PART 4 - Jihad
by V. Wildeber, 6 February 1999
The mood onboard Ingata was heavy. That morning, a heavily sedated Seselj had been transferred to the worker ship with his team leader as escort. Branmer's report to the Grey Council was to be accented by this graphic example of a plan gone horribly wrong.
Shai Alyt Branmer stared at the blank vidscreen and tried to imagine he was speaking to Dukhat. He toggled the record switch and began his carefully-rehearsed speech, his voice even and low. "I regret that this mission has ended so tragically. The loss of Minbari life and limb was great; but of deeper consequence was the damage to Minbari souls. I am sending you one who I fear will never recover from this mission -- one of my finest, most promising young StarRiders, from one of the best families on Minbar."
He paused for emphasis, then continued in sonorous tones. "I ask that the religious caste pray for the warrior caste, and for all the Minbari, that we do not stain our souls in the prosecution of this war. Valen said that a Holy War is fought with righteous bloodstained hands and pure hearts. I fear that we may corrupt our cause if we take more prisoners. Let us end this, quickly."
The Shai Alyt saluted gravely, then ended the recording. Behind him, his aide stood silently, dark eyes burning under a purplish welt on his forehead. Branmer coded his message for transmission and watched as the console flickered acknowledgment that his message had been received.
Shakiri had reported in, also, and had sent a copy of his transmission to Ingata as a courtesy -- and, as Branmer suspected, as a calculated solidarity move. The lean-faced WindSword had minced no words. He was a stolid pragmatist, who saw no practical gain in taking prisoners when there was no intent to negotiate with the enemy. He pointed out that using warriors as prison guards was a waste of valuable resources, and that boarding Earther vessels caused unnecessary casualties.
* * * * * * *
Shai Alyt Branmer had spent time with each of the men and women who had witnessed Seselj's breakdown onboard the Earther ship. They had reacted in different ways -- some with shame, some with fear, some with a mind-numbing denial. Fortunately, none of the other StarRiders involved were clan-brothers to Seselj.
Neroon and Durell, however, had been almost shattered by the incident. Although Durell had not been there, he felt the pain and shame as deeply as did Alyt Neroon.
Branmer had had less success in counseling them. They had simply continued to perform their duties with a silent rage that, unresolved, grew darker. When he attempted to talk with the two, Branmer had felt his words fall unheard. The words echoed in the corridor.
*You cannot hold yourself responsible for Seselj's madness! If you are responsible for him, you must answer for all of your clan-brothers and clan-sisters. How many is that? Fifty? Perhaps seventy-five of them scattered throughout Minbar and space beyond. Certainly, you must then answer for the actions of your entire clan. And your caste -- are you then responsible for one-third of the Minbari population? Why stop there? Before Valen, it was said that the death of one man could end wrongdoing and cleanse the souls of all Minbari. Are you that man, Neroon?*
Neroon and Durell had just stared back at him in tight-lipped silence. Finally, Neroon had asked to be excused to the practice hall. With resignation, Branmer had watched the two StarRiders disappear down the corridor.
* * * * * * *
They had been sparring for several hours, and had exhausted themselves. Alyt Neroon leaned on his fighting pike, contemplating the subtle design of the deck. He had never really noticed it before. Durell was lying flat on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling.
"Thirty-two." Neroon's words came out flat and heavy.
Durell shifted his head to look at him, but said nothing.
"Twelve dead, nineteen severely wounded, and one... deranged. And I have not heard the Anathu's losses. These Earthers are a plague upon our souls. We will do the universe a favor by wiping them out. No good shall come from our meeting them."
The younger warrior rolled onto his side and flexed his hand, first extending, then retracting the claw knife mounted in his glove. He watched his fragmented reflection in the blade and spoke with a measured tone. "I saw Tolkenn's body, Neroon. I don't know if... I might have reacted the same way Seselj did."
"The rest of his team did not."
"But the Earthers butchered him!" Durell sheathed the claw and sat up. "They cut off part of his crest as a trophy!"
"And Seselj butchered them!" Neroon spat. "He tortured them, then slaughtered them. Then he made the remaining prisoners stack the bodies in formation. He saved their captain for last."
They lapsed again into a miserable silence, each re-playing the events in his head.
There was a noise at the entrance, and both men whirled to face it. Shai Alyt Branmer stood silhouetted in the doorway for a moment, then turned and left. From the direction of the side door, Neroon thought he heard a sound, but it didn't quite register. Suddenly, he caught a blur of movement from the corner of his eye. He spun to meet it, instinctively bringing his pike up.
Too late, he stared down at his assailant. Shukran had timed her assault perfectly, on Branmer's cue. She was quick, small, and completely unorthodox -- and now stood inside Neroon's pike, her left hand curled into a fist near his clavicle and her right down at his waist.
Durell sprang forward to tackle the young warrior, but was stopped by Neroon's outstretched hand. "No! It's all right, Durell." He collapsed his pike and tossed it to his clan-brother.
He moved his hand to cover Shukran's, his fingers loosely closing over hers, feeling the bulge of the undeployed claw on the back of her glove. The weapon was positioned at the juncture of his chest and shoulder armor, ready to slice into the artery beneath.
A grudging smile began creeping its way across Neroon's face as he reached slowly down to Shukran's other hand. She had reached under his armor and was lightly pressing the butt of her compressed pike against his unprotected abdomen. He slipped his hand over hers, but did not attempt to move it. He had no choice but to admit defeat.
"Very well done, Shukran," he growled. "You would have certainly disemboweled me with your pike. I'm not sure you're tall enough to do mortal damage with the claw, but your form is good." He glanced over at Durell, who reluctantly nodded his agreement.
Neroon looked down at the young warrior, regarding her thoughtfully for a long while. The half-caste stood firmly under his gaze, not budging.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. "Is the victory yours because you earned it, or is it mine because I taught you, Shukran?"
"The victory is mine, Alyt Neroon." Shukran looked surprised at such an obvious question.
"Yes." Neroon's voice was little more than a whisper. The words of Branmer echoed in his mind.
Durell shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing, recognizing the logical conclusion to this train of thought.
After a moment, Neroon shook his head, as if he had just realized the young FireWing was still waiting. Brusquely, he asked, "Why are you here, Shukran?"
"They told me I was the sacrifice."
"The sacrifice?" He repeated her words, uncomprehending.
"Apparently I was the only virgin from the warrior caste that could be located on such short notice." She flashed him an impudent grin.
At that, Neroon smiled and released her hands. Seeing him relax, Shukran stepped back away from him and returned her pike to her belt, swallowing in relief.
Then, slowly and deliberately, the tall StarRider pulled off his gloves and dropped them, then shrugged out of his armor and let it fall heavily to the deck. His tunic, creased and damp from his armor, clung in places to his broad chest. Seeing the young woman's reaction, he broadened his smile and extended his hand to her.
Shukran's eyes widened as she realized he had called her bluff. After a moment's hesitation, she, too removed her gloves, and dropped them with her pike onto the deck. Smoothly, she pulled off her padded jerkin and laid it on the small pile. In just her black tunic and trousers, she looked surprisingly delicate.
Together, they walked to the far end of the training hall, leaving Durell staring after them.
"Lights: on, dim." Neroon gestured, and Shukran preceded him into the equipment storage room. He shut the door behind them and looked around apologetically. "Not very romantic, is it?"
He indicated a stack of floor pads in the corner, and took a seat, making room for the young woman. She sat stiffly beside him.
Neroon smiled and cupped her cheek in his hand, raising her eyes to meet his. "Shukran, I regret that I cannot accept your tempting offer. I am already betrothed -- and I am quite sure that my intended would not understand."
The young FireWing looked surprised, and slightly relieved. "Betrothed?"
Abruptly he laughed and leaned back against a storage locker. "Yes, the tradition has not entirely died out. A few of the oldest houses on Minbar still hold to it. Lakhir and I were betrothed as children, and grew up together." His face softened for just a moment. "But even had we not been intended for each other, Lakhir is still the woman I would choose to marry."
He colored a bit, and changed the subject. "Who sent you into the training hall, Shukran?"
"I volunteered." She looked amused as she continued, "for most of the mission, anyway."
Neroon laughed. "Shai Alyt Branmer allowed you to be set up like that because he knows of Lakhir. He and Durell were the only two onboard Ingata who knew."
He looked at her carefully. "But you expected me to turn you down because you're a half-caste. You were prepared to be publicly humiliated, weren't you?"
The young woman studied the toe of her left boot intently, then deflected his question. "I'm going to miss Seselj. I'm sorry about what happened to him, Alyt Neroon."
They sat in silence for several minutes. Finally, he cleared his throat and stood. "I suppose we've been in here long enough to be convincing."
Neroon paused at the door, and looked down at the young half-caste beside him. On impulse, he reached out and grasped Shukran's shoulders, his voice serious and low. "You cannot change your bloodline; but you will not be the most junior member of your section forever, FireWing. Already you're one of Ingata's better gunners -- and you just defeated your Alyt today in fair competition."
He brought his hands up to either side of her headbone, as Sech Durhan had done to him so many times during training. "And *never* go into a mission expecting humiliation! Expect to succeed, Shukran. Even if you haven't yet won, be victorious."
The woman looked up at him wide-eyed, then smiled and sharply saluted. They headed back out across the training hall, which by now was no longer empty.
Durell was waiting for them by the dais with their armor, staring down any of the crew who were foolish enough to openly notice that the two were out of uniform.
"Report back to your section, Shukran." Neroon cuffed her lightly on the headbone, and smugly watched practice stop for a moment as she strode puckishly through the crowded room.
* * * * * * *
During supper, the communications console chimed an incoming transmission. It was actually a welcome respite, as neither Branmer nor his aide felt particularly hungry. Shai Alyt Branmer left the table and received the message in his room.
When the console light flickered out, signaling the end of transmission, Neroon carried a cup of tea to Branmer, who stood at his usual place by the porthole.
Branmer glanced at him, then took a sip of tea. "That message was from the Grey Council. They have decided against taking any more prisoners. The warrior caste will fight this Holy War as planned -- quickly, and with honor."
Neroon grimaced and drained his cup, never taking his eyes from the porthole. "With honor," he repeated, bitterly.
"I'm very sorry about Seselj, Neroon. I know that he meant a great deal to you. His loss grieves all of us."
The Shai Alyt walked slowly over to the communications console and picked up a data crystal, then handed it to his aide. "Here is the casualty report the Grey Council received today."
Neroon rolled the crystal between his fingers for a moment, then inserted it into the console port. The display blinked on, listing the names and clans of the lost, detailing how they had fallen. After the list of the dead came the list of the critically wounded, among them Seselj.
"Seselj, of the StarRiders clan, fell avenging the deaths of the Chosen One and his fellow crewmen. Wounded and unwhole, he fought on and destroyed seventy-three of the enemy in hand-to-hand combat. His loss is a great sorrow to us all." Neroon's voice faded, and he looked questioningly at Branmer.
The older man stood at the porthole, his face faintly lit by the stars outside. "I can think of no worse wound to inflict than a wound on the mind and soul, Neroon. Seselj was crippled far worse than any of our other warriors. What he did in his private pain will not be mentioned."
The young Alyt remained silent for a long while, then moved to stand beside Branmer and stare with him out into the night. Finally, he took a deep breath and bluntly stated, "I did not look forward to your taking command of the Ingata, Shai Alyt Branmer. I had served under Shai Alyt Gorann for many years, and saw no reason to change anything -- especially for a priest."
Branmer did not look surprised at this. His craggy face revealed no emotion at all.
The corner of Neroon's mouth twisted down in a wry smile. "I served you because it was my duty -- because it was the honorable thing to do. Then slowly, dimly, I began to see that you were far wiser than I had given you credit for."
A shadow of a smile began to cross Branmer's face; and Neroon realized that his commander had known this all along.
"But the crew did not see any difference between your loyalty to Gorann and your loyalty to me, Neroon. I could see it in their eyes. From the moment I set foot on Ingata, I saw that they would die for you."
Branmer's smile broadened as he continued. "At first, wherever I was, the crew watched you. Your reaction drove their responses. And after a while, they accepted me -- but only because they believed in your loyalty to me, and to the Ingata, and to Minbar."
Neroon dropped heavily to one knee in salute, fist to palm, head bowed. "They believe rightly, Shai Alyt."
Branmer cuffed him affectionately on the headbone. "I know they do. Good night, Neroon."
As the Alyt stood, a star flared and dove, winking into nothing. Neroon paused for a moment. "There's one of your thrown stars. Good night, Shai Alyt Branmer."
The older man smiled and intoned in mock piety, "Some would say that a thrown star signifies the rebirth of one of the great old souls into a new body..." Branmer extended his right hand to his aide in blessing, and watched as his aide left the room.
The Shai Alyt turned back to the porthole and smiled, continuing the proverb under his breath, "... or the reawakening of a great soul from its sleep." He finished his tea, then returned to the table to review the day's reports.
--end--