PART 4 - Dawnracer
by V. Wildeber, 26 February 1999
Perversely obstinate, the Grey Council members refused to listen to Satai Neroon. He spoke with eloquence and passion, but met with only blank looks or downcast eyes. No one seemed to care about the ancient enemy, or about problems impacting any of the other castes. And the Anla'Shok was a subject avoided by all, considered beneath the interest of the Council.
Finally, Satai Hedronn struck the butt of his staff against the floor in a ringing blow. "Enough! The concerns you have raised are valid, and have been considered already, Satai Neroon. But it is the opinion of the Grey Council that the situation does not impact directly on Minbar -- and thus, requires no action." He paused, recoiling slightly from the bristling StarRider. "We shall continue to monitor the situation; and will act when the need arises." Abruptly, he vanished from sight, his circle plunged into darkness. The meeting was over.
One by one, the lights went out around the room, until only the four warrior Satai remained. "Your concern is touching, Neroon." The NightWalker's voice was acid. "But really, you are beginning to sound like one of those prophesy-quoting zealots from the religious caste -- except for that bit about the workers."
Another mocking voice rose in laughter. "Oh, the priests care enough about their dear workers when they need the plumbing fixed in their temples!"
When the laughter subsided, the NightWalker spoke again, his deep voice dangerously quiet. "And if they choose to subvert the Anla'Shok for their own uses, so be it. Not one warrior will raise arms to support them." He left his circle of light and came to stand directly before Neroon, spitting his words out with venom. "Many of our caste died in their Holy War, Neroon. And for what? Those deaths were useless -- a waste of good warriors. The religious caste grew nervous and surrendered, positing prophecy and scripture."
Turning, the NightWalker strode away, angrily throwing his last words over his shoulder. "Sometimes I think that Shakiri is right."
As one, their lights went out, and Neroon stood alone. He spun on his heel and strode out of the Council chambers, collaring Shukran in the hall. "Prepare my flyer." Roughly, he released her and continued on down the corridor.
* * * * * * *
Patiently, the FireWing waited. As she had requested, the bay control officer signaled Shukran as soon as the scanners picked up Neroon's flyer. It was coming in at unsafe speed and a dangerous angle -- sure signs that the Shai Alyt was still in a bad mood.
Shukran arrived at the airlock just as Neroon's flyer flared into the bay, blasting the bay bulkheads with the force of his reverse thrusters. As soon as it was safe to enter, she stood off to one side and opened the airlock. A rush of hot air shot through the door, smelling strongly of spent fuel and burnt paint. Shukran ducked through the airlock and trotted up to Neroon's flyer, having to squint to see through the haze.
Neroon met her halfway across the flyer bay, his familiar smug expression replaced by a scowl. His aide saluted, then fell in silently at his side. Only after they had left the bay well behind them did she speak.
"With slightly more torque to starboard, you could have stripped the paint from the ceiling as well." She was walking a fine line between insubordination and teasing camaraderie, and she knew it.
Neroon stopped dead in his tracks and stared down at her. Shukran's eyes were dancing, a grin of mock ferocity on her face. Suddenly, the humor of it all came to him. With a snort, he boxed his aide affectionately on the side of her headbone, trying to hide his smile. Of all the people he had known, only Branmer and Shukran could change his attitude so quickly.
"The engineers needed the work," he rumbled, continuing on down the hall.
* * * * * * *
Life aboard the Grey Council cruiser had gone on as usual, uninterrupted by the pains of everyday life on the planet. The political wranglings of the Minbari elite frustrated Neroon to no end. He flew countless hours in his flyer; and when he burned out the starboard engine, he commandeered a fighter from the escort wing. At pike-point, Shukran had convinced the pilot that it was indeed a great honor to be grounded this way.
Two months later, Delenn stormed aboard the Grey Council cruiser as if she were on a mission from Valen himself. Shukran watched in amusement as the former Satai, through pure force of will, had pushed her way past the acolytes who guarded the corridors. The young warrior did not like nor trust Delenn, but she could not help but reluctantly respect her courage. Brashly, eschewing the prescribed hooded robe and ignoring every entry ritual, Delenn marched into the Council chambers, unannounced.
Neroon watched in mute rage as Delenn circled within the Council lights, challenging the senior Satai of each caste, one by one. "You say the words, but your hearts are empty; your ears are closed to the truth. You stand for nothing but your own petty interests." The priest stood silent before her.
Delenn moved to the senior warrior Satai, throwing back into his face his own statement: "'The problem of others is not our concern.'" Nine hooded shapes felt the words fall as if they were physical blows. "I do not blame you for standing silent in your shame. You, who knew what was coming, but refused to take up the burden of this war. If the warrior caste will not fight, then the *rest* of us will."
Her face flushed with anger, her ... hair... concealing part of her face at times, Delenn looked almost completely alien. Only her eyes and voice had not changed. The Nine watched in horror as she took prophecy into her own hands yet again.
Ripping the staff from Hedronn's hands, Delenn thrust it overhead and snapped it in two, destroying in a single moment one thousand years of Minbari tradition. "The Council has lost its way. It if will not lead, if we have abandoned our covenant with Valen, the council should be broken, as was prophesied." She spun on her heel and stormed from the chamber, brushing roughly past a warrior on her way out. Close behind her filed the two remaining religious caste Satai and all three of the workers.
Four grey hooded shapes stood spotlighted in stunned silence, as one by one the empty circles of light went dark.
*Pride, you said. Presumption. And now, the Shadows are on the move...* Her words echoed in the chamber.
"Hers was the deciding vote in the last war, and hers was the vote that ended it. We will not die for the religious caste's empty prophecies again." The NightWalker threw back his hood and glared at the warriors beside him.
Neroon returned to his quarters and tersely ordered Shukran to recall Ingata. He sat heavily at the table, resting his head in his hands as if exhausted.
Shukran reappeared at his side and cleared her throat quietly. When he did not respond, she went ahead and briefed him. "The Ingata is on its way. Alyt Durell anticipates arrival in three days."
* * * * * * *
The Grey Council cruiser was like a ghost ship now, abandoned by the Satai of the other castes and their acolytes, manned only by a skeleton crew and a wizened old librarian who cared for the ancient scrolls as if they were his own children. Two of the warrior caste Satai had already departed; and the warcruiser of the third was on approach. Shukran stood at the porthole and watched as the last flyer entered the gaping bay of the warcruiser. Then, in a graceful bank, the huge vessel glided out of sight.
Completely uncharacteristically, Neroon had gone into solitude over the breakup of the Grey Council. He had refused to eat, speak, or sleep for the past two days, so Shukran fasted with him. Although it went against all her training, she chose not to stay awake with him the entire time, but took a few catnaps to maintain her alertness and judgment. And stonily, the StarRider meditated, shutting out the world.
The Ingata had just called in. Alyt Durell estimated they were ten hours out. Quietly, Shukran entered Neroon's room and stood beside him where he sat, unmoving. It grieved her terribly to see him like this. He loved his people with all his heart, and had always put first what was best for Minbar; and it was breaking his heart to see his world falling apart this way -- victim to vague prophecy and grasping hegemony.
Without thinking, she reached out and touched him gently on the shoulder. As soon as she realized what she had done, she panicked briefly, pulling back her offending hand in horror. No one touched a Shai Alyt or a Satai without permission. But Neroon did not seem to notice. The fact that he had not even reacted to such an unexpected move shocked Shukran, and convicted her.
Deliberately, she laid her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, moving slowly across the knotted muscles with a light touch. She had never told him she loved him -- no one knew, and no one could ever know, especially not Neroon. It was not her place to love him; but she could not dictate the calling of her heart.
Silently, Neroon reached up and covered her hand with his own, holding it lightly. He met her eyes, then spoke, his voice gruff from disuse. "Do you have word from Durell?"
"Yes, Shai Alyt Neroon. Ingata will be here within ten hours. If we take a transport, we can meet it in six."
He looked around the room slowly, then rose to his feet, releasing her hand. "There is nothing for us here. Prepare the transport."
Their belongings had long been packed, and it took very little time to submit the flight plan; but it was not soon enough that they had the Grey Council cruiser in their rear screens. Finally, Neroon slept, his long form stretched out in the co-pilot seat, reclined as far back as it would go. Beside him, Shukran piloted the craft at top speed, relentlessly pushing the lumbering transport beyond its normal limits.
* * * * * * *
Against Neroon's counsel, the warrior caste selected Shakiri of the WindSwords to be Shai Alyt of the entire caste. Shakiri, charismatic in appearance and personality, spoke well -- with ideas that swelled the proud hearts of the warriors, reminding them of their glorious past and painting an even more glorious future. Towering almost head and shoulders over the rest of the warriors, he stood lean and strong -- a warrior's warrior. Neroon and countless silent others feared their new leader valued expediency over integrity, but held their tongues, bound by the loyalty inbred in them for a millenium.
* * * * * * *
Neroon was reviewing readiness reports when Shukran entered the bridge. She saluted and began in a low, calm voice that belied her tenseness. "Shai Alyt Neroon, the Earther Sinclair appears to be dead; and the Anla'Shok are preparing to choose a new Entil'Zha." She crossed over to him, handing him a data crystal. "We intercepted this transmission from Rathenn to Delenn on Babylon 5. He has asked her to come back to Minbar. We have reason to believe she will be the one."
He turned the crystal over in his hand. Finally -- he would stop Delenn before she single-handedly managed to destroy Minbari civilization. She was a religious zealot who sought self-fulfillment of the prophecies of Valen. Worse, she was reaching for total control of the Minbari Federation -- as both a political leader and now as the high commander of a military force. His hand clenched into a fist over the crystal at the thought, and he muttered, "So, what does she expect the warrior caste to do? Pray about it?"
He thanked his aide and left the bridge. Since the breakup of the Grey Council, he had called in favors from many of his friends, and several different warcruisers had provided him intelligence on the Rangers. Up until now, the warrior caste had not let Delenn's actions go unnoticed -- merely unchallenged. Now, however, she had stepped over the line, making an unprecedented power grab. It was obviously time for the warriors to react and take charge of what was, by right of tradition, a warrior mission.
Neroon faced the communications console, his report to his caste leader concise and to the point. On the screen, Shakiri sat in semi-darkness, idly moving data crystals from one pile to another. His lean, weathered face was condescending when he finally spoke. "She will not last long. I am not concerned about it, Neroon." He bared his teeth in a wolfish smile. "The first time a Ranger gets killed under her command, she will fall apart."
It did not surprise Shukran when Neroon decided to take things into his own hands. And so it had gone. The Ingata set course for Babylon 5 immediately.
* * * * * * *
They arrived on the station by a circuitous route, having changed vessels twice, and ending up on a crowded Narn liner redolent of dead fish. Neroon had intended to go alone, but at Durell's insistence, had agreed to let Shukran accompany him.
To be honest, he was glad for her company, and for the extra set of sharp eyes and ears. Hooded and cloaked, they prowled the station unnoticed for a day and a half, learning its intricate passageways and hidden doors. And when the moment presented itself, Neroon confronted Delenn.
He found the hybrid Earther-Minbari flirting with the Starkiller in a corridor, basking in her plans. Once she was alone, Neroon appeared, stepping out of sheer invisibility, it seemed. "Congratulations, Delenn. Power beckons. And who among us is strong enough to ignore its siren song?" His voice dripped irony.
She tried to deny his charge of self-serving rapacity, but still refused to hand over control of the Anla'Shok to him, the logical and fully-qualified successor. There was no use in arguing with her -- she was clearly beyond reasoning with. Then her aide arrived, distracting her; and Neroon vanished.
Neroon had not intended to spill blood when he came to Babylon 5; but he would do what was necessary for the good of Minbar, and for the honor of the warrior tradition of the Anla'Shok. He looked over at the young FireWing sitting on lookout, her knees pulled up to her chin, hood and cloak obscuring her armor and blending in to the patchwork of black and grey that made up the lower levels of the station. She could not be brought into this. Minbari had not killed Minbari in over 1,000 years -- and if he were to be the first, he was not about to drag his aide into it.
"Shukran, the ceremony is to be held in a few hours. They know I am here, but are not yet aware of you. I want you to be seen throughout the station. They will be looking for me -- distract them, and keep them chasing you instead."
She nodded, and stood to go.
"Wait." The StarRider felt at a loss for words. He stared at her sadly, knowing that she would remain loyal to him, even if he did shed religious caste blood. But it would hurt her -- and, irrational though it was, he knew that hurting this young half-caste would pain him more than he would like to admit.
Silent, she stood before him, waiting for him to speak.
He groped for words, awkwardly trying to fill the void. "You never told me what Sech Durhan whispered to you at the end of your lesson." Inwardly, he groaned. It was none of his business. But the words were out, and he could not recall them.
His aide cocked her head to one side, smiling. It was unlike Neroon to pry like that. "He thanked me on behalf of many Rangers to come who would benefit from the lesson. And he told me to never forget that I had learned the pike from Durhan himself -- whether it was in one lesson or over several months did not matter. He said that Shai Alyt Shakiri himself could not make that claim."
Neroon smiled broadly and extended his hand out to her, placing it gently on her chest and bringing her hand to rest over his heart. They inclined their heads together, foreheads lightly touching, and Neroon whispered, "Never forget that, Shukran. You are more than you seem." He kissed the top of her head, then released her.
Rather quickly, Shukran saluted and disappeared into the bowels of the station. Neroon settled back to wait.
* * * * * * *
The young FireWing was enjoying this mission whole-heartedly. The last time she had been on the station had been at Shai Alyt Branmer's viewing ceremony. As one of the standard bearers, she had remained with the casket at all times. This visit was different. So far, she had managed to pop up in the Zocalo, two restaurants, the hydroponic gardens, and six different levels of the station, including the ambassadorial wing, which sent security into an all-out panic. The chase had finally ended, though, as she found herself nearly surrounded in the corridor outside Earhart's lounge.
Diving into the crowded bar, the small Minbari pushed her way to a table of off-duty Earther pilots and grabbed a glass from one of them. Brandishing the stein of yellowish liquid, she cried out in heavily accented Earth Standard. "Do not approach me or I shall be forced to drink this! And I do not believe you are prepared for the results."
The ruse worked, freezing the security team in their tracks. They had no desire to encounter a psychotic Minbari, especially not a warrior. Shukran glanced at the chronometer over the door and smiled smugly. She had successfully lured well over half of station security into a bar -- and the ceremony was scheduled to begin in less than 10 minutes.
The clock ticked relentlessly onward. When it struck the appointed hour, Shukran set down the glass. The whir of plasma weapons phasing up did not surprise her. She opened her hands, revealing no weapons, and flashed a triumphant look at the security team leader, then accompanied him peacefully to the detention section for processing.
Shai Alyt Neroon arrived a few hours later, a purplish gash across his forehead, but other than that, looking none the worse for wear. The Earthers released her to him immediately, realizing full well that they had no cause to hold her, since the FireWing had done no damage, and none of the ambassadors had filed a complaint.
There was no need for stealth on the trip back. The Ingata, waiting in hyperspace, sent a transport to pick them up. Just prior to its arrival, a Ranger approached the two warriors and bowed, laying a denn'bok on the deck in front of Neroon. "Entil'Zha returns this, with her gratitude." He bowed again, deeply, and left.
Once onboard the transport, Shukran rummaged around in the bins and produced a first-aid kit, which she passed to Neroon. He waved it off. "I asked you an impertinent question earlier today. I suppose you have the right to ask one in return."
His aide had already noticed there was no pin on the Shai Alyt's uniform, but she chose to remain silent.
"All right, if you will not ask, then I will tell you." He stretched his hand out at arm's length, then, with a metallic click, he extended his pike. One end of it was encrusted with blood -- the thick, viscous blood of an Earther.
"Delenn is Entil'Zha, with my acceptance. I am satisfied that the Anla'Shok will succeed -- not because of her leadership ability, but because she has become an icon. They have acknowledged her in the role which she has created for herself in her fanatical self-fulfillment of prophecy."
Painstakingly, he began cleaning the soiled denn'bok. "F'hursna Sech Durhan and the others will not allow the Rangers to go slack, nor to go out of control. The Anla'Shok have a real mission, Shukran, and perhaps will be able to fulfill it. I do not think that Delenn will harm anything by leading the Rangers -- she is purely a symbol and a rallying point, not a military leader. I will allow it because it will serve the end purpose, since the warrior caste refuses to lend their support to this war."
He paused, examining the ancient weapon which had been handed down from father to son for generations. "They would not die for me... but they would die for her. Therefore, it is right that she should lead them. These Humans are brave, and share our hearts, Shukran. If they are an effective force with her as their leader, it will do."
He watched the denn'bok retract, and whispered, "I only hope she does not lead them all into death by her incompetence."
Looking at his young aide, he smiled. "There. Now we are even." He replaced his pike in his belt, then settled back in his seat. In the bin directly in front of them was a neat stack of ship reports, thoughtfully provided by Alyt Durell for their ride back to the Ingata. Neroon thumbed through the pile, then handed half to his aide.
For a long while, the only sound was of pages turning or the occasional sound of a note being marked in a margin. It was getting tedious. The StarRider sighed and closed the file he had finished reading, then glanced over to his aide.
"Actually, Shukran, I've been thinking. If you were to undergo the transformation..." He paused, grinning wickedly. "I could definitely see you with hair -- with long, dark, no... No, that's not it at all -- with long *red* hair." Neroon was enjoying himself immensely. Shukran merely glared at him and returned to her work.
* * * * * * *
The next day, as Neroon opened the first folder of the morning reports, he was greeted by a neat sketch of himself as a hybrid Minbari-Earther, with dark, wavy hair and an abbreviated headbone. One dark lock spilled rebelliously over his forehead, and a wisp or two of hair fell across the crags and peaks of his crest. His mouth was cocked into a familiar sneer -- topped by a rather impressive mustache.
It had been a long time since the bridge crew heard their Shai Alyt laugh like that.
--end--