK, thank you, thank you... please, no autographs... "
	Kate laughed and walloped the blonde affectionately on the
shoulder.
	"How are you feeling?" asked Moose.  "Word was you'd wrung
yourself out pretty well."
	Liza grinned.  "I've been livelier than I was when we got
done," she admitted, "but Anthy did most of the work.  I was just
steering, she worked the pedals."
	Kate chuckled, giving Liza a glance that told her she knew she
was downplaying her part in things, and Liza winked.  "Anyway, a good
night's sleep and I feel great!  Especially after that breakfast.
Kate's Dad rescued me from sickbay food, for which I am eternally
grateful.  I think I'd like to marry him, he's very thoughtful.  And
it would make Daddy's head explode."
	Kaitlyn gave Liza a cockeyed look as she powered up her mental
photo lab and made a quick composite image; then she was seized with a
paroxysm of giggles that forced her to retire to the edge of the band
riser, to be supported by a smiling Miki.  Liza caught Kate's eye and
wagged her eyebrows, making her break down further, then relented and
perched herself on one of the monitor amps.
	"Sorry, Red, didn't mean to interrupt," she said to Juri.
"Kate, you were saying we're not something?"
	Kate stayed right where she was, sitting on the edge of the
band riser, bent over sideways, giggling into Miki's shoulder and
patting his chest spasmodically with her free hand, for several
moments longer.  Then she slowly recovered herself, straightened up,
wiped her eyes, shook an admonishing finger at Liza, and said,
	"Ah... y-yeah.  I w-w-was saying, 'C-crowd c-c-control?  We're
n-not C-Cthia.'"
	Juri smiled.  "No... but it's funny you should mention them."
	Kate blinked.  "Uh... w-why?"
	"Because," said Juri, "while you were in the shower this
morning, I got a call from Sesik asking if you would be interested in
meeting with them."
	Kate got that dubious look again.  "Uh... O, OK... w-what
about?"
	"It's probably best if you let them explain that in person
once they get here," Juri told her.  "Assuming you're willing to meet
with them, of course," she added with a small smile.
	"Of c-course I'm w-w-willing," Kate replied, faintly
exasperated.  "B-but... oh, n-never mind.  W-when are they
c-c-coming?"
	The intercom panel on the wall beeped and Utena's voice came
from it.  "Juri, a Vulcan courier ship, of all things, just came out
of the Titan metagate and wants to beam some people over.  They say
they have an appointment with -you-."
	"That's correct," said Juri.  "Would you please send them down
to Bay 3?"
	"Um... sure.  Nice of you to warn me they were coming,"
replied Utena in only a mildly grumpy tone.
	"Sorry," said Juri sincerely.  "I wasn't sure they were
coming, and I've been very busy this morning."
	"OK, no problem.  Bridge out."
	Kate gave Juri a suspicious look.  "Y-y-you're up to
s-something," she said.  "I c-c-can f-feel it."
	Juri tried to look innocent, but failed, and Kate, realizing
she wasn't going to get anything more out of the redhead in this mood,
sat back to consider all she knew about their visitors.  Cthia was one
of two things: it was the Vulcan word for 'seeing things as they truly
are,' and it was the name of the hottest band in the pop music of the
young 25th century.
	Cthia was a group of five young male Vulcans (between the ages
of thirty-five and forty-five) who performed Earth rock music using
Earth instruments in a precise, didactic Vulcan manner.  They had
first exploded onto the Galactic music scene in 2400, and their stage
presence, their cold attitudes, and their Vulcan hairdos had somehow
combined to make the galaxy's girls (human age equivalency twelve to
twenty) go nuts over them.  Nobody could explain -why-, although
dozens of theories were proposed.
	There were five of them, dressed and groomed identically, each
with a name that sounded ludicrous in Standard.  The band leader was
Sesik, a fine tenor who played both guitar and the Vulcan lyre.  His
backup on guitar, Stark, was infamous for rumors of unpredictable 'pon
farrs' with various female celebrities.  The bassist, Stank, never
spoke, breaking his meditation only to play.  Smirk, the keyboard
player, was the favorite subject of fantasies by young women who
thought he could be 'turned to emotion.'  Finally, there was Skulk,
the towering drummer, whose Surakian enlightenment was a few watts
short, and who could always be relied upon to make philosophical
statements with all the depth of a Tatooine mud puddle.
	Combined, these five Vulcans could fill any stadium on any
planet... except Vulcan itself, where their records, if sold at all,
were racked with the 'Novelty' albums.  Their stage presence could
make a crowd roar with laughter, scream with forbidden lusts, and
occasionally (when the group played a traditional Vulcan piece)
silence it again with awe.
	Kate had a couple of their albums.  They were technically
quite competent, but she frankly thought their music missed the point
of... well, -music- altogether, and she could not for the life of her
understand what Azalynn saw in their bassist.  Still, when Juri said
that Cthia wanted to meet the band that played through the Battle of
Titan, she wasn't about to turn them away.  Besides, their adaptations
of pre-Surak Vulcan music to rock instruments and tempo intrigued her,
and if nothing else she'd like to talk for a while with the person who
did that.
	She had just reached that conclusion when the cargo bay door
opened and B'Elanna Torres entered, bringing with her three young
Vulcans.
	"Your visitors," said the half-Klingon girl with a sweeping
game-show-presenter gesture.  "Three of 'em, anyway.  The other two
are moving equipment into Bay 2.  You guys get acquainted - I'm gonna
go help 'em out."
	"Thanks, B'Elanna," said Juri as the younger girl showed
herself out again.
	Of the three Vulcans who had just entered, one was slightly
stocky, one was very tall and burly, and the third was of average
height and build.  Otherwise they looked very much alike, in formal
Vulcan robes, with the usual black hair in the usual Surakite bowl
haircuts, ascetic faces, dark eyes.
	The one with the average build raised his right hand in the
split-fingered Vulcan salute, but what he said (in a fine tenor voice)
was a bit surprising, under the circumstances:
	"Yo.  We're the Illogics.  We're looking for Kate Hutchins?"
	Juri, who was not accustomed to being caught unawares,
blinked.  "Yo"?  What kind of Surakite Vulcan opened a conversation
with "Yo"?
	Moose MacEchearn, leaning against the wall next to the band
riser, indicated the brown-haired girl perched on the edge near him.
"Our esteemed bandleader is seated next to me," he said in his most
pompous voice (the Vulcans' appearance seemed to call for it somehow).
"I am the Honourable J. Maurice McEchearn the Fourth.  My friends call
me Moose."  He raised an eyebrow and added in a slightly puzzled tone,
"We we expecting Cthia."
	"You and ten trillion other sentients," said the slightly
stocky one with a grin.
	Liza Shustal might as well have had a visible question mark
above her head as she asked, "Uh... who -are- you guys?" 
	"Well, I'm - " began the one who had spoken first, but he was
interrupted by R. Dorothy's 'analytical' tone:
	"The one in front is Sesik.  Stark is on the left, Skulk on the
right."
	There was a moment's awkward silence as the members of
Dorothy's own band blinked at her - especially Azalynn, who had just
been about to say the same thing, not expecting anyone else in the Art
of Noise to recognize them.
	"... Dorothy?" asked Miki.
	Dorothy shrugged faintly and replied, "I like traditional
Vulcan music."
	Sesik nodded.  "Girl's right.  We've been doing the Cthia gag
for about six years.  We were bumming around gigs here and there as
the Illogics, and then one night we pretended to be a bunch of
tightass Surakites for our sound-test."
	"You aren't?" asked Moose.  Juri folded her arms and scowled.
She disliked it when people confused her.
	Sesik chuckled.  "Nah. Stank - I mean Synok, our bassist - is
the only one of us who was even -born- on Vulcan, and he's from
Palon'shar."
	"Your names are fake?!" Azalynn blurted.
	"Of course they are," Sesik said.  "My name's actually Surel.
This is Sketh," he said, pointing to Stark, "and S'bann.  Smirk's real
name is Sanan.  Like I said, Synok's from Palon'shar - that's the
northernmost city on Vulcan, up in the snowy country most people don't
think Vulcan has.  The Way of Surak never caught on up there."
	Liza nodded.  "We know someone from there."
	Surel raised an eyebrow.  "Really?  Is he around here?"
	"She is, yes," Liza replied.  "Her name's T'Vek - she's the
Challenger's chief of security."
	"Cool.  Synok'll be thrilled.  You don't find many Palon'shartha
off Vulcan.  Anyway, he's the only native -Vulcan- Vulcan in the group; 
the rest of us follow the Way of Sybok."
	Sketh, the one Dorothy had identified as "Stark", sidled up to
her, almost draped himself on her, and asked in a low, suggestive voice, 
"So, baby, what's -your- secret pain?"
	Unruffled, Dorothy replied conversationally, "I don't know,
but if you don't move your hand, yours will become quite public."
	Sesik threw back his head and laughed.  "Gotcha, Sketh.
Anyway, we made fun of the Surakites - 'We are of Vulcan.  We do not
feel the animal passions.  We live by the code of Logic.'  And they
demanded more.  And we've been mooching off it ever since."
	"In fact," said Sketh, who had moved his hand, "we figure that
we've made enough money in the past five years that we never need to
work again in our lifetimes."
	Surel added, "And Vulcans can live to 300 years, so that's a
-lot- of dough.  So the last year or so - we have an album coming out
next week, be our  seventh - we've been thinking - " 
	"-You've- been thinking," said Sketh pointedly.
	"Hey, -I'm- telling this, all right