Dawnracer
by V. Wildeber, 26 February 1999

Sequel to "Ingata."

Setting: Early 2260 - after "All Alone in the Night," "Matters of Honor," and the main part of the novel To Dream in the City of Sorrows.

Legal Disclaimer: B5 characters, places, events, etc... belong to jms, Warner Bros, and TNT.

Prologue. Grey Council Cruiser, somewhere in Minbari Federation space.

"This is ridiculous! We float alone, cut off from our people, not knowing their needs. How can we lead them from here?" Satai Neroon's voice echoed in the chamber, mocking, bitter, and utterly ignored. In answer, one by one, the circles of light clicked off, leaving him to stand alone in a cold cylinder of light against the darkness.

Silent, secretive, seductive in its power, the Grey Council had governed the Minbari since the time of Valen. Over the past thousand years, the Grey Council had perfected the art of dissembling. No one outside the Nine knew its secrets. Now, the sheer weight of a millenium of secrecy was taking its toll on the Minbari Federation.

The Grey Council was completely out of touch with the people it was sworn to lead.

PART 1 - Dawnracer

Neroon and Shukran stood on the wide walkway overlooking the Great Temple at the lake of Yedor. He had elected to arrive pre-dawn to avoid questions. In the unadorned cloaks and padded jerkins of rank-and-file warriors, the StarRider and his aide would not be recognized.

A chill wind blew across the lake, whipping their cloaks about them. Neroon dropped his hood and tilted his head back, breathing in the crisp, unfamiliar scents. Slowly, the city was beginning to change, its edges softening as the pinkish glow of dawn began to tint the horizon. A faint smile crept across his face. "When was the last time you watched sunrise from the island, Shukran?"

The young woman thought for a moment. "The morning I began my clan training." Her voice softened. "That was a long time ago. It was beautiful, though."

Neroon's smile broadened, and years seemed to drop from his face. He unfastened his cloak and tossed it to the ground. "It has been far too long for me, too. We must hurry or we'll miss it." Quickly, he pulled off his jerkin and dropped it, then stripped off his tunic.

Shukran glanced in disbelief from him to the island and back, then swiftly turned to search the walkway. A worker was approaching, walking fast, head down and shoulders hunched against the cold. Shukran called to him brusquely in the voice of a senior officer, accustomed to being obeyed.

"I have a task for you, worker. You are to bring our clothes over to the island, quickly." She pulled a small pouch from her cloak and tossed it to him. "Take your pay from this. You do not have to wait for us to arrive."

Without waiting for the worker's response, Shukran turned and headed back to the waterside, where Neroon waited, his skin silver in the last faint glow of starlight. Quickly, she dropped her clothes into a pile on the ground, keeping only her denn'bok with her. Then, the two warriors dove into the icy lake together.

When the StarRider hit the water, the impact felt like it would collapse his lungs. Neroon surfaced with a gasp and shook his head, grinning ferociously. He had forgotten just how cold the water was. Shukran emerged, spluttering, then started swimming with fierce determination.

They swam strongly toward the island, still just an indistinct shape in the fading darkness. Neroon held back his pace just a bit, not allowing Shukran to drop back too far. She was in excellent shape, but the icy water was taking its toll on her slim frame. Finally he reached the shore and pulled himself up onto the rocks, surprised to find a pair of large, thick towels and a carafe of tea beside the two neat piles of clothing. He tossed his pike onto his clothes, then, wrapping one of the towels around himself, he shook out the other and waited for Shukran.

She soon made land. Neroon hauled her up to the rocks beside him and enfolded her in the towel, rubbing her back briskly for a moment to warm her up. The young woman looked up toward the eastern mountains and breathed in sharply, all thoughts of the cold erased from her mind as suddenly the sun broke, glorious from behind the peaks.

Beside her, Neroon glowed bronze as the sunlight reflected off his broad chest and sculpted shoulders. The dawn touched his bonecrest, crowning him with flame. The StarRider looked down at his aide, smiling to see her sun-gilt face.

Then, as quickly as it had come, sunrise was over; and the sky blossomed blue around them.

The two warriors dressed in silence, then sat on the rocks to share the carafe of tea. Neroon felt a lump against his side. Curious, he fished into a pocket of his cloak, then, smiling, produced a small loaf of bread. "My compliments to your worker!" He leaned back against an outcropping and broke the bread in half, handing part to Shukran. Together, they watched the new young sun command the colors of the Great Temple.

When they had finished their breakfast, Shukran turned to Neroon, and said almost grudgingly, "Thank you, Satai Neroon. It was a beautiful sunrise. It would not have been the same from the street."

He gave her a smug look in response. "For a moment there, in the water, I thought you were planning ill against me."

Her mouth twitched in an unbidden smile as she watched the sun's slow trace up the Great Temple wall. "I was." With a flourish, she knelt before him in a formal salute, unable to wipe the grin from her face. "Forgive me, Satai Shai Alyt Neroon, for I harbored traitorous thoughts as I swam." She looked up mischievously. "But it motivated me to keep going, so I didn't die of exposure enroute."

He cuffed her affectionately across the headbone. "No titles here, FireWing. I'm just Neroon for now." He stood, laughing. "And I suppose I deserved to be plotted against for swimming the dawnrace in the middle of winter!"

She collected the towels and the empty carafe, then, as an afterthought, checked her pouch. "Neroon -- the worker forgot to take his pay."

The tall StarRider frowned for a moment, then intoned drily, "We shall begin with the worker caste then. He is as good a one as any to start with." He strode toward the delicate bridge connecting the island to the city, Shukran in step beside him.

The city was fully awake by the time they entered. The walkways were peopled with merchants and traders, priests and acolytes -- and the occasional warrior, somber-clad and aloof. Neroon and Shukran checked in several shops and markets before they found their worker. He was not difficult to spot, actually, as he was hanging upside-down from a harness, inspecting repair work on a bridge.

The two warriors looked distinctly out of place there in the hubbub of the worksite. It was not long before they were noticed and the harsh sounds of labor were silenced. Brown-smocked workers with square, calloused hands stood awkwardly, their eyes darting uncertainly back and forth, their tools hanging loose at their sides.

The one in the harness lowered himself to the ground and unhooked with the fluid motion of quiet professionalism. He came up to the warriors and bowed. "Were the arrangements I made acceptable?"

Neroon answered, indicating the towels and carafe Shukran carried. "Most acceptable. But you neglected to take your pay. So we have come here in your debt, it would seem."

The worker shook his head, his plain features warming in a hint of a smile. "There is no charge. I was honored to be able to serve you." A look of amusement mixed with admiration came over his face. "I've never seen anyone swim the dawnrace in winter."

"Yes...," Neroon rumbled, shooting a quick glance at his slightly-built aide. She squared her shoulders but said nothing. "Nonetheless, we must repay our debt. I am Neroon of the StarRider clan, and this is Shukran of the FireWings. You appear to be shorthanded today. May we assist you?"

The worker's jaw fell slack for a moment. He quickly composed himself, thrusting his joined fists forward in salute. "I am Buriik, foreman of this site." He fumbled for a moment with the words, then met Neroon's eyes forthrightly. "I welcome your help."

Buriik turned to the group of workers who had assembled behind him. Curiosity and disbelief showed on many of their faces. "This is Neroon and Shukran. They are here to help us with the bridge today." He singled out a muscular young man near the front of the group. "Tohr, get them smocks and size them for tools. Neroon will work with me, and Shukran will assist Ravonn." Quickly, he turned back to the warriors. "I assume you will not mind..."

Neroon inclined his head slightly. "We are here to assist you. Where you place us is up to you."

The men hung side-by-side, upside-down in the harnesses. Neroon was certain that his head would explode if he didn't right himself soon, but he forced himself to endure the discomfort. Buriik was tracing a gnarled, scarred finger down a discoloration in the stone, pointing out a weak spot. "You can see where the water made its way in here. The stone has started to crumble from within because of the expansion of the ice that formed inside. We'll have to replace this whole segment."

With a well-placed kick, the foreman spun himself away from the bridge and twisted in his harness, righting himself and landing easily against the stanchion. Neroon knew all eyes were on him as the workers waited for him. He reached up to the flyline and hauled himself up by brute force. It wasn't pretty, but it worked.

"Why is your crew short today, Buriik?" Neroon spoke casually as they picked their way across the narrow catwalk. He had quickly figured out that the workers were testing him, putting him into situations to see if he would panic. He looked down to the pale, cold water far below and smiled. Fortunately, he had no fear of heights, and figured at any rate, he could trust his equipment -- in this case, the orange reflective harness he was tightly buckled into.

The foreman swung around a support beam, hooking one safety line up to a new cable before unhooking the other line. "It's the Anla'Shok. They have asked for ships, a fleet of them -- and many have been called away to build them." He paused, waiting as Neroon negotiated the turn around the beam.

"It was like this during the Holy War. Entire workcrews stopped construction in the middle of a project and went to the shipyards. I must have helped to build four warcruisers." He smiled for a moment. "Did you ever hear of the Terinni?"

Neroon nodded, hiding his amusement behind a serious face. One of his closest friends commanded the Terinni.

"It was my favorite -- I think because one of my clan-brothers was called to serve on it. He was a mechanic -- one of the best." Pride showed on his weathered face for a moment, then faded as he remembered Neroon's question. The worker's voice hardened a bit as he swung over the side to check another weak spot.

"Hand me that spanner."

Neroon complied, joining him under the belly of the bridge. "What's this?" He shined his light on a small pitted spot marring the smooth greyness of the stone.

Buriik regarded the spot for a moment, then reached into the pocket of his smock and pulled a small probe free. He picked at the spot, scraping the sides, tapping and carefully listening. With a grin, he slapped the probe back into its magnetic holder. "Good eye, Neroon! It's just a rust pocket, though -- purely a cosmetic blemish. There's no structural damage. Every now and then we find small iron deposits in the stone. As long as they're innocuous, like that one, we just reverse the stone so the pits don't show when the iron rusts out."

His laughter echoed off the smooth stone of the bridge and bounced back from the water below. "The religious caste would faint if they knew we did it -- they have to have everything perfect. But they're not ever going to hang upside-down over the lake to find out!" He looked at Neroon, hanging beside him, the veins visibly throbbing in his temples, and his laughter subsided. "But then, I never imagined a warrior would find out, either."

Buriik finished his inspection of the segment, then swung nimbly back upright and stepped onto the catwalk. He waited while Neroon clawed his way up, hand over hand, and smiled, pretending to adjust his harness until the warrior reached the top.

"As I said, we're losing many to go build the new ships. They're some kind of new technology. But the shipbuilders will return when they are done. The ones who leave to become Rangers simply leave the caste."

Neroon scowled, but held his tongue, remembering the Chosen One Jenimer's decision to open the Anla'Shok to the worker caste. After a moment, he asked, "the apprentices?"

"No. Entil'Zha will not accept anyone for Ranger training until they have completed their apprenticeship -- or acolyte period for the religious caste. We are losing the strength of our caste -- our journeymen."

He pointed to Tohr. The young man was weaving effortlessly through the tangle of cables and stanchions, flipping smoothly between levels as he worked. "My son wishes to go join the Anla'Shok. His apprenticeship will be over soon -- too soon, I'm afraid. When repair on this bridge is complete, he will become a journeyman. And once he is a journeyman, he is free to choose the calling of his heart."

Buriik leaned over the side and rubbed his hands together, watching the dust shine as it drifted toward the water. His voice became almost bitter. "So we have masters and apprentices. And when the masters are gone, I fear there will be no one to replace them, for there are so few journeymen left." He glanced at the Great Temple, glowing purple in the afternoon sun. "We'd better head back. It's not safe around the cables in the dark -- tough to see the hookups."

Buriik invited the warriors to stay with him at the crew compound, and did not seem surprised when they accepted. The other workers no longer regarded Neroon and Shukran with suspicion. Whatever curiosity they might have had, they politely held their questions and simply accepted them as if hosting warriors were a commonplace occurrence. And when Neroon announced that he and Shukran would stay until the bridge was complete, the workers murmured among themselves for a bit, then nodded approvingly. Odd honor it was that would repay a loaf of bread and a carafe of tea with a week's labor -- but it was a heroic kind of honor, and seemed somehow suited to the warrior caste.

That night at dinner, one of the workers asked Shukran, bluntly, "Why did you swim the dawnrace this morning?"

Across the table, Neroon fought back a smile. Straight-faced, Shukran responded, "To see the best view of the sunrise."

The worker's voice was incredulous. "Do you mean to tell me that the warrior caste swims the lake just to see a sunrise?"

"Only in the dead of winter." At that, the young warrior stared pointedly at Neroon, who actually looked embarrassed. Shukran flashed a quick, mischievous smile, then continued. "In the summer the dawnrace is a rite of passage. It marks the transition from childhood to adulthood, when warriors leave their homes and begin clan training."

Tohr looked up. "Pass the bread. How long does your clan training last?"

Shukran handed the platter to the young worker, amazed at his appetite. "A few years."

"So it's your apprenticeship." Tohr mumbled his question around a mouthful of flarn.

"Partly. The period you would call apprenticeship does not end until after a warrior has served his first term onboard a warcruiser and has earned his first proficiency ranking." Neroon poured himself a fresh cup of tea as he spoke, then passed the pot across the table to Shukran.

Tohr turned to the FireWing. "So, what's your ranking?"

Shukran looked at him, then glanced over at Neroon, who nodded. "Tohr, I first ranked as a gunner, and Neroon as a fighter pilot." Technically, she had answered truthfully, though not thoroughly. These workers had no need to know all the rankings they had earned since their first ranks so long ago.

The answer seemed to satisfy everyone, including most of the masters, who had no idea of warrior rank structure. Only Buriik turned to stare at the simple black jerkins they wore; but he said nothing.

The moons rose full in the star-crowded night, casting twin shadows across the landscape. In the men's dormitory, rows of workers slept, snore answering snore in a cacophonic chorus. Neroon lay awake in his narrow, uptilted bed, considering whether it were the noise, the body aches, or the fact of being planetside for the first time in years that kept him from going to sleep. Silently, he padded across the worn stone floor to a window, and leaned on the sill, looking out into the night. Across the compound, a clump of trees nodded gently in the winter breeze.

He dressed quietly and left the dormitory, his blanket under his arm. Sure-footed in the clear moonlight, he navigated the compound and entered an equipment shed, emerging a few minutes later carrying something draped over one shoulder. As he passed the women's dormitory, he paused for a moment and drew his denn'bok. The low, deadly click of an extending pike broke the silence.

Shukran's face appeared at the window, alert and wary. She saw Neroon grinning in the moonlight below her and smiled, then disappeared. A few moments later, she joined him.

"You couldn't sleep, either?"

"No. I've not heard snoring like that since I went through clan training." He stretched, grimacing at the thought. "And you?"

The young woman shook her head. "No. It's the engines. I miss the feel of the engines, the movement of the ship."

Neroon handed her one of the neatly rolled bundles he had liberated from the equipment shed. "This should help." Then he turned and continued on toward the trees, Shukran trotting to keep up.

They hung the tool hammocks between the trees, and, after a couple of abortive attempts to climb in, had each ensconced themselves for the night. The soft cold light from the double moons shone through the leaves, dappling everything with silver. Neroon could just barely discern the outline of the Hunter in the stars. He carefully shifted his weight and looked over the edge of his hammock at Shukran, a pike-length away on a higher branch. She was already asleep, exhausted, wrapped in her cloak and blanket against the chill, only her nose visible.

The StarRider looked back into the night sky again, savoring the unfamiliar feel of the cold breeze against his face, the smell of soil and leaf and stone. It was good to be back on Minbar. It was right for him to be here. He closed his eyes and pulled his blanket up a little higher against the night.

For several days the crew worked on the bridge, identifying faults, measuring and cutting new stone to replacing the old damaged stones, and meticulously fitting it back together into a seamless whole. Neroon and Shukran had developed muscles that they didn't even know they had, had learned quite a bit about the art of stonecutting and bridge building, and had each lost a fingernail in the process.

At last, the fragile catwalks and safety cables came down, and the bridge stood solid and firm, its delicately balanced arches curving high over the cold lake waters. Tohr and his father stood in the middle of the bridge, the crew around them. Neroon and Shukran leaned against the bridge railing and watched, smiling, as Buriik and the other masters welcomed the young worker into journeyman status.

After dinner, Neroon and Buriik stopped talking for a moment to watch the drama unfold on the other side of the compound. Tohr had retrieved a section of pipe from the equipment shed, and was brandishing it boldly, whirling and spinning in an impressive display of speed and coordination. Most of the younger workers and children had gathered around him, cheering him on and stomping their feet in admiration. Neroon noticed that the young man seemed to have oriented himself on Shukran, ensuring she could see his moves clearly.

Tohr finished, arms upraised in triumph, then bowed to Shukran, his makeshift pike extended in challenge. The young woman smiled and declined, returning his bow with a graceful nod. The small crowd pushed up against her, encouraging her on. Tohr, meanwhile, stood apart, an arrogant smile on his face.

The young FireWing looked across the compound toward Neroon and Buriik, her head cocked to one side, questioningly. In turn, Neroon glanced at Buriik.

The worker's eyes widened as he realized what they meant to do. He kept his voice low, almost a whisper, so it wouldn't carry. "Neroon, I know she is a warrior, and am sure she is well-trained -- but she is so small! Tohr would never mean to injure her, but he doesn't yet know his own strength."

"She will be fine, Buriik." He raised his hand, a smug expression creeping across his face. The two men watched Shukran accept Tohr's challenge. Neroon shot a glance back toward Buriik, who still looked uncomfortable with the idea. "I assure you -- all that will be injured is his pride."

The circle had grown larger now, ringed with workers curious to see the outcome. With a deceptively delicate grace, Shukran saluted Neroon and Buriik, then her opponent. Tohr, unsure of the protocol but unwilling to admit it, clumsily followed suit. She stepped forward, denn'bok angled before her, and touched it to Tohr's pipe, smoothly circling her opponent in the standard opening move.

The new journeyman imitated her moves, realizing suddenly that she was helping him look very good in front of his peers. When she stopped her circle and stepped back, he did the same. Then he waited. She stood motionless before him, weight balanced lightly, eyes smiling impishly behind an expressionless face. He waited. She didn't budge. The crowd began to grow impatient, whispering among themselves. Still she stood frozen.

Tohr could stand it no longer. With a shout, he lunged forward, swinging his pipe in a mighty arc. But Shukran had vanished, stepping lightly out of the way, and somehow ending up behind him. He charged her again, and again she eluded him. He made several more passes before he realized that he had not yet made contact with her pike. She'd never even attempted to block him, but had simply moved out of his way. Panting, he leaned on his homemade weapon and looked at her. She waited, motionless before him, looking totally relaxed, eyes dancing as she tried to mask a smile.

He threw down his pipe and conceded defeat, a sheepish grin splitting his good-natured face. "Shukran of the FireWings, will you teach me the art of denn'bok?"

Again, the young woman looked over to Neroon and Buriik for approval. Buriik sighed and raised his hand. It was difficult for him to admit, but his son's heart was not that of a stonecutter. He was seeking something more. With one reluctant wave of his hand, Buriik released his son, silently approving Tohr's tacit request to break from tradition and join the Anla'Shok.

Across the compound, the lesson began. Shukran worked patiently with the young man, teaching him the drills of basic pike fighting. He learned quickly, but clung to many of the bad habits he had developed through ignorance. After a while, the small warrior simply disarmed him when he reverted to his old style of fighting. Grinning, he would jog over to wherever his pipe had landed, and then return, chastised, to continue the lesson.

Most of the group had dispersed by this time, bored by the tedious drills. It was getting dark, and Tohr noticed his father and Neroon approaching on their way to the dormitory. "Lend me your denn'bok, Shukran! I've got the basics down -- let me do it for real now!" Eagerly, innocently, the young man reached for her pike.

"No!" The FireWing's voice rang out in a clear note of command. Tohr froze, shocked at her transformation. Shukran suddenly looked much more dangerous, and much older.

She collapsed her pike, then held it firmly against the wall of the shed. A tiny movement of her hand, the sound of a click, and part of the wall exploded, stones tumbling down in a shower of pebbles and dust. The young woman brought the pike around in front of her, its sleek finish unmarred from the demonstration. With a click, she collapsed it again and slipped it into her belt. Her voice was cool and detached -- a professional accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. "A denn'bok is a lethal weapon, not a toy. Do not make that mistake again, Tohr."

He bowed. When he raised his head again, she was gone.

His father stood before him, alone. "They are more than they seem, Tohr. Do not let their appearance deceive you."

"Are they Anla'Shok?"

"They are seekers." Buriik paused, then wrapped an arm around his son's broad shoulders. "And, they are most certainly not simple, low-ranking warriors. But it is not our place to ask them. They are our guests, and we must respect their..." He paused for a moment. "...their wishes for anonymity." He looked at his son, letting the full impact of his words sink in.

Tohr nodded, eyes wide, not quite sure of what his father meant, but determined to keep this trust. Buriik smiled and squeezed his son's shoulder.