The Long Trial, Part One
Chapter Four: Fringe Element
by R. Bernstein

Tension pulsed off of the walls of the station, vibrating across the gulfs between people like radioactive waves, electrons pinging against one another with the force of a swarm of wasps. There had been a hate crime, against an alien, a Minbari, and the most likely suspects were Human. Station security was nervous because of the implications for mob action, the alien races were nervous because of the uncertainty of the attack in all facets except one, that they were attacked because they were different. The command staff was nervous for similar reasons as security, except that they also knew how fragile and vital the peace really was here at this place in the middle of a barren solar system, and what it would mean to fail, with a dozen or more ambassadors breathing down their necks. And Havah was nervous too, sensing the precariousness of the moment, not wanting the home she was tenuously making here to be uprooted, and because she was alien too, and no one knew. At least not the wrong people, she hoped. For the sixtieth time that day, her hands drifted to the ridge at the top of her nasal bridge and rubbed at the odd color of her fingernails, and thought of the blue birthmark disguised as a butterfly tattoo where no one could see it. It was coming down on them, the aliens, for the way they looked, the way they walked, the way they talked and thought. And every corner or spot of shade now seemed wrong and threatening to her. Humans were so varied, and there wasn't a Human alive, she thought, who had not known the fear of persecution, or who could not have cited a not-so-distant ancestor who had. Why then are we unable to move past it? Do memories of terror and compassion fade so quickly? I guess so, she thought sadly and put out the lights, on her way to Med Lab. The woman who had been attacked, a Minbari poet named Shaal Mayar, was sitting up on her cot getting ready to leave, as Havah walked by to look up medical charts.

Ambassador Delenn was with the woman, speaking familiarly, and she sounded angry. "I spoke again with Commander Sinclair, and he has assured me that the persons who did this will be found. I informed him that such treatment of you was completely unacceptable!"

The woman silenced her with a tired gesture. "It's alright old friend, I am fine, and it is a valuable lesson. I wonder sometimes, having seen more of the galaxy now, if we have been too sheltered on Minbar."

"Yes, perhaps, but still, to treat someone who wishes to share a great art, with such hostility and disrespect is most dishonorable!" Delenn insisted, shaking her head.

Shaal Mayar sighed lightly, "Oh Delenn, we are used to tilah, and used to our ways, but you cannot expect others to know or understand them right away. You have known them all of your life, and have known nothing else, and the others have known nothing but their own ways. Do not be so demanding of them. I'm sure that the Commander is truly doing everything he can. He is a good and honorable man."

Delenn smiled graciously and touched the woman's arm, "I suppose you are right. You have grown into a wise poet over these years, as well as a moving one." At that point, Shaal Mayar glanced at Havah, who had been standing there watching the scene, medical charts forgotten. She was fairly certain, with Delenn's annoyed glance, that she was being rude to have intruded on this conversation by her presence, but it was too late.

"Hi, sorry. I just wanted you to know, Miss Mayar," she had no idea if this was the proper address, "that I saw your performance. It was beautiful. I'm sorry for what happened to you, and I hope that you don't think that all Humans will react this way to you. Sometimes it does just take people time to get over the past. Anyway, I have to go. I wanted to tell you that, and I hope that if you still go to Earth, that your trip will be better than your stay here has been." She said quickly and began walking away.

"Young woman, wait." Shaal Mayar called after her. Havah stopped and turned toward the two women. Mayar continued in a gentle voice. "Please, I thank you. It is a kind thing for you to say, and I am very glad that you enjoyed last night. I did not mean for you to be offended by our concern. I have had many good experiences with Humans, and we do not even know for certain who has done this. Even if it should be a Human, I know that Humans are all different and that a small fringe of people do not express the feelings of all, any more than is true for my people." Mayar smiled at her, glancing at Delenn.

Delenn was looking at Havah intently, studying her face.

Havah struggled not to squirm. She wanted instinctively to like Mayar, but the Minbari ambassador made her nervous. That woman had another voice that Havah kept wanting to remember from somewhere else, and on top of that, she was overbearing. Old Money, Havah thought. She didn't know if there was such a thing on Minbar, and she didn't even know if that was the case with Delenn, but that was what irritated her about the ambassador. She exuded demand and the expectant demeanor of someone who has existed her whole life in privilege. In her experience, such people were often thoughtless of everyday realities, the realities of the rest of the plebian galaxy, just as Delenn was demonstrating now in her dealing with Sinclair. Where does she get off! Havah thought protectively. He always does everything he can. He's not your damn servant to order around, he's trying to keep everyone safe! If you really want to help him end this quicker, stay out of his face! But she smiled stiffly at the ambassador and nodded to Mayar. "Yes, ma'am, that makes sense." She replied, unsure what to say now. She really didn't have anything else to say.

But Mayar continued. "We have not been formally introduced. My name is Shaal Mayar. It is nice to meet youŠ"

"Havah, Havah Lassee."

Mayar's eyes widened for a moment and she glanced at Delenn and back at her. "Oh, yes. I apologizeŠI did not expectŠIt is an honor to meet you. How long have you been on Babylon 5?"

Havah paused, and then ignored the strange reaction. "I don't know, about seven months or so. I'm not great at keeping track of time, and without seasons or real daylight, it's hard to get a real good grasp on how much time has passed. It's nice to meet you as well, Ambassador Delenn." She forced out.

The ambassador gave her a curious look and bowed her head slightly, smiling imperiously.

Bitch! Havah thought vehemently. Stare at me with that silver spoon, looking like I should feel graced by your presence! She didn't know why she was feeling such strong antipathy towards this woman, who probably wasn't even thinking anything at all except concern for her friend and her people. Havah turned her attention back to Mayar. Say something, anything, I gotta find a way to bow out of this conversation and go home. "You're a great poet, have you ever heard of Shakespeare, or Wordsworth, or Tennyson?" Nope, that wasn't it, now I'll be here forever.

"Ah, Human poets yes? Into the Valley of Death rode the six hundredŠ Yes, a great poem, a warrior's poemŠWordsworth, The world is too much with us, late and soon, getting and spending we lay waste our powersŠ" She crossed her hands over her heart, "Very wise men, these Humans. Many Human works have been inspiring mine of late. That is why I chose to go to Earth, in addition to our recent alliance. I wished to acknowledge the debt I owe them for my most recent poems." She said excitedly, her enthusiasm picking up the momentum that only artists in the throes of the Muse could radiate. Her eyes shined, and Havah couldn't help but smile back with real warmth.

"I'm glad you like our poetry, I suspect that many Human poets will derive inspiration from your works too. Cross-pollination of idea is always exciting. My dad is a doctor, and if you get him together with another doctor, it doesn't matter if they are from Narn, Centauri, or some other world all the way across the galaxy, you might as well pitch a tent because they'll be there all night, engrossed in talking medicine and ignoring everything else around them." She said wryly.

Both Mayar and Delenn laughed. Havah had never seen Delenn laugh before, not that she had seen her that often. She just didn't usually have an expression on her face conducive to laughter. Delenn's shrewd blue eyes relented. "Yes, this was true of my father as well. He was a scholar, and he often talked all night after Temple." She seemed to be cheering up, the lines of concern in her face had less of an edge, as did her voice. Havah studied Delenn's face. Havah didn't know what the habits of Minbari females were, but Delenn had applied cosmetics in quantities that reminded her of a young girl experimenting with her mother's make-up. Maybe make-up was strictly a Human trait. She hadn't really paid much attention to alien female faces before, and it occurred to her that Delenn was trying out different Human customs. It didn't look that bad, just a little garish, like a kewpie doll, but she had no idea how to bring up the subject. Not my problem anyway, she thought.

"You look tired Miss Lassee," Delenn said.

"Yeah, it's been a long day, I'm sorry to keep you from your visit, it was nice meeting both of you. Take care." They said good night, and she left, wondering if "Take Care" had been the best choice of words at this time. This attack was turning everyone inside out, making every comment and gesture questionable. Damn that's irritating.

* * * * * * * *

It didn't get any better the next few days. There was another attack, on aliens again, Centauri, this time on two children. They were older children, a moonstruck adolescent couple that had been eloping, but children nevertheless. Now the boisterous Centauri ambassador, Londo Mollari, and his hapless cherub-like assistant were shouting up and down the halls, only out-shouted by the Narn ambassador, G'Kar, whose people hadn't been attacked but who was taking the opportunity to make as much noise as possible, playing the injured party. She had seen Londo Mollari in the stripper bar, and in the casino, gambling and drinking and shedding astounding amounts of money, his unbelievably loud voice carrying through all sound anywhere in vague earshot of the casino. He seemed like an amiable enough fellow. Insane, but amiable. She thought of the ambassador tossing back probably his hundredth brevari as if it was water, and bellowing jovially around the black-jack table, like a bizarre drunken Santa. The Narn ambassador she didn't like so much. He was very nearly as boisterous, and not nearly as jolly, and she could have sworn the few times she had run into him, literally, that he had been hitting on her. She didn't trust him as far as she could throw him, and he looked to be nearly 300 pounds of pure muscle, so that was that.

* * * * * * * *

She saw the two Centauri kids in Med Lab on another med chart run, with Shaal Mayar hovering like a worried mother off to the side. If Havah hadn't known better, she would have thought they were Human, so Human was their facial appearance, more than hers really. The girl's attention and wide brown eyes were fixated upon the teenage boy in the cot.

"How are they?" Havah asked the Minbari.

"The boy has not regained consciousness yet, and the girl is frightened for him. So am I. Have you learned anything else, has Sinclair found anyone?"

"Not that I know of, I'm sorry, I don't know very much either."

Shaal nodded at her. "It's all right. I was just hoping that someone knew."

Havah hesitantly put a hand on the woman's shoulder, glanced at the poor Centauri girl, decided not to disturb her, and went to finish her work. "If I hear anything I'll let you know."

This can't keep up like this, she thought. Someone, maybe Sinclair, probably Security Chief Garibaldi, is going to crack. And I'm tired of looking around corners, wondering who knows about my genetics. I took for granted most of my life, that it didn't matter. When I was a kid, I got made fun of for being different, but those kids would have made fun of me no matter what, even if both my parents had been Human, and they were just kids. Kids like that had never done any damage, but thisŠthis was real hate and it scared the hell out of her. She had been just as sheltered as Delenn, having never faced such strong emotion. War-time was different somehow, wasn't it? She brooded, staring at the pages of her book without seeing the words. You hate your enemy, and their differences from you, but only because the differences are something else to focus on. The real root of hatred of a war-time enemy is that they are obviously trying to kill you and destroy what you value. You tell yourself that your hatred is only the instinct for self- and species-preservation. Maybe there is no difference between the two situations, she thought, only that here, the racial differences take on too heightened a significance, and the instinct to preserve one's own kind becomes distorted through perceived rather than real threat, insidious rather than apparent. She shook her head and returned to her quarters. What next?

There was a message that a package was waiting for her. She went to the postal line to pick it up. It was from her mom. She opened the brown paper and out spilled about twenty of the usual newspaper articles on anything under the sun that her mom thought would vaguely interest her. Havah figured that her mom didn't realize that they had newspapers in space too. A note fell out among them, and there was a small paisley cloth-bound book with rolled-up sketches. The note read: I found this going through our closet, since we are moving to the new house soon. I'm sorry it took me so long to give you this, you should have had it a long time ago, but your father and I talked about it and we wanted to wait until you were a little older, and then you were so unhappy growing up while we were moving so much, that we felt that it would upset you more. And then we forgot about it. Again, I'm sorry that you didn't have this sooner. Please don't be angry with us, and write or call when you get this, so that I know it got there alright. It would also be nice to hear from my daughter every once in a while, I am just a Jewish mother after all and I worry with you being so far away. I know you are busy, and so I don't mean to bug you, just drop a line.

Love, Mom

Havah sighed and ran her hands through her hair, several gray hairs, which she was sure were courtesy of mom's positively masterful guilt trips. Mom should have been on the Line, Havah thought, She could have leveled the entire Minbari fleet with the sheer subtle power of one guilt-evoking look. Maybe that's why they surrenderedŠI guess mom is right though. I was pretty bitchy. And 'out of sight out of mind', although she made absolutely certain that that didn't happen, calling at two in the morning on a weekend. "Oh, I'm sorryŠI forgot about the time difference." Havah laughed. She did miss them, in doses. There was a picture of her dad too, with his fly-away white mad-scientist hair and his perpetually confused look.

P.S. By the way, your father has lost so much weight, doesn't he look great! He's been working so hard at it, and now his back doesn't hurt any more. I stopped making him chulent, it's too high in fat.

His sizable pot-belly was mostly gone. She chuckled, I think she stopped making him chulent because she hates chulent. She thought longingly of the thick stew with the crispy fat crust around the edge, her mouth watering. She brought the package to a table in the food court, began leafing through it and froze. It was her mom's diary. Her real mom, a woman she had heard about but never met. She grabbed her food and returned to her quarters.

She opened the front cover gingerly, and stuck underneath was a picture, of her mom. She had been gorgeous, with the exotic features of the Dravidian and Semitic peoples of the fertile crescent, long thick straight raven-black hair, olive skin, enormous eyes, gracile bone structure as elegant as the Arabian horses that carried many of the princes and warriors of their folk tales. Her eyes, though, were not black like Havah's, but blazing gold like an eagle's, shot through with deep green and ringed around the edge of the iris with black. Contrasted with her dark brows, lashes and skin, they were amazing eyes. And there was an interesting blend of humor and gravity in them. Why couldn't I have looked more like that, Havah thought ruefully of her sturdier build. She unrolled the sketches.

They were sketches of a person who could only have been her father. They were dark, dramatic drawings, even in faded graphite, and remarkably skillful. The image she was staring at almost gave her a heart attack. It was a real-life bust of a Minbari male, with the blackest, most intense eyes she had ever seen, with a square jaw and powerful build. The bone crest wreathing his pate was unmistakable, as was the slight ridge at his nasal bridge. She dropped the pictures and ran to the mirror, her fingers trembling as she touched her brow, her hair, kneading her scalp, feeling for any sign of a bony crest, tracing her ears which were slightly smaller and placed lower than other Humans. The breath rushed out of her in shocked sobs without sound or tears. Why hadn't she figured it out, at Proxima Three when she saw them, or any time since? What did they know about her, is that why they let her go?

She plopped down on the floor next to the diary and pictures, and unrolled them again. There were different shots of him, but each one was unquestionably the same man. This woman had been a very talented artist, or a very driven one. There were other pictures, full nudes that she simply refused to look at. This was enough of a shock without seeing either of her parents that way. There was a tiny name written at the bottom of one of the sketches, directly under, as if it were the name of the subject and not the artist's signature. Neroon Calear. His name, phonetically spelled. How had she sketched these? Based on what she knew of their dilemma, they had hardly had time for a posed art session. She began reading. The handwriting started shakily and then steadied, as though the writer's mental state had steadied as she wrote.

3/3/32‹The telepath just left after dissecting my brain with her telepathy, but I remember now. I'm going to write it down where I can see it and no one can take it away from me again. And I'm going to take the images from my eyes and put them on this paper so I can see them, so I can see Neroon. I remember him, I always did. I knew there was something wrong, I knew that they had to have done something to me. I'm pregnant, three months, and I know now that the baby isn't human. They did the same thing to him, but he has no outward sign, nothing to trigger his memory, nothing to even lead him to seek one. What else did they do to him, to me? Is he still alive? Here there were water-stains wrinkling the brittle paper. I guess I will start at the beginning. I stayed at this inn near the outpost of Zagros Four. I should have known it was an unscrupulous place. The door lockedŠbarely, I probably could have broken it with my bare hands, and later that night I suppose someone did, or maybe they were in the room the entire time. I don't know which one makes me more frightened. I wish now that I had been a light sleeper, or maybe it wouldn't have mattered. I was so drowsy that night after I came home. The room smelled funny, like freshly-cut grass, but it was the middle of the city, and I thought that was odd. I heard and saw nothing, and woke up in a nightmare. Except that it was real. I lay strapped to a cold table with a bright halogen circle shining in my face. It felt like my head was full of molasses, and a long snaking arm with glittering instruments came towards me, like in a warped nightmare of a child strapped to a dentist's chair. A long needle went into my neck, and then I don't remember anything until I woke up.

It could have been hours or days later, I don't know. I was laying on a table. My veil and dress were in disarray. Most of the room was dark and empty, except for another table beside mine. There was an alien laying there. It was a male, HE was a tall male. He had no scalp hair. Instead, he had a bone protrusion, like a triceratops, ringing the sides and the back of his head. It had spiky-looking points jutting upwards at symmetrical angles. Other than this, he looked human, as much as I could see anyway. He was wearing a black tunic and pants. There were no restraints on me, and it didn't look like there were any on him either. He was still unconscious, or looked it anyway. So I sat up, fixed my clothes, and went over to him. I thought I should wake him up and see if we could get out of there. I touched his arm, and as fast as lightening he wrapped his arm against mine, pinning both of my arms against me and hoisted me up against the wall by my neck. He was very angry, shouting alien words into my face. I tried to scream as well as I could with him choking me and tried to knee him in where I thought his groin might be, but just as quickly, he dropped me to the floor, and stood back. I could see his muscles twitching. He looked astonished, at me sprawled at his feet, and began saying something in his tongue. He reached down and went to grab my arm, but I rolled back on my heels and backed towards the corner. 'If he touches me again, I claw his eyes out!', I thought. But he looked at me with head cocked, and held out his hand. His voice became gentle, and it seemed like he had thought I was one of the captors. Maybe he had never seen them either. I stood up, still not trusting him to get close and edged past him, watching him carefully. He gestured towards the tables and I sat down on one of them, and he perched on the other, trying to avert his eyes. My dress had torn, and I could tell by the way he tried to look away that he could and had seen everything. I grabbed the edges and yanked them closed, and tried to pull the fabric of the veil to cover the rip. I was raised that strange men, particularly strange alien men should not see me, only my future husband. And I was fairly certain that he wasn't Muslim.

I tried to look at him without staring. He had obsidian black eyes, fairly large, and deep-set under a brow-ridge that came down to end over the bridge of his nose, making his eyes like a hawk's. His nose was short with a wide generous mouth and a strong, pointed chin, and square jaw. He was very handsome, even for an alien. His skin was fair, and his body seemed to be well-proportioned and certainly very strong and muscular. I didn't know why, at the time, I was even having thoughts like that. Then I noticed a red blinking light at his temple, just in front of the head-bone. There was some kind of device there, and I reached up and felt my own temple and there was one there too, just under the fabric. He pointed to my head, presumably to the device, and reached up fingering the small black object bonded to his. As I touched mine, he motioned as if to take the device off, and then everything changed. There will never be any way of describing exactly what happened then, or what it felt like to be in my body when it happened, but something turned on. Something in my head, like a switchboard that controlled functions of my body like a puppeteer working a marionette's wooden cross. And I could tell immediately by the mixed look on his face, that the same thing had happened to him. It was a surge of hormones, or something in people that gives them the overwhelming physical need to make more people. It was a total body response and it was immediate. Forget what you believe about free will. It is a lie. It is a transient and arbitrary quality gifted to us by Allah, at His design or even at His whim, and if you think that you maintain any power but your own honor, than you are in the grip of delusion. You are powerless. Islam means total submission to the will of God, and I never understood that, or rued it as much as I did then, under the will of some alien force with the Universe working through them. I have heard that opium, and some other drugs create such a strong addiction in the receptors of the body, that the physical and mental need created is pure agony if the person addicted is deprived. I have heard that the nervous system is so dependant that it bends the will of the individual to satisfy the hunger, making the unfortunate incapable of any thought beyond compulsion. Multiply that by a thousand times and you would have the force of the hunger that now drew us across the space, across the cultural and linguistic gulf towards each other. His eyes locked on mine, betraying his need, as my hands landed on his tunic, pulling it off of his shoulders. His whole body shuddered and his face grew even more intense with the inner battle that we were both losing, and he grabbed both of my shoulders and pulled me into his powerful arms, his breath heavy against my neck. My addiction was as great as his, I think, or we would have tried to pull the devices off of one another.

Havah stopped reading, she couldn't read this about her parents. Something in her forbade it. She skimmed a couple pages of detailed description of compulsive love-making and exploration of alien anatomy, and finally came again to a point that she could resume.

I don't know how long we were locked in each other's arms, my fingers stroking the roughness of his bone crest. I reached for my veil and dress, shamelessly strewn beside me, but he caught my hand and shook his head, stroking my hair. There was no sense of time here, but I smelled the grassy smell again, and the place we were in went away. When I woke, he was gone. My whole body ached from our activities. I could still smell him, and his absence was like fire in all of my nerves. I will never know if this was because I had never been with a man before, or because of the device, or if somehow, he truly was or would have been a soul-mate, trapped in an alien body. Maybe the body did not matter at all. I suspect that I will never know now. The next time I woke up, I was strapped to a horrible table again. I passed out, and when I awoke again, he was there, shaking me, except that I didn't recognize him, and he didn't appear to recognize me. There was a puzzled look on his face for a moment, the ghost of memory, but it dissolved. I know now, that our memories of each other were stolen. But, for whatever reason, pure honor, duty, lingering sense of desire, he sought me out and tried to help me escape. He kept trying to communicate although we had no language in common, except gestures. I jumped at first because there was blood on his clothes, which were different than the overcoat and tunic that I had first seen on him. This was a long gray robe. The clothing must have been from the aliens, and the blood. He unshackled my arms and legs and gestured me to follow him, tossing me a bundle of cloth. It was a long robe, like his. He looked supremely impatient as I hopped after him, trying to put it on as quickly as I could.

We snuck through dim corridors and into a ware-house of test subjects, sentient detritus of all races, strapped to tables, in units against the walls. I couldn't count how many there were. We looked at each other in revulsion, separated and began moving down the rows and releasing them and shaking them awake. Some revived, others didn't. And others were too mutilated to be easily mobile. It is a sad truth that we could not stop to help them. After about five minutes, I smelled grass, only this time I knew what was coming. I held my breath and motioned to the others. And they all rushed to the door. It had already slid shut, and we were too disorganized, even en force to get it open. The bone-headed man who had freed me, now I know his name is Neroon, pushed through the crowd. He did not appear to be having as much difficulty with breath. His need for oxygen may have been less, or his lung capacity may have been greater. His strength certainly was. He wrenched a metal panel off of the wall with his bare hands! I could see the edges slicing gashes in his palms. He pulled out a bundle of wires and began testing them, shoving people back. Many of them had collapsed from the gas. I blacked out, and came to consciousness slung over the Neroon's shoulder. He balanced me on his shoulder and dragged one unconscious alien person, each by the hand, the blood from his hands smeared on their arms. In the corridor behind him, near the door, there were gray-headed alien bodies littering the door and walkway. Another tussle issued from the room we had just left. He dumped me to the floor and dropped the other two aliens. I was still half-conscious. He glanced at me, and slapped me harder than I have ever been hit. He did the same to the other two aliens who were groaning and waking up. As more of the strange grays approached, the three of us were getting to our feet, and Neroon who had been pulling me up, let out a battle cry that vibrated through every bone in my body like a flood of liquid nitrogen. As long as I live I will hear that cry in my nightmares. He systematically tore the grays ones apart, effortlessly. That was when I realized that they were the ones who captured us. A couple had guns and fired at us and the people we'd made it out of the room with. But, it looked like they were ill-equipped for any real combat, and apparently relied on gas and behavioral control devices to prevent uprisings. More grays came behind me. I have never been trained to fight. But I was tired and sick, and wanted to go home. I rushed at the grays and buried my fists into their faces as many times as I could. A strong arm snaked around my waist before I knew it and tossed me against the wall. Neroon indicated the dead captors behind him, and the ones I had been clawing.

He grabbed me and pulled me after him. The ship was in disarray, aliens of all kinds running everywhere. He paused for a moment and pulled me down another hall into a docking area. Escape pods. Some of the pods were gone but there were a few left. He shoved me into one of them, and began closing the door, but I grabbed his arm. He looked into my face impatiently. I tapped my chest and said "Fatima. Lassee." And then tapped him on the chest. Comprehension dawned, and he said in a deep voice, "Neroon me ahn shay Calear." The way he said it made me think that Neroon and Calear were names and the others were other words, maybe meaning 'from' somewhere. I didn't understand at the time why I did this, but before he could close the door, and probably to his great disgust, I grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him on the lips. He startled and almost snarled. Then his eyes softened and he ran his fingers down my hair, gave me a sad little smile and shut the door. I launched and a few hours later was picked up by a frigate. The alien science vessel did not follow the pods, maybe they were too damaged, maybe we were too inconsequential in the larger scheme. I thought I heard an explosion before Neroon closed the door. I hope he got out first. No one seemed to know what these gray aliens were. Nor did I know the name of any race with bony head crests. And all I have remembered for the past three months is the events leading up to our escape. When I learned that I was pregnant, I had to find out what else had been hidden. I hired a telepath to go into my mind and see if there were memories that were missing. There was a telepathic block, which she was able to remove with terrible effort. I have a nosebleed and I think maybe even brain damage, my whole left side feels numb, but I have my memories back. I never thought I would say this, but I wish I could see Neroon again. I could never be with him. He's not even Human, and it is very likely that we would not have been compatible even if he had been. But we are bound by this event, for better or worse, and also by a child. And his face is burned into my mind now, every black eyelash, every contour of bone, every sinew. I am certain that the child is his. She is a female. I hope that if I write this down well, she can find him someday, and that he'll acknowledge her. If I record his face, she might recognize him, if they ever meet. I know that she was created as much by alien science as by us, and I know that there are some in my culture, and probably in his, that may believe that such children can have no soul, but Neroon was a good man, and I believe that her soul must be a good one. She is a part of both of us. I hope that she will survive the pregnancy.

There were more entries describing the process of her pregnancy, the strange life signs, the clinical data that she could discern as a lay-person. And then a final entry.

8/8/32‹This isn't going well. There are still two months to go and I've been sick now for three. The doctor thinks it could be an enzyme that she is producing which my immune system is reacting to. I wish my family was here, I'm tired of feeling sick. It is hard to get around. The doctor doesn't seem too concerned about my baby as much as he is about my health. I wonder if he thinks of her as a real baby because she is a hybrid. I think doctors like known quantities. I'm worried. If I am this ill, how can my baby be ok?

Havah knew the rest of the story. Her mother had died of that toxic reaction, at seven months, which was when she was delivered. She had been mature enough to survive outside the womb, maybe due to a shortened alien gestation period, But she had been severely jaundiced and a couple of organ systems had been on the brink of failure, due to Rh disease. Her blood type and her mother's had not been compatible. She was kept in the hospital for two months, and then had been adopted by Dr. Lawrence and Rebecca Goldman, close friends of Fatima Lassee, and asked to be her godparents by Fatima, since most of her family, predominantly male, had been killed in the Dilgar War. She also had known that the Goldmans did not think they could have children. So it seemed right that she had gone to them. And then they had conceived another girl, when Havah was six, her sister Tovah. She had been raised with the name Havah Goldman, but when she reached adolescence, she had expressed a desire to retain her mother's name. When she joined the service, she changed it legally. It was not that she didn't love her parents, or appreciate being a part of their family too, she just wanted something of where she came from. Now she had it. They had told her about her mother, but it was different to read what had happened to them from her mother's hand.

She unrolled the sketches again, gazing at them, stroking the heavily drawn lines of his eyes as though they would begin to blink at her, wondering half-heartedly if the graphite strokes would shift and shimmer and the image of her father would move, take on flesh, and rise from the page, to tell her whatever he knew. Who was he? Was he a person anymore, or ashes drifting around the Minbari sun? What now? She harbored a dozen chilling thoughts, none of them resolvable. She didn't know what he did for a living, if he had fought in the War, like her. She could very well have fought her own family, killed her own cousin, uncle, father. He could have been the one responsible for blowing away everyone she knew. She had no idea how he came to be in the custody of the grays, he was likely to have been traveling. The Religious Caste didn't seem to travel much, so it was likely that he had been either Worker, maybe a merchant, or a Warrior, equally likely, judging by his clothing, and skill at escape and defense. When she had been a child, she had daydreamed about what her real father would be like. Like most girls she knew, she dreamed about being unknown royalty, like the lost Anastasia from the 19th century Russian Court, or Princess Leia from the old Star Wars vids. Now she just wanted to know if he would talk to her. Funny how your perspective changes when you get older. She didn't suppose he would, especially if he turned out to be Warrior Caste, in fact who knows, he would probably commit ritual suicide in the dramatic style of the old Kirasawa samurai, if that was the case. They were still enraged at Humans. It was also unlikely he even remembered what had really passed between himself and a Human, aside from an escape, not without the help of a telepath. And without some clue that his physiology had been tinkered with, he had no reason to employ one. He probably hadn't even known what a Human was at the time, and there was no reason for him to make the connection between a strange alien woman he had encountered thirty years ago, and the race who were held responsible for killing a great Minbari leader. She gathered up the papers laying before her and tossed them in a drawer, fervently wishing that she could imbibe alcohol. There was a part of her that was excited at the prospect of knowing more about her father, and renewed interest. She had some investigation to do.

She went to the Zocalo and ordered a hot chocolate, poured several packets of sugar into it and sat morosely. At least the perpetrators of the recent attacks had been caught, she had heard on the way to the bar. They had been escorted off the station as soon as someone could pick them up. The mood around her seemed lighterŠmostly. The Narn ambassador and a Brakiri man approached the bar adjacent to her and called for the bartender's attention. Beautiful, she thought, swiveling her stool away from the two, breathing in the chocolate steam. They ordered drinks she couldn't pronounce and began talking with one another, oblivious or uncaring of any company around them.

"These Humans, T'aakla! The entire time, Sinclair claimed that the problem was being solved, yet refused to share any of the information about the perpetrators with any of us. He said only that 'They are being dealt with.' I tell you that they will not be brought to justice. They are Human and he will coddle them, excuse their actions and see that they are let go to commit more atrocities against the other races. I knew that this station was partial to Humans, run as it is by their government and their military!"

"I have noticed this. They did not seem to be overly concerned with the attacks, as much as with our knowledge of them."

G'Kar gestured grandly, "They are a strange race, we dealt with them a bit during the Earth-Minbari War. I understand that they were warned to stay away from the Minbari, and not only did they not listen, but they went out of their way to anger them. Like children, if one tells them not to do something, they immediately rush to do the opposite as they have been told, an immature, foolish race. Their women are strangely appealing, but considering the unattractiveness of their males, it is amazing that they manage to reproduce and stay alive!"

Havah had enough. It had been far too long a day, and she wanted to relieve herself by choking the spots off of his big bombastic head. She whirled her stool around, slamming the mug on the counter, sloshing hot chocolate, and glared at the back of his corrugated skull. "Ambassador G'Kar! Since you obviously don't care whether you are in earshot of any Humans, you are getting my opinion whether you want it or not, since I had to sit here on my precious leisure time and put up with yours! You bitch and bellyache about Sinclair not being concerned about the other races, but in fact, he and Garibaldi and the ENTIRE SECURITY TEAM have been doing nothing but busting their asses since this started, not even eating or sleeping, just to make sure that your royal diplomatic butts are safe! You talk about respect, but when you lump all Humans in with the lunatic fringe, only the most extreme segment of our population, you do us all great disrespect, especially the people who have been trying to help! You demand respect from others but you should remember that you get as good as you give! And YOU, you are an ambassador! You ARE supposed to represent your people, the best qualities of your people in fact! Is this how you wish us to view the Narn? Are arrogance, and lack of graciousness the best qualities the Narn people have to offer? Ambassador?Š"

He had started yelling indignantly, but she had simply yelled over him. Now he just spluttered as she paused strategically for an answer. He straightened his spine to an even greater height, so that he now towered over her, at least 6' 3". His red eyes glittered. "The Narn people had enough grace and courage to overthrow the occupation that almost destroyed my world. If I am arrogant, it is well earned. Do not think to lecture me, young woman no older than a pouchling! You survived the Minbari, but I was fighting Centauri garrisons when you still sat at your mother's breast!"

Havah looked him up and down. "I'm sorry Ambassador, I wasn't questioning your prowess, but I found your comments offensive as a Human. And by the way, you don't need to find Human males attractive, we do. It's the behavior of males, in general, that we usually have problems with, Good Day." She didn't know what effect this would have on him, and didn't care. Bracing herself for a tirade, she turned to leave, but an explosion of hearty laughter enveloped her. "Well said, miss, but forgive me for saying, that is only because you have not found a worthy male!"

I didn't mean to open up THAT can of worms, she thought, rolling her eyes out of his sight. She turned, gave him a feeble smile and left. She didn't feel like being back in her quarters, so she retrieved a book and her now-cold food and went to a less frenetic area of the food court. She flipped aimlessly through a few pages, reading the same sentences over and over. She looked up in the middle of flipping and Ambassador Delenn was standing a few feet away from the table, like a silent mountain cat. Havah had noted that, as close as the Narns liked to stand to others, the Minbari preferred a greater distance. It was amusing to watch the Narns, Centauri , and Minbari interact. The Narns and the Centauri would be attracted to each other like magnets, yelling in each other's faces. When either the Narn or Centauri tried to interact with the Minbari, again it was like the game she played when she was a kid, taking magnets on their repellant sides and making one magnet chase the other one. She would watch the Narn or Centauri close the distance, violating the body space boundary of the Minbari. Politely, the Minbari would step back to where they were comfortable with the interchange. The Narn or Centauri would then feel uncomfortable with the distance and again close it, unaware that they had just made their audience distinctly uncomfortable. And the Minbari, desiring to be subtle and inoffensive would again take a step back. So, like repellant magnets, they would dance around the room. She wondered how long Ambassador Delenn had been standing there, watching her. "Can I help you, Ambassador?"

Delenn moved towards the table a couple of steps, the dainty periwinkle embroidery shimmering.

"May we speak? I do not wish to interrupt your meal."

"No, I was just finishing up, Ambassador, pleaseŠhave a seat." She pulled a chair out with her foot and sat up straight.

The Minbari sat down primly, her hands in her lap, back rigid. She appeared to think for a moment, considering her next words. "I wished to speak with you after the conversation you had with Shaal Mayar. She thought very highly of you, and while it began as a private conversation,Š"

Perfect passive aggressive little dig, very skillful, Havah thought,

"Neither of us wished to be offensive towards Humans. You must understand though, that this was most upsetting for us. She is greatly honored on our world, and the Minbari people are not accustomed to a great deal of contact with other races. We chose for many years to remain secluded in order to see to other matters. So this reaction to her, and to some other races has beenŠdisconcerting. I understand however that the Commander saw to the matter, and he did what he could. You are close to him, yes?"

"Not really. I mean I know him, I've had conversations with him, and occasionally we work together, but I'm not more than a work associate, an acquaintance. He seems very nice, but he doesn't have much time for socializing. Were you referring to our work relationship? We are on the emergency management task force together."

"Emergency management task force?"

"Yeah, there is a system in place called the incident management system. It is based on a military model, and is used by civilian public service agencies when dealing with each other or with military organizations, in the event of a wide-scale emergency. On Earth, a national or international emergency deals with multiple agencies across both civilian and military jurisdictions, and this system assures that all of the agencies and military are on the same page, that they can communicate and mobilize effectively when needed. The field is called emergency management, and the task force is the local group responsible for making sure the system is in place with all of the local agencies and military. So the task force is composed of representative members of those agencies and military involved."

"Ah, yes. It is much the same on my world. The language of engineersŠlogisticsŠpeople who make resources, is always different from the people who use the resources and from the language of government. Each field has its ownŠlingo, even though they are all speaking Minbari. The engineers are required to have an understanding of the military structure and military operations so that they can carry out the instructions and see to the needs of our military in matters of planetary security."

Havah nodded. "Are you in a hurry, Ambassador? It's been a really long day, so I think I'd like to get a hot fudge sundae. Would you like something?"

"NoŠthank you. What is a hot fudge sundae?"

"It's a dessert. Ice cream with hot fudge all over the top. I have no idea if there is anything comparable on Minbar. It is very sweet."

"I see, do you order it from one of the restaurants?" She smiled, perhaps one of the first genuine smiles Havah had seen this woman crack.

"Yeah, that shop over there is an ice cream shop, they have their menu up on the wall behind the counter, and so you just tell them what you want and they make it up. Those refrigerators in front there hold the ice cream in big buckets. And then, you can't see it with the lines in front, but behind the counter they have vats of hot fudge, hot caramel, strawberry, blueberry, boysenberry, marshmallow sauce, and other toppings, like M&Ms, crushed candy bars and cookies, frozen fruit." She suspected that her answer had just spawned twenty-million more questions. Delenn looked at the shop and smiled almost demurely back at her.

"You wish to order a dessert, I would like to see this place, may I join you?"

"Of course! I didn't mean that I would cut our conversation short, but if you don't mind waiting in line with me, I'll be happy to explain everything you see."

Delenn nodded and followed her, watching people go by with cones and cups of ice cream. As they got to a point in the line where she could see what the ambassador was pointing at, she explained the different delectations squeezed, ladled, or sprinkled from various spouts or frosted tins. Havah ordered the fattest hot fudge sundae they had, at 'Here's the Scoop,' the only ice cream shop in the food court. They probably made a killing, because the queues were always yards long with both Humans and aliens. In fact, it seemed like more aliens were packed into lines waiting for ice cream every day. She knew, because she went there at least two times a week since she had been on the station, so reliably in fact, that the one day she had forgotten her credit chit, the guys behind the counter had told her they'd just ring it up next time she was there, tomorrow or the next day. She asked for two spoons and found another table. She gave the Ambassador, still insisting that she didn't need to intrude on Havah's meal, a spoon.

"No one eats ice cream because they NEED it, there is no daily ice cream requirement. We eat it because it's comfort food and it tastes really great! You don't have to try it, but it is safe for all known alien species, and I know you are curious."

"Are you certain? This is yours. I‹"

"It's totally fine! I figured that you might want to try some."

"Well, IŠperhaps, just a taste. Thank you." She scraped a tiny dollop of fudge and ice cream from the side of the huge mound. Her face changed instantly as soon as it entered her mouth, her eyes widening. Havah grinned.

"Good isn't it!"

"ItŠis delicious! We have various types of sweetŠI guess you would call them puddings, they are often made from the eggs of the cheela, and the milk of the gorokna. The cheela are like your birds, and the gorokna areŠruminants, like your cows. But they do not have such a strong taste!"

"Please help yourself, Ambassador!" Havah nodded encouragingly, and dipped her spoon into the fudge. In the most stately manner Havah had ever seen anyone eat ice cream, the ambassador helped herself to another spoonful, and then a few more. The world became a little fuzzier and warmer after a few moments, and she guessed by the pleasantly relaxed look on the Ambassador's face that Delenn was sharing the experience. What Havah had conveniently failed to mention, was that fudge was chocolate. Her own reaction to chocolate had never made any sense to her even after talking to Trell about the effects, because she had never known her genetics. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. The two women sprouted wide grins and finished off the sundae, Delenn delicately placing the spoon in the plastic cup.

"So, Miss Lassee, what about today has been so long?"

Havah could think of a dozen things, but steered away from the thing that most impacted her that day, the journal. "Eh, Oh. Well, just work. There is a syphilis outbreak that I've been helping to investigate. That's a sexually transmitted disease among Humans, and some species of alien." Havah paused, waiting for an embarrassed reaction. None came, Delenn merely tilted her head and peered at her with interest. "And I've had to spend the past few days actually, interviewing people, trying to get contacts, who they've had sex withŠ" Havah had gotten so accustomed to talking about this, that she often shocked people outside of medical staff with her frank treatment of it. "I had to interview a few guys who have infected their spouses and now they have to tell their wives or girlfriends. I hate those interviews, I feel like such a home-wrecker."

"Why? Why would they do such a thing when they are joined?"

"I don't know, lots of reasons. They're mostly people in Down Below. They're not trying to mess up the relationships. Maybe they're trying to screw away some sense of impotence or powerlessness in the rest of their lives. I don't really know. It's not my thing. I wish we could get more to the bottom of that too. All we do is address the disease, not how and why they're susceptible to getting it." She stared morosely into the empty sundae cup. "And then, I had a not-so-positive conversation with Ambassador G'Kar in the Zocalo. It was mostly my fault, I butted into the conversation, but the stuff he was saying really pissed me off!"

"What isŠpissed off? What did he say?"

"To piss someone off just means you make them angry. He was talking about how the Commander isn't concerned about the aliens on the station, only about the Humans, and then he made a crass comment about Human males. But what pissed me off is that Commander Sinclair has been busting his butt to accommodate everyone and catch the people responsible, and after everything I've been hearing for the past few days from people in Down Below, it really tweaked my knickers that he can complain, in a position of comparative opulence about something that is unlikely to ever effect him, and hasn't affected his people, while we can't even adequately take care of our own people. We haven't resolved our own social inequities and he's assuming that we all have the luxury of plotting the demise of others."

Delenn tilted her head quizzically again at Havah's run-away euphemisms, but understood enough. "I do not know aboutŠtweaking knickers, but I do know that G'Kar is fond of complaining and making a great deal of noise when the opportunity arises. I understand your frustration at his insistence, and perhaps I have been guilty of this as well. I think that these recent events have made all of us lose perspective, and perhaps that is something that we can work on." Delenn's tone was conciliatory as she leaned towards Havah and nodded with a smile.

"No, sorry to soap-box and chat your ear off, I just got very frustrated. Sometimes it seems like nothing I do, or any of us do, is going to make a difference to anyone."

Delenn's face had grown intense, as did her voice.

"Never say this, Havah Lassee. It is not true that one voice or one gesture cannot matter. One pebble can make ripples that are felt by every living being, as great waves at every corner of a pond, or every corner of a world. Size and number do not matter, only the moment of time the stone falls into the water. Your voice matters. Do you understand?" Her eyes gleamed, her voice earnest.

"Sort of." Havah was uncomfortable with the sudden gravity of the conversation. She suddenly had the feeling that Delenn was speaking of more than her generalized attitude problem, as if Delenn were trying to have a conversation with her without telling Havah what it was about. "So, tell me about your homeworld. You must miss it. Do you get to visit often?"

A melancholy ghost passed through Delenn's face, and then faded before Havah had a chance to see it clearly. "Very much. Minbar is a beautiful planet. It is striped with veins of quartz and tourmaline crystal. So our engineers have built our cities into these veins, using the rock as building material. There are nights when the moonlight catches the spires and the towers glimmer, every roof and gutter sparkles as though the city were alive and fluid. And during the day, when the sun is at it's zenith, the monoliths look like liquid fire, casting rainbows about the gardens and streets."

"It sounds breathtaking. How did the engineers keep the crystal from lighting things on fire? I mean, with the focused light of the sun, couldn't it act like a magnifying glass? How did they get around that?"

"I do not know. Perhaps it is the sun. I have heard that much of your world is a great deal warmer than ours. Our sun is a much older one. There are a couple of regions on Minbar where the climate approaches what you call tropical, but there is no crystal there, and the cities are built of wood and stone. I am from the city of Yedor. It is the capital, in the northern temperate region. I remember my father taking me through all the streets, stopping at different shops on the way home from Temple, and then we would buy food and go to eat it in the garden near my house, by the waterfall." She mused through a chocolate haze. "And you? Do you miss Earth very much?"

"Sometimes. Although our cities don't sound as pretty, there are things I miss. I miss the mountains of Colorado. I moved there for a bit after school, to work. We call most of the mountains 'fourteeners' because they're over fourteen thousand feet high. Even from Denver, the main city, you can see the snow on the peaks, in the middle of summer. I miss Connecticut and the northeast coast. It rains almost every day there. Boy, do I miss rain. I miss the smell of it, the taste of it, the feel of it running through my hair and down my shirt. I miss stomping in all the puddles. And the seafood is to die for, Maine lobster, real clam chowder, thick as pudding, with big fat clams. The people there don't say much really, at least not out loud. They're kind of stoic. I guess what I really miss most are the people. You could take a place that looked exactly like New England or Colorado or New York, and plop me in the middle of it, but unless the people were there, the New Yorkers, the New Englanders, it wouldn't even come close. Even if the land were made to look like the original, but populated with Narns or Centauri or even Humans from somewhere else, it wouldn't be the same. I would feel the difference in my bones. That would hurt even more. I guess that's why we cling to people from the same place as us. My mom used to call them 'landsmen'. We're trying to carry the place with us in the people we know. It's weird because I don't think I ever stayed in the same place for more than six years. But I still I got more attached to people than places. My dad was in Earth Force for a while, and he kept getting transferred."

"Was?"

"Yeah, he was contracting with Earth Force as a doctor, so when he finished his contract, he decided to leave Earth Force and pursue research. He's a scientist. What about your father what does he do?"

"He passed beyond the veil ten years ago, after the start of the War. He was a scholar of the Religious Caste. He maintained and interpreted religious scrolls for those who had need of them but who had questions as to the meaning. I suppose you would have called him a consultant."

Havah had never heard the term 'passing beyond the veil'. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize."

Delenn waved her hand reassuringly. "It is alright. He was a wise and good man, and he will remain so in the next incarnation. If we are meant to, we will see one another again."

The anthropologist in Havah got the better of her. "So, the Minbari believe in re-incarnation?"

"Yes, it is difficult to explain. We believe that all beings are made of light, the fabric of the Universe. But as we become more organized, more complex beings, we become more complicated and forget our beginnings and the stuff from which we are made. We become ordered with boundaries and categories, and as such, all races possess a collective soul. This soul is created from joined experiences. And it forever seeks to re-capture the awareness that brought it into being, the simple molecules of light united as something greater than its millions of parts. And so as these parts, we yearn and seek as we cycle through life after life, to add ourselves and our new experiences to our collective soul. So that in one life one may be a warrior, in the next a priest, in the next a statue-carver, in each life gaining a view of the Universe that our soul did not have before. In each life, a connection is made, and the web of the soul grows. It is energy, thought, emotion. It is. We are." She paused, peering at Havah. "That is why what happened between our two peoples was such a tragedy. Our collective souls may be different, but the points of light that created them are not. We had no right to destroy this, and in doing so, we were diminished." She finished, her eyes mournful.

Havah had not expected this, and could only stare back for a moment. This woman had a depth that she had not wanted to admit her enemy could ever feel. Even knowing Trell, and knowing now what her father was, she had still wanted them to be cardboard cut-outs. It was easier to keep them at a distance that way. And in one night, in one turn of breath, this woman had gained flesh and a reality that she could no longer deny. And now, the full significance of the War landed on her with the weight of ten-thousand stone. She had killed her own people, unknowingly, and in self-defense, but they were still dead, and she was not. She felt marked, heavier with the weight of the unreturned. She sighed slowly, surrendering. "That sounds very much like Aristotle, and Jung mixed-together. Aristotle was a Greek philosopher, who believed in what he called Logos, a World Soul. He lived a few thousand years ago. Jung was a psychologist. The literal meaning of psychologist is psyche or soul, logist or studier, someone who studies the soul. He believed in what he called a collective unconscious. What he meant by this was that we, as a species, have a collective memory that feeds and informs the patterns of our thoughts and actions, discernable to us as myth, as archetypes. These forms or archetypes take on meaning for us across, and outside time and collective experience, and yet issue from both. And the concept of light you mentioned is also present in my culture. It reminds me of our Kabalah. The Kabalah is the body of Jewish mysticism, a delving deeper into our Torah, our religious scroll, than the mere surface meaning of the words. It is an examination of the very structure of the words, and the letters themselves as the foundation of the words and sentences, and the spaces in between. Every letter in the Hebrew or Aramaic language has a numeric value, and these numeric values have meanings that are hidden. Some people believe that they can reveal the very essence of the Universe. For example, my people are not supposed to eat pork, it comes from a type of animal that we say is not kosher. That means that it lacks a certain ritual purity. Well, many anthropologists thought that this animal was declared unkosher because the Hebrews spent so long in the desert, and pigs are not practical to raise safely in a desert. While this is true, the underlying reason, far more important to those who keep kosher, who maintain this ritual purity, is that all things, like the molecules or atoms that make up the spectrum of light, have a particular vibration, a spiritual and physical vibration. To the Jews who delve into the Kabalah, everything that they eat becomes a part of them, because it forms their substance. There's an old adage 'You are what you eat,' except they mix the spiritual and the physical concepts. So if that substance has a higher spiritual vibration, it can uplift you in your consumption of it, and both you and it become spiritually higher, closer to that light that you mentioned, closer to the source of that world soul. Conversely, if you eat something that has a lower spiritual vibration, then, you too are lowered, and slip farther from the source of light. We also have a concept of re-incarnation. Orthodox Jews believe that when you die you are given a choice, gehenna or gilgul. Gehenna is merely a garbage pit that existed near Hebron, where refuse was tossed and burned up in order to make mulch to return the nutrients of the organic matter to the soil. We can choose to have our soul tossed into this pit, theoretically speaking, and endure a few moments of intense spiritual purification, purification by fire so to speak, and then rejoin the source of light afterwards." Something kindled in Delenn's face. "Or we can choose gilgul, which is the transmigration of souls from life to life, trying to rectify past mistakes each time around. Purification by trial and error. The one takes minutes, the other could take thousands of years. So in each life, we focus on what we call 'olum habah', 'the world to come,' meaning the goal of joining with the light of the Universe."

"Interesting. This care taken with what we put into our bodies and how we do so is present in Minbari culture as well. There are many rituals associated with both the preparation of the food, and the consumption of it, and they must be followed correctly if one is to derive full benefit from the meal. And your rejoining of the collective soul, what would you choose? Fire or the long trial?"

"I think I would choose the long trial. I'm not crazy about the idea of purification by fire. And I know that I should yearn to re-join this world soul, but I don't. I'm not ready. It seems like one big aggravating, terrifiying, irresistable roller-coaster ride, and if I get a chance to go on it over and over, right now that doesn't seem like such a burden." She smirked sardonically.

Delenn smiled. "That does not seem like a poor choice. Perhaps there is something that you are still meant to do, something that you have not finished yet." Her face grew guarded.

"Maybe. Either way it will be a long path."

"Why?"

Havah hesitated, she hadn't been prepared to answer that, and hadn't thought before the comment was out. She wasn't at all prepared to let anyone get this close, let alone this inscrutable Minbari, but it was too late. "WellŠI've killed people. I did it for a good reason, but they're still gone. I feelŠmarked." Havah wanted to change the subject, and her face must have shown her distress because Delenn put her hand on Havah's, just about the last thing Havah wanted.

"Havah, I believe, and my people, even the Warrior Caste knows, that you did what was necessary to protect your people, just as they would have. Not only is there no shame in this, but great sacrifice, and since you did it because of us, we are also marked in the same way. Whatever that means, you are not alone. And whatever your religion says about the state of your soul, do not lose faith in it yet. My father once said that, sometimes the working of the soul, and the way individuals interpret the religion, are two different things." She gave Havah an encouraging smile.

Havah regarded her carefully and couldn't help but return the smile. "Thank you Ambassador Delenn. I really enjoyed talking with youŠIt has been enlightening. I need to go now, but maybe we can talk again sometime."

"Thank you. It was nice to finally talk without the events of the station in the way." Delenn rose, bowed her head and left. Havah dumped out the sundae cup and grabbed her book and headed for a long night's sleep.

 

-- continued in chapter five --