PART 3 - Ingata
by V. Wildeber, 18 November 1997

Alyt Durell had stayed on long after his shift was over.  From the control logs, Neroon had gone out in the middle of the night for a test flight.  That in itself was not odd -- Durell himself often sparred or flew to clear his mind.  What was odd was the length of time Neroon had been out of contact.  He was not even registering on the short-range sensors.  
	
Shukran had stayed on the bridge, as well, hovering near the sensor panels.  She had skipped all meals, remaining at her self-assigned post.  Durell had finally brought a meal up to her, himself.  Both of them were equally stubborn, and both would stay on duty until the Shai Alyt returned.  
	
Two more shifts had passed, and still there was no sign of Neroon.  Durell finally ordered a scout squad to report to the bay for launch.  Shukran had protested.  For a moment, Durell thought it would come to blows.  Finally, they had reached a compromise:  the scouts would go, but only with Shukran.  As she stormed off the bridge, it dawned on Durell that Shukran knew exactly where Neroon was.  The pieces fell into place in his mind, and he decided not to pursue the issue.  
 
**********

It had been a whole day since Neroon left.  The scouts had called in regularly, giving consistently negative reports from all sectors.  One of the junior officers, a NightWalker, had suggested bringing the Valeda into the search.  To his credit, Durell had given the performance of his lifetime, practically impugning the young Minbari of slandering the whole of the Star Riders clan, and the NightWalkers, to boot.  By the end of Durell's tirade, the entire bridge crew felt like evaporating into the panelwork.  "If it has come to the place where we need WindSwords to do our job for us, we should just trade in our warrior black for brown and do maintenance!"
	
No one offered any other suggestions after that.

"Alyt Durell, you have a message from Shukran."  
	
Durell crossed over to the communications station and took the earpiece from the crewman.  The message was simple, and it confirmed his suspicions.  He tossed the earpiece back, then walked casually over to the sensor panel and stood over the officer there.  "What readings are you getting from sector 5?" he asked.  As Jitenn obediently leaned over to check the readings, Durell reached under the panel to reset a switch.  

"Nothing, Alyt Durell." 
	
"Do another close-range sweep."
	
The panel bloomed into color, showing a vessel incoming at an impossibly high rate of speed.  "We have him, Alyt Durell!  He's on collision course!"
	
"On screen!"
	
The holographic screen shimmered into place, confirming the sensor readings.  Neroon's flyer was heading straight into the Ingata.
	
"Do we raise shields?"
	
"NO!  Open gunports!" roared Durell.  He was met with a blank look.  Cursing under his breath, Alyt Durell vaulted the rail and repeated his command directly into the gunnery officer's face.  The gunports opened, greeting the Shai Alyt with their deadly maws.  
	
"Three, two, one, impa...  Where did he go?"  Jitenn scanned the sensor panel frantically.  Then he looked up at Durell, who by now was seated and smugly smiling in a remarkably close impersonation of Neroon himself.  
	
"He's behind us, Alyt Durell -- coming in at high speed."
	
"Raise Shukran, and ask her to feed us the vids from the scouts."  Durell knew a teachable moment when he saw one.  The viewscreen glimmered with three-dimensional external shots of the Ingata.  "This is how skin dancing is done!" 
	
Silently, the warriors rose and faced the screen, watching their Shai Alyt dance under and around their sensors and weaponry, making strafing runs so close to the hull that he disappeared off all readings.  His flyer responded as if to his very thought, an extension of his being, caressing the Ingata and darting off to return again, always so close, yet out of reach.  The scouts remained aloof, recording the deadly dance from afar.  
	
Finally, Neroon broke off, looping casually away from the Ingata, arrogantly displaying the flyer's belly for a long count, then pirouetting into a slow spin around the lead scout.  The rest of the scouts formed up and followed their Shai Alyt back into the bay.
	
Durell met Neroon in the bay.  "I have scheduled all fighter squads to practice skin dancing, on your recommendation, Shai Alyt."  

**********

The crews of the Ingata and the Valeda practiced skin dancing for the remainder of the trip.  There were several injuries, and one fighter was completely destroyed, but miraculously, no one was killed.  The two commanders remained on their respective vessels, concentrating on training and their preparations for coming before the Grey Council.
	
Neroon had said nothing about his disappearance.  No one questioned his absence, and no one but Shukran and Durell knew where he had been.  They were not about to speak of it.  Durell shrugged it off.  He, frankly, didn't blame Neroon for his impatience -- and assumed that the couple were continuing their assignations quietly off ship, abetted by their aides.  He knew better than to question Shukran about it.  
	
Shukran just waited silently.  Neroon had been different when he returned -- more brusque and impatient.  He went on night flights at odd hours, always covered by Shukran, who had ended up having to cultivate a relationship with one of the bay control officers in order to justify her continued presence in the bay.  

*A half-truth is the worst kind of a lie.*

**********

In a day, they would be within range of the Grey Council cruiser, and Neroon and Lakhir would be wed.  Shukran entered Neroon's empty room and pulled his dress uniform from its niche, smoothing it out and laying it out on his bed.  She had only seen him wear it once before.  His armor was resplendent, shining darkly in the starlight.  She had finished polishing his high dress boots earlier, working on them every night for a week.  It was time to get back to the bay, for Neroon was due in shortly.  

**********

Neroon's flyer entered the empty bay under Shukran's careful eye.  She didn't log his arrival -- none of his night flights had been logged since the first.  She stood, blocking the viewport, as her new friend came in, grinning crookedly at her.  

He had no idea how he had come into the graces of the aide of the Shai Alyt, but he was not about to question it.  Obviously, there was more to it than it appeared -- she wasn't hanging around here for nothing.  In the past few weeks, she had come more and more often into the control room, first just to "inspect."  Sometimes, she stayed for hours, pulling his shift with him, chatting about everything and nothing.  Without fail, she let him use her meal card in the commons -- rank definitely had its privileges in the area of food.  Sometimes, like tonight, she stopped by on two short visits during the night.   
	
He had been unsure at first of how to handle this unwarranted attention -- true, he was tall and well-built, good-looking enough, and able to hold his own in the competitions.  But why would a woman of such power seek him out, of all the warriors on the ship?  Finally, he decided that it was a mystery of life to be appreciated -- and to be acted on.  He might be several grades her junior, but she obviously wanted him.  He flashed the grin that always brought a smile to her face, and pulled her to him.

The medic's report read that the young StarRider had tripped in the stairwell, but that the concussion would heal.  He claimed to have no memory of anything preceding the incident.

**********

The door chimed softly, and Shukran entered.  Neroon poured a second cup of tea without looking up, and set it at Shukran's usual spot at the table.  She shrugged out of her cloak and tossed it over her chair, then sat, silent, staring at the wall.  Neroon looked over at her, surprised.  She looked older:  tired, and almost grim.  He realized that he hadn't really spoken with her much since the night of reflection.  All their conversations had revolved around status reports and ship's business.  With a sickening jolt, he realized that she had been living his lie.  For three weeks, she had fabricated a tapestry of half-truths and bald-faced lies, tarnishing her soul to protect his name.  He clenched his eyes shut with shame, not wanting to know how she managed to keep the bay clear and his flights secret.  
	
"Your dress uniform is ready.  What time would you like the honor guard to report?"  Her voice was steady and low.
	
He did not immediately respond.  When he did speak, his voice was painfully measured.  "That is not necessary, Shukran.  There will be no wedding."  
	
The young warrior looked up at him incredulously.  "Say again all after 'will be'."
	
Slowly and carefully, Neroon repeated his words.  "There will be no wedding.  Lakhir and I did not complete the rituals."  He looked away, continuing in an almost conversational manner, "I have not seen her since the night of reflection."
	
Shukran ran her finger absently over the rim of her cup, and said nothing.  
	
"I fear I have injured you and dishonored you, Shukran."  He stared down into his tea.  In his self-involvement, he had neglected to recognize how his actions would impact on others.  Neroon pushed away from the table and walked into his room, stopping in front of the porthole.  "Being sworn in as Satai half-married would have been a lie.  And the Grey Council would have had to lie to pretend it was not."  His voice was biting, guttural.
	
She entered his room slowly, stopping a distance away.  
	
He laughed raggedly, a hollow, ironic sound.  "Lakhir disagreed with me.  We -- we did not part well."  He breathed in sharply.  "And I am afraid that I did not take our parting well at all."
	
He heard her gasp softly.  "I'm so sorry, Neroon."  She said his name matter-of-factly, without the honorific.  
	
He was tired of the pain, tired of his self-imposed isolation, tired of pretending that everything was just fine, tired of running away, tired of everything.  And he knew that he was not the only one in the room that was tired of hurting.
	
Neroon extended his right hand.  Shukran stepped forward until his hand rested gently on her chest just below her throat, covered his hand with her own, then reached out to him in return.  For a moment, they stood in the ritual blessing of close friends, foreheads barely touching.  Neroon did not release, but stepped closer, gently pressing his face against her headbone and guiding her head down until her face rested lightly against his chest.  They stood like this for a long time, unmoving, silently mourning.  Finally, she pushed away slightly, looking up into his serious, deep-set eyes.  "The last man that tried this ended up in the infirmary," she deadpanned. 
	
Smiling slightly, Neroon brushed his lips across her cheekbone in a faint breath of a kiss.  "Good night, Shukran.  You are a dear friend.  Sleep well."  He released her hands gently and watched her slip silently out of his room.  

**********

The massive Grey Council cruiser hung suspended in the star-swept blackness of space, circled by warcruisers and escort ships.  Inside a pale, cavernous corridor stood two aides, forbidden entry deeper into the great ship by a wall of white-robed acolytes.  One aide, a slim young member of the religious caste, paced the corridor, praying quietly and almost frantically.  The other, a slight and delicate-featured warrior, stood languidly, dark and silent, almost melting into a recess in the wall.  
	
After what seemed like hours, quick, light footsteps echoed down the corridor toward the two aides.  Delenn -- it could only be her -- a hybrid Earther-Minbari -- appeared around the corner.  Shukran shuddered involuntarily as she saw the woman for the first time.  Her aide sprang forward to greet her; and the two left, with her leaning on him a bit for support.  
	
As they hurried down the corridor, Delenn noticed a movement to her right.  A young warrior she did not quite recognize was saluting her -- recognizing her as Satai.  From the look on her face, it was obvious that the very act was distasteful to her.  *This must be Neroon's aide,* Delenn thought with a start.  
	
Slowly, Delenn bowed, hands steepled before her.  Satai did not bow to anyone.  But then, Delenn was no longer Satai.  She raised her eyes to look full into Shukran's face.  To her surprise, the young warrior did not blink.  She knew the truth, but had honored Delenn as Satai to save face for her in front of the acolytes.  Delenn blinked back a tear.  She had not thought it possible for an aide of one like Neroon to show such compassion. 
	
Not much later, Satai Neroon strode heavily down the corridor.  The acolytes bowed low, hands steepled.  The black-cloaked warrior knelt, fist pressed against her palm, head bowed, smiling in pride.  Her smile faded at the sound of his words.  
	
"Rise, Shukran.  We must go now."  His voice was bitter, sounding thinly metallic.  She looked up at his face -- grim and ashen under the grey hood.  Suddenly, she knew that the world as they knew it had somehow changed.

**********

Back on board the Ingata, the warriors had listened in mute rage as Neroon told them of the true reason for their surrender at the very brink of victory over the Earthers.  For over 12 years, they had believed the lie told to them by the religious caste and the Grey Council.  Now that the lie was exposed there was blood to pay.  Alyt Durell had the presence of mind to seal off the bays, keeping the fighters grounded.   But the practice hall, commons, and corridors had exploded into fights, as warriors released their anger and frustration on each other.  
	
Finally, Neroon himself had ended the madness, ripping pikes from the hands of his crewmen and yelling himself hoarse above the din.  The other officers took his lead, throwing warriors apart, and roaring at them to cease and desist.  Heads down in a mixture of anger and embarrassment, the crew had returned to their quarters or places of duty.  Neroon, Shukran, Durell, and Jitenn had circulated all through the ship that night, holding down the tension with their presence.  Once things seemed to be under control, Alyt Durell had insisted upon taking the bridge.  He was the least injured of the four, and Neroon had been too tired to argue with him.

Now, Shukran sat in the black darkness of her alcove, finally free to grieve.  A tear trickled slowly down one cheek.  The split lip, bruised ribs, and cracked headbone did not bother her -- she had suffered worse in a fight.  Her tears were for the one in the next room -- the man who had sacrificed his love and the chance to be the most powerful Minbari alive because he would not lie to the Grey Council about a marriage they would not have allowed.  He would not lie to the religious caste members of the Grey Council; but the Nine had lied for years to him.  
	
Lakhir was gone, along with the rest of her clan.  Scores of WindSword warcruisers had gone into seclusion to protest the news.  The warrior caste was in an uproar.  One thousand years of peace on Minbar hung on a slender thread of three strands, which right now was beginning to unravel.
	
Alone in the night, Shukran wept silently for Neroon.  

**********

The door chime sounded.  Shukran started, then wiped her face roughly.  To her chagrin, she heard Neroon's steps outside, having to answer the door himself.  The surgeon was here to report on the status of injuries on board -- and to treat his last two patients.  
	
As best composed as she was going to get, Shukran stepped out of her alcove, straight into Neroon and the surgeon.  The Shai Alyt caught her gently, tilted her head back, and looked with concern into her face.  Varell, walking rather stiffly and sporting a black eye, stepped into the alcove and laid down his bag.
	
If Varell noticed that she had been crying, he gave no indication of it.  That night, he and his staff had seen many different ways in which the crew had reacted to the Grey Council's lie.  With Neroon assisting him, he treated her injuries, then used his latest patient as his newest nurse to assist him with Neroon.  
	
Finally, Varell was through.  He packed up his bag and walked slowly with Neroon to the door.  The two old friends inclined their heads slightly to each other, hands to the others' chests, and then the surgeon left, praying silently that no new cases would greet him in the infirmary tonight. 

Neroon sat down heavily on the couch, physically and emotionally exhausted.  He barely noticed when Shukran pressed a cup of tea into his hand and sat beside him.  They sat in cocoons of silence, sipping their tea and staring into the semi-darkness.  This had been the most horrible day of Neroon's entire existence -- worse than the day his father died, worse than the day Branmer died, worse even than the day Lakhir turned away from him.  He felt totally, utterly empty.  
	
His cup empty, Neroon leaned forward slightly to set it on the floor.  Then he removed Shukran's cup, still half-full, from her loose grasp and set it down, too.  She had fallen asleep against his shoulder.  He knew he couldn't move her without hurting her, so he decided to stay on the couch with her.  They would both be stiff in the morning, no matter where they slept, anyway.  Gingerly, he raised his arm up, then reached around behind him and retrieved his cloak from the back of the couch.  He draped the thick folds over them both, then gently dropped his arm around her in a loose embrace.  
	
For a long time, he watched over her as she slept, waiting until her hollow, haggard look relaxed into her true face, peaceful, trusting, with a faint smile.  Her breath was soft and regular against his chest.  Tonight she would sleep safely, warm and protected.  
	
A rare smile began to play across his face as he took joy in seeing someone he cared for at complete peace.  This day was over, finally.  He found that he was not completely empty, after all.  
	
Neroon leaned his head back against the couch and stared off into nothing in particular, then closed his eyes and fell into a sweet, dreamless sleep.   

--END--