Segue
by V. Wildeber, 30 March 2000

Sequel to "Jihad," "Ingata," and "Dawnracer."

Setting: 2261, from before "Lines of Communication" through "Rumours, Bargains, and Lies" and "Moments of Transition"

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

Prologue. On Minbar

It was a misunderstanding of the grossest proportions.

When the warning indicator light came on for the third time, the pilot had no choice but to take the warrior caste transport down in an emergency landing. Not even Valen himself could have coaxed anything more from the little vessel. Oh, but it was a glorious entrance -- the young pilot brought her down in a religious caste communal garden, flaming a dozen fruit trees and gashing an uneven rut through three ripening fields.

The team leader, a junior WindSword, was angry and embarrassed at being grounded, especially since his crew was composed of trainees. He left the pilot with the downed vessel and took the other six members of his team to the nearest compound for food and lodging until their transport could be repaired and they could return to their base. Even now, with the growing intercaste tension, such hospitality should be expected. The religious caste gatekeeper to the compound didn't see things that way, however.

Outraged at the damage to their gardens, the priests refused hospitality to the youthful warriors, pointing out an inn down the road instead. The WindSword stood his ground, adamantly refusing to let his transport out of his sight, and vowing he would not move. By now, what had started as an inconvenient and embarrassing mechanical problem had blossomed into a full-fledged pride issue. Neither the priests nor the warriors would back down and be gracious -- they had backed each other into corners, and had trapped themselves there.

Two of the trainees somehow got separated from their team and were immediately surrounded by religious caste acolytes. Emboldened by their superior numbers, the young acolytes disarmed them and began to push them around. When no religious caste elder stopped them, the acolytes grew even cockier, and started to jeer at the rest of the young warriors.

Enraged at this humiliation, and frustrated by his feeling of helplessness, the team leader lashed out viciously. Desperate to regain some control of the situation, he called back to the transport and ordered the pilot to fire on an ancient building standing alone on a hilltop.

Silence fell over the compound as flames rose from the debris. Then, as one, the religious castemembers charged the warriors, screaming at the top of their lungs. The young warriors were completely unprepared for this reaction. Instinctively, they extended their denn'boks and charged into the mob.

Even not fully trained, the warrior youths were more than a match for the unarmed acolytes and priests, dropping them left and right with well-aimed pike blows. The two hapless warriors who had been disarmed, however, had to resort to using only their fists.

An acolyte managed to extend one of the ill-gotten weapons. He began swinging it wildly, clearing a broad swathe around him. Encouraged by his friend's success, another acolyte tried to open the second stolen pike. Ignorant of the danger he was putting himself in, he twisted, then shook the compacted weapon. The warrior closest to him dove at him, trying to wrest the denn'bok from his grasp before it extended. The force of the impact opened the denn'bok. With a metallic click, the fighting pike extended, impaling both of the youths with its force.

Horrified, the two sides separated, staring in mute anguish at the two dead Minbari. The silence was broken by the WindSword team leader's radio. The voice of the pilot rang out proudly -- he had flagged down a crew of workmen; and they had begun repairs on the downed transport. The workers thought they'd be finished within the hour.

The tragedy of the event had not concluded, however. A runner sent up to the hilltop confirmed the priests' worst fears -- the building had not been empty. The old priest who lived in solitude up on the hill was dead.

That evening, the young WindSword team leader brought his crew back to their base, wrote a short note accepting responsibility for all three deaths, and put a plasma gun to his head. For a thousand years, no Minbari had killed another. Yet on this day, as a result of bad judgment and indiscipline, four Minbari lay dead; and a civil war erupted.

PART 1 - Segue

The crew of the Minbari warcruiser Ingata was on edge. The tension between the three Minbari castes was at the breaking point, made worse by the fact that Starkiller Sheridan's self-styled Army of Light had defeated the Shadows without the help of the Minbari warrior caste. While the warrior caste watched from afar, it was Minbari religious and worker castemembers who had died fighting this last war -- a point that the religious caste made clear at every opportunity.

Nothing was coming through on official channels, of course. The Minbari government had always maintained a tight control over information. But reports, stories, and rumors kept surfacing of a frighteningly consistent nature. A predominantly religious caste town had just been evacuated for military use, and the inhabitants were "encouraged" to find residence elsewhere... Warriors had been denied access to a local temple, even though they were participating in a required ritual... Through it all, Shakiri, Shai Alyt of the warrior caste, found ways to keep each wound fresh, each ember smouldering.

"Shai Alyt Neroon! We've just intercepted some transmissions from Minbar. There was an altercation between warriors and religious castemembers down on the planet." The intelligence officer paused for a moment, and his voice hardened. "Four Minbari were killed. There was no off-worlder involvement."

The bridge fell silent at the impact of the unstated words. A millenium of peace was broken. Minbari were dead by Minbari hands; and civil war was certain.

"Show me." Neroon crossed over to the map, his frown deepening as he recognized the region. Beside him, he heard his aide sharply intake her breath. The FireWing was half religious caste, and was intimately familiar with the terrain at hand -- it was her father's homeland. Neroon shot her a quick glance, then turned back to the intelligence officer. "Do you have details yet?"

"It's sketchy right now. From what we've been able to gather, the warriors crash-landed a transport somewhere in this vicinity." The intel officer indicated a broad swathe of gently-rolling hills on the map. "They approached a religious caste compound on the outskirts of one of the towns nearby. That's where the altercation seems to have occurred. We were able to intercept some imagery, but it's difficult to make out anything specific."

He slipped a data crystal into the port on the console, and a grainy image appeared of a transport in an orchard, surrounded by a small crowd. The next image was starker -- the indistinct silhouette of a small building, or what was left of it, its roof open to the sky, and two walls completely leveled. Flames rose from the remaining walls, frozen in time in the still frame.

"That's all we have at the moment, Shai Alyt."

Neroon dismissed him and turned to his aide. "Did you recognize anything?"

The slender half-caste shook her head. "No. It could have been any one of several compounds in the region." She reached out to run her finger gently over the map. "And war or no war, someone would contact me if... anything had happened."

The rest of the day was spent preparing Ingata for the war Neroon feared was imminent. Shukran disappeared into the bowels of the warcruiser, inspecting gunnery crews and weapons arrays.

Later, Shai Alyt Neroon and his second-in-command, Alyt Durell, sat at the table in Neroon's quarters and reviewed the new intelligence reports with growing anger. Nothing was official, of course, but indications were clear -- Valen's peace was over.

The chime of the communications console interrupted them. "Shai Alyt Neroon -- incoming message on closed channel."

Neroon crossed over to the console as the craggy face of Beronn, Shai Alyt of the Terinni, filled the screen. "Beronn. It's good to see an old friend again."

The FireWing nodded solemnly. "I wish the circumstances were better, Neroon -- I'm bearing bad news." He dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. "Watch your back. Shakiri is forming a battlestaff -- and he wants you as his Alyt." His lip curled in distaste as he continued. "It's a great honor for Shakiri, to be sure, to have a former Satai at his side."

Neroon stiffened. Shakiri had once counseled him to keep his friends close, but his enemies closer. The thought ran cold through his mind: * Which one am I? *

"He's sending one of his own men to deliver your assignment orders and take command of the Ingata."

"Take Ingata?" Neroon whirled around and slammed his fist into the wall. With effort, he regained his composure. "Thank you for the warning, Beronn." Turning toward Durell, he beckoned. The younger man stepped forward into visual range of the console screen.

"Beronn, be my witness. I name my clan-brother Durell to replace me as Shai Alyt of the Ingata."

Beronn nodded. "I will be your witness." The lanky FireWing looked toward Durell, adding, "You have my support."

Neroon squeezed Durell's broad shoulder. "And so it is done." He smiled grimly and inclined his head to the screen. "You risked much in doing this. I will not forget your friendship, Beronn."

His friend nodded in return, and cut the transmission.

The tall StarRider turned to his Alyt. "We have very little time to prepare. Get me the location of Shakiri's warcruiser and go to silent running -- no transmissions in or out, and no checkpoints."

Durell saluted and took Neroon's place at the console, his fingers moving smoothly over the controls. After a moment, he turned. "The Ingata is running silent. Shakiri's flagship is in sector 112, last seen vicinity 112 by 8 by 47."

Neroon nodded. "That gives us about 6 hours. I've got to get off the ship and underway before his man arrives. As soon as I am off Ingata, link up with the Terinni and formally announce your command. None of the StarRiders will question it; and Beronn will ensure that the FireWings all support you. His warcruiser is manned with enough MoonShields to garner some support from that clan, as well. Even Shakiri won't be able to supplant you with two and a half clans behind you."

"I'll contact Shukran, so she can begin prepping the transport."

"No." Neroon's voice cut sharply, bringing him up short. "Not yet." He walked over to the counter and slowly, deliberately, poured two cups of tea. He took one, and handed the other to Durell. Calmly swirling the leaves in the bottom of the cup, he intoned, "Shukran will not be going with me."

Durell set his cup down hard, heedless of the hot liquid splashing across the table. "Neroon -- you can't go alone to Shakiri's warcruiser! You heard what Beronn said -- you'll need another set of eyes and ears -- someone to watch your back."

Placidly, the Shai Alyt looked at his clan-brother and drawled, "If you're going to be in a war, don't you think you'll need your senior gunner?"

"We'll be fighting the religious caste -- the batteries will do just fine with the junior gunners."

Neroon drained his tea and set down his cup with a sharp click. "No StarRider will shed Minbari blood, Durell. And the Ingata will not commit fratricide." He paused to let the words sink in, then continued in a low voice. "You're going to need more accurate targeting in this war than in any other battle you will ever fight -- because you cannot afford collateral damage." Fiercely, he stared down the younger man. "Shukran stays. That's final."

Durell saluted crisply, fist to palm, then looked back up in stubborn determination. "You'll need a bodyguard, then."

"No -- a bodyguard is reassignable. I'm sure Shakiri would find a way a to give me a replacement of his own choosing. Only an aide is personal -- and there is no time to train up a new one. It would be immediately obvious." Neroon walked over to the porthole and stared in silence for a moment at the inky night beyond.

Outside the ship a star burst, leaving a flickering trail, then disappearing into blackness. His voice softened slightly. "No, it would not work." He turned back toward Durell, who stood frowning, deep in thought, absently massaging an old wrist injury. "You should get that looked at, Durell. It's never really healed properly..."

Durell jerked his head up, eyes flashing. Neroon's eyes locked with his clan-brother's as the two men came to the same conclusion. A thin smile spread across the Shai Alyt's face.

"Our Senior Medical Officer has been complaining of boredom ever since he got an assistant... He would enjoy a little espionage, I believe." The smile grew dangerous. "And who would deny the Chief of Staff his personal physician?"

He strode to the communications console and toggled a switch. "Marak, report to me here. There is much work to be done."

The door chime to the Shai Alyt's quarters sounded, and Shukran stepped inside, grimy from running the batteries through gunnery drills. She had shared quarters with Neroon for the entire three years she had served as his aide, but still rang before entering. The young woman looked surprised to see Alyt Durell and the Senior Medical Officer inside, but simply inclined her head to them. She set a data crystal down on the table, then continued on to her alcove to get cleaned up.

"Gunnery reports." Durell set the crystal into the dataport, then gave a low whistle. "Look at these times!"

Marak bent over the console to read the results, then stood, frowning and shaking his head. "They can't keep up that rate for long -- they'll burn out."

Alyt Durell smiled. "No, she won't burn them out. She's just making a point -- to both castes involved in this war." He gestured to the console. "Neroon?"

The tall StarRider glanced down at the display, reviewing the crew drills. A faint smile appeared briefly on his face. He called up another report, then a third. The smile broadened. "All reports are in from the batteries, the squadrons, and the ground troops. Shai Alyt Durell, it appears your crew is ready." He inclined his head in mock formality. "I will join you in the briefing room." They saluted and left.

Neroon took his rank cord from a drawer and went over to the porthole. Far off to starboard pulsed the Rusott Nebula, casting a garish gleam into the night. Staring back at his reflection in the porthole, Neroon fastened the cord under his hood and across his chest. Idly, he wondered why Shakiri had never been selected as Satai. A dry smile turned the very corner of his mouth.

* Perhaps the Grey Council had more wisdom than I gave them credit for. *

But his immediate concern was still in the next room.

Neroon had always liked Shukran. Perhaps it was the fact that she was half religious caste, but she had the rare ability to make him smile, to bring a fresh perspective on things, and to see beauty in the most desolate of circumstances.

Shukran had served on Ingata since the outbreak of the Holy War against the Earthers, the summer of her 18th year. Over the years, Neroon had watched her grow from a shy, gangly recruit to a poised and polished officer, one of the finest gunners around. And for the past three years, she had served beside him as his aide -- and friend.

It had taken him a while to recognize it, but she completed him. Slowly, dimly, he had begun to realize that his feelings toward her were no longer purely platonic -- and he suspected that her feelings toward him ran far deeper than she showed. But they were both professionals; and there was absolutely no room for fraternization onboard a warcruiser.

He heard the light step of his aide in the doorway. "Rank cords?" There was no hiding the tone of distaste in her voice.

Neroon nodded.

A few moments later, Shukran reappeared, wrestling with the awkward insignia. As a rule, no one wore rank cords onboard StarRider warcruisers -- the crew didn't need them to know who their officers were. The heavy ceremonial rank cords came out only for off-ship missions or special occasions.

He beckoned, and she came to stand before him, fidgeting as he straightened her cord.

"I saw the reports for the gun batteries. They were most impressive."

The young woman grinned impudently. "Yes, they were."

Outside the ship, the nebula rippled, casting eerie colors through the porthole, bathing the two in amber, then green. Neroon slowly flexed his hand, watching the swirl of color reflect off the curved blade of his glove-mounted knife.

"The incident has erupted into civil war, as we feared. The religious caste does not pray and the warriors do not protect. Our two castes have baited each other until they have provoked the worst." His face darkened. "Shai Alyt Shakiri started by allowing the religious caste to die in the elements, evicted from their homes. Now, using this incident as an excuse, he has actually begun to target them."

The muscles in Shukran's jaw clenched at his words.

Neroon flexed his hand again and the knife retracted. "I have been selected Chief of Staff of Shakiri's war council. I depart in two hours."

She looked up at him in dismay, then nodded and turned to go. "I'll prepare our things and go prep the transport."

"No." He caught her arm. "You aren't coming with me, Shukran. I need you to remain here on Ingata." Gently, awkwardly, he released her, afraid his touch would betray his thoughts. Instead, he gave her a light cuff to the headbone and forced a hearty tone: "I can't spare my best gunner."

Haggard faces surrounded the map-strewn briefing table as Neroon finished laying out his plans to his officers. He surveyed the grim group of men and women before him with solemn pride. These were among the finest warriors to ever sail in defense of Minbar, each trained by Branmer and Neroon himself. He would trust his life to any of them. Each of them would make a fine Alyt. His eyes rested for a moment on Jitenn, the Senior Bridge Officer. Good-natured and quick-witted, the young StarRider would be Durell's choice for second-in-command.

"Our world has gone mad, and we have spiraled in our madness into civil war. The Shai Alyt of our caste has ordered it, and it shall be done." He paused for a long count, holding the gaze of each officer in turn. He held Shukran's gaze a little longer than the rest.

"We are Warriors, chosen to be the Hand of Valen, to fight, and if necessary, to die. We fight because we value life." Gravely, he repeated the order he had given Durell. "No StarRider will shed Minbari blood. And the Ingata will not commit fratricide. We will fight, yes -- but we will choose the greater challenge -- to defeat our foes without shedding their blood."

"Alyt Durell." His broad-shouldered clan-brother rose to stand beside him.

"I regret that there is no time to do you justice in this ceremony." Neroon looked about the room. There were no troops present, no color guard, no pomp nor pageantry at all. The only concession to ceremony was the rank cord on each officer's chest: the rich hues demarking specialties, from the duotones of the pilots to the pale grey of the engineers to the triple-strand of deep blue that so perfectly matched his gunner's eyes.

His deep voice boomed. "I name as my successor Durell of the StarRiders."

With a swift motion, Neroon tore Durell's rank cord from his chest and cast it aside. Then, smoothly, reverently, the Shai Alyt removed his own rank cord, a heavy braid of crimson and green looped with the double gold cord of a warcruiser commander. He fastened it under the younger man's epaulettes and hood, then stood back and extended his right hand to him in ritual blessing. Durell covered Neroon's hand with his own and bowed his head. As one, Ingata's officers knelt in formal salute to their new Shai Alyt.

Durell stepped forward, dark eyes burning as he faced his officers. "Will you follow me into fire, into storm, into darkness, into death?"

The room rang with their assent. Durell silenced them with an upraised hand, then looked down the line at each of them in slow examination.

Neroon stood at a distance, arms folded across his broad chest, watching under hooded eyes. He had already guessed Durell's choice of Alyt and Senior Bridge Officer, and had a good idea who his choice of aide might be -- but it was still enjoyable to watch it all unfold.

"As Alyt, I name..." Durell paused a moment as the deck shuddered slightly underfoot, making a rough speed transition. The new Shai Alyt continued: "Shukran of the FireWing clan."

A gasp went up from somewhere in the room. Neroon himself was caught completely by surprise. But he smiled as he realized the gasp had come from Shukran herself. Slowly, the half-caste rose and crossed the room to stand before her new Shai Alyt, her delicate features and slender build in stark contrast to Durell's muscular form.

It was a stroke of genius. Shukran, Jitenn, and the rest of the senior officers were about equal, tactically and technically. But politically, Durell's choice of the FireWing was brilliant. Minbari warcruisers were crewed with warriors from multiple clans since the time of Branmer, but had tended to keep the clan lines intact in command positions. Terinni, a FireWing flagship with a MoonShield as second in command, was one of the few warcruisers with mixed clan leadership. Now Durell's bold move would cement the FireWings even more firmly behind the StarRiders. And no one could fail to miss the obvious fact that Shukran was half religious caste.

Just then the comm panel blared. "Shai Alyt Neroon - the far probe registered a flyer. It is almost within range of Ingata."

Shai Alyt Durell strode to the panel and answered. "Thank you. Increase speed by 3 marks." He glanced over at Neroon in relief. It was perfect timing.

Durell and Shukran accompanied Neroon and Marak to the bay. As they approached the lift, Neroon paused, allowing Durell and the doctor to precede him. As he had anticipated, Shukran froze in step with him, a reflex developed from years as his aide.

"Go on ahead of us -- we'll join you in the bay."

Durell cocked his head slightly, then nodded, his dark eyes glinting. The lift doors whirred closed, leaving Neroon and Shukran alone in the corridor.

Shukran wheeled around to face Neroon, a crooked grin splitting her face. He shot out one hand to cuff her headbone, and laughed when she blocked it and riposted with a cuff of her own. Their horseplay landed them at a viewport, staring straight into their own reflections. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Reverently, Shukran straightened her hood, then reached down to hook her thumb through her rank cord -- the cobalt braid of a gunner, interwoven with gold and black proficiency ratings. Over the whole was looped the single gold cord that traditionally marked both aides and Alyts. "Alyt." Her voice was an awed whisper.

"Alyt Shukran," Neroon echoed. "You've worn the cord for three years as an aide -- you've earned it." He smiled at her in their reflections and clasped her shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Shukran. You will make a fine Alyt."

She smiled impishly. "Or at least I will make an unusual Alyt." She turned to face him. "Thank you for giving me the chance -- I never expected it to happen."

"Then thank Durell -- he is the one who selected you." The corner of Neroon's mouth twitched into a half-smile as he saw his words register with the woman.

Her eyes widening, the FireWing looked from Neroon to her rank cord and back.

Neroon reached out and grasped her headbone firmly in both his hands, the way Sech Durhan used to do to him when the old denn'bok master wanted to make a point. "Durell is taking a chance on you -- because he believes in you. And so do I." At that moment, he wanted very much to kiss her. Instead, he tapped her affectionately on the side of the head. "It's time for me to go."

Shukran fell into step beside him as they went back down the corridor and stood awkwardly before the closed lift doors. Neither of them made a move to signal the lift. Neroon cleared his throat, then looked down at the young woman beside him. "I will miss you." This was more difficult than he had imagined.

He reached down and placed his hand gently on her chest just below her throat in blessing. She slipped her left hand over his, and reached out to him with her other. They bowed and lightly touched foreheads together.

"We will see each other again, Shukran -- if not in this life, then in the place where no shadows fall."

"In Valen's name." Her voice cracked as she whispered back the end of the blessing. They released each other's hands and stood apart. The tension between them was obvious now, showing clearly beneath the timeworn faŤade of professional distance.

But he was now no longer her commander, and this was no longer his ship.

Slowly, deliberately, Neroon held his hand out to her once again. "Shukran." She hesitated, surprised, then rushed into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his breastplate.

Neroon bent down, lifting her face to his, and kissed her -- softly at first, then more passionately as she responded to him. He felt her hand slip up to cradle his headbone, and he drew her closer, deeply inhaling her clean, familiar scent. Without warning, a comm panel blared, startling them both.

"Alyt Shukran, inform Alyt Neroon that the fighter has passed the second probe."

The young woman pulled away from him hurriedly, answering a little louder than needed. "Clear. Inform Shai Alyt Durell that we are enroute."

They entered the lift and braced themselves against opposite bulkheads for the starting jolt. The lift dropped down through the ship, greenish lights flickering as they sped past levels in total silence. Within seconds, the deceleration light flashed. They gripped the brace bars again, tightly. In four seconds they would be at the bay deck. Shukran bit her lip, then blurted out, "I know your true face."

The lift lurched to a halt. Immediately, Neroon released the brace bar and jammed his palm over the manual override. The doors whirred softly in response, but did not open. The tall StarRider nodded. "Then you know my heart." Gently, he traced his finger down Shukran's cheek. "This war will not last long."

She nuzzled into his hand, then looked up at him with a shy smile. "I have waited -- I will wait."

He released the manual override, and they strode out onto the deck. At exactly seven paces, Shukran gave him a crisp salute and banked off at an angle toward the airlock. Neroon continued on to the middle of the bay, where Durell awaited him.

There was no time for pleasantries. The two clan-brothers quickly clasped each other by the shoulders; then Neroon turned and walked briskly to the transport. Durell made a dash for the airlock, where Shukran stood, a new light burning in her dark eyes.

With a roar, the transport took off, shooting smoothly between the bay doors before they were fully opened. As soon as he saw the little ship clear Ingata, Shai Alyt Durell signaled the bridge. Ingata's massive engines churned, opening a jump point into hyperspace for Neroon and Marak. Moments later, the deck shuddered slightly as Ingata herself made a jump -- into the opposite direction.

Durell keyed the bulkhead comm panel. "Take us out of silent running, but maintain this speed." He rubbed his old wrist injury, more out of habit than discomfort, and shot Shukran a mischievous grin. "Do you suppose we should let Shakiri's man catch up to us or run him out of fuel?"

--continued in Part Two--