Memento Mori

Posted on Mon Nov 27th, 2023 @ 12:22am by Lieutenant Commander Annalise Faulkner & Lieutenant Commander Lyra Cassiel & Ensign Ilan Ocara & Chief Petty Officer Virginia Pryce & Petty Officer 2nd Class Jasper Branson & Private 1st Class Cedrik Feng & Captain Ivan Petrov & Lieutenant Commander Andrei Petrov & Lieutenant Sovas Nyseth & Lieutenant Dr. Daniel Brasken & Warrant Officer Ahira Kasamoto & Lieutenant JG Corvin Hartjin & Lieutenant JG Nairobi Ellis & Lieutenant JG Revana Nazar & Ensign Mika Petrova & Sergeant Bryana "Bri" Locke

Mission: S1 Episode 6: Joy and Ashes
Location: Shuttlebay; Vengeance
Timeline: Date 2371-09-07 at 1600
7425 words - 14.9 OF Standard Post Measure

ON

Triumph was not a strange thing for the crew of the Vengeance. Since they had arrived to the Delta Quadrant, those who had even whispered opposition had fallen at their feet. Of course there had been injuries and a handful of unfortunate losses, but their victory had eclipsed them. Many had started to believe they were indestructible and that they would never fall to the feeble races of the Delta Quadrant.

That belief had been thoroughly shattered.

Not twenty-four hours had passed since the violent ravaging of the Shadow Fleet at the hands of their enemies. They had emerged victorious again, yes, but this time it was not something to be savored - it was bitter as ashes in the mouth. Five of their ships and six hundred-fifty slaves and mercenaries had all been lost, but t hey meant nothing in comparison to the twenty-eight Terran souls that had been lost in the attack. It was for these souls that the crew had gathered in the cleared and repaired shuttle bay.

Positioned in the center of the shuttle bay, there were four rows of seven open face plasma cremation pyres which appeared very similar to sleeker shaped stasis pods. The bodies were protected inside of their individual pod by a forcefield which would in turn contain their ashes and protect onlookers from any errant malfunctions of the cremation process. Each individual had been tended to with care; those who had been brutally injured had even been healed as best as technology would allow - those that hadn’t been so fortunate had holographic projections laid over them for appearance. They had all been cleaned up and dressed neatly in uniform. Their hands rested one over the other above their navels and between them rested a gold coin emblazoned with the seal of the Empire. As soldiers fallen in battle, a coronae funebres of red and white roses combined with laurel and cypress leaves and branches adorned each of their heads.

Every last detail had been seen to.

The crew of the Vengeance was situated in a semi-circle around the pyres at a respectful distance facing outward toward the shuttle bay doors where a massive banner of the Imperial Fleet’s sigil was displayed. It was this banner that served as the backdrop for the moderately raised platform where the funeral proceedings would take place.

It would begin soon, they were simply waiting until the appointed time so any last stragglers could arrive.

Corvin stood with a precision that many wouldn’t have expected of the man, he’d never presented himself as a man of such detail or attention, but none had ever seen him honor the fallen, though Terran society did not engender a deep sense of camaraderie, the Terran man saw it as a sacred duty for him to be present at the funeral of a fallen Terran as he believed that the dead should always have at least one witness to the final steps they would take to the gates of eternity and the afterlife to sup with the gods. His uniform was crisp and neatly pressed, sharp and well put together, his steely hair slicked back as he stood looking to pyres of the fallen, none of them he had known particularly well but he would honor them as a true Terran should be.

He was a creature of honor and duty, one driven by his own goals and desires, but he saw to it that the blood of his people was honored when it was shed, to never forget their sacrifice or their deaths. Corvin had done his best to stand watch over the deceased as he still carried with him the Klingon belief that the body of a fallen comrade shouldn’t be left unattended or unwatched to protect it. His gaze drifted briefly from the pods to the stage where he saw Lyra standing, resplendent, regal and elegant, the image of Imperial perfection as she stood in her black gown and veil, silver tiara resting like a true crown upon her perfect countenance. He still struggled with his desire for the woman that he could never have but he knew that his duty was to serve her, his personal honor would allow nothing less as he stood firmly at attention.

He would find his pleasure from serving her, proving that he was her most loyal hound even if he would never know anything more of her.

Sovas stood in quiet contemplation of the dead.

He still felt detached. Dead inside. Almost serene but it wasn’t the same feeling or even the same sensation as he stared at the pods. It was like he’d lost something a part of him had been taken since the extraction of the alien entity from his mind or psyche. He wasn’t certain which. He considered the deaths of the individuals before him. Some had been tragic. Some had a deeper meaning for the fleet. Some had meant little more than a personal passing. For him he found it difficult to connect or feel anything deeper than a cursory and fleeting experience that he was still struggling with while he looked over the individual pods. As his gaze shifted to Kassandra, he felt conflicted since he wasn’t sure this was the end that she deserved, but he wasn’t sure that she didn’t deserve an ignominious grave in the bleak expanse of the void, far from home never to know the blessed respite of the gods and Terran soil.

He stood at stiff attention in the full Terran dress uniform, his body precise and sharp, almost logical in its precision as his gaze shifted toward the stage hosting the Imperial banner where the Command staff would be gathered while Lyra stood in her supremely regal beauty hidden behind the modest veil while her body was wrapped in the black silk. He considered her and quietly accepted that while he might desire her, he knew she would never accept his advances because of his half-blooded nature.

His thoughts troubled him but he didn’t know how to fix such issues since they’d never been a matter of survival and he’d never been presented with how to address such feelings. He was still struggling but he would find a way to resolve this or reach a point that would allow him to survive and go from there.

Andrei stood up from his seat in the front row and stepped forward until he was within a few feet of the pires. He looked at them for the space of several moments, as he was scanning the bodies. He then stepped even closer, stopping in front of the front row and staring at the first face. It was that of his half sister.

Kassandra Selin had been one that never managed to become useful to him. She was on her guard, going so far as to blackmail him with some video. The idea that he could be shamed for rebellious and passionate lovemaking still made him laugh, but he suppressed it. She wandered into their lives, unwelcome, bringing her pathetic boyfriend along with her. She attended their events, but never even managed to be remotely interesting, or to break the monotony of everyday life. He felt nothing for her.

Moving on to the next, and then the next, Andrei gazed on the faces of the dead, showing deep reverence each time. It was only when he was done with the first row, that he turned around and approached Lyra. Bowing before her, he faced the respect she was due according to her status.

“Your Serenity.” He said in a low voice, his face a mask of formal calm, but his visible eye probing passionately, an indication of the feelings he had for her. It was quite the reversal of their typical roles, and he didn’t seem to mind at all. “You are as beautiful as the stars in the heavens. May I kiss your hand?”

There had been an odd series of thoughts and feelings that Lyra had experienced as a result of Ivan’s request. She had of course known her whole life who she was despite the years wearing the mask of Madeline but to this point Lyra really hadn’t flaunted her social status (though it had certainly been attractive to Andrei and his family). She had felt no need to and truthfully it felt a bit foreign to her. This whole thing felt a bit like some sort of recital that she had been practicing for since birth; she was confident in herself and her ability, she knew exactly what was expected and how to execute it, and yet somehow there still lingered some bit of apprehension; a feeling of if this step was taken, it couldn’t be taken back.

She had been standing the picture of poise on the platform dressed in a single shoulder black floor length dress that hugged her figure in a flattering but modest way. From the shoulder, a long cape sleeve added to the simple regality of the look. On her head was a simple silver filigree tiara that while beautiful and delicate was not ostentatious given the somber mood - a ruby surrounded by small pearls served as the centerpiece. A silver bracelet with a small silver orb attached adorned one wrist. Underneath the tiara, her face, upper body, and back were covered by a simple black tulle veil trimmed with lace as the bottom. Dressed in these mourning clothes, she truly did look royal and projected the air of one.

She had been standing and watching the crew with her obscured dark eyes and was not unaware of the looks she was receiving from the crew. It seemed Ivan had been right about it all. When Andrei stood to move, her gaze immediately moved to and followed him as he walked down the line of pyres and then eventually directly in front of her. Her eyes found his as they so naturally tended to and she saw the feeling reflected in his silver eye - sometimes she thought she could even see it in the green.

It was certainly a new position for the two of them, but Lyra simply assumed Andrei viewed it as if they were playing roles on the holodeck. At his request, she extended her hand out to him gracefully, her long fingers bare except - he would see - for the silver and ruby ring on her thumb.

“Commander Petrov.” She greeted him, using his rank given it was appropriate in the current setting.

Andrei leaned down slowly, his lips touching the back of her hand tenderly and lingering there for quite a few seconds. When he gently released her and stood up, he offered a stoic and strong expression which showed his restraint and control. Backing up then, he made eye contact with her one more time before backing away further and, finally, when appropriately far away, turning away from her and making his way back to his seat.

Bryana didn’t want to be at the funeral. She hated funerals; it wasn't that she had a problem attending them or dealing with the public function, but she preferred to keep her grieving private, along with imbibing copious amounts of alcohol and killing the numbness with some lovely company. She was lingering in the corridor outside of the shuttle bay, sniffling but doing her best not to start outright crying as she struggled to maintain a tight grip on her emotions, compartmentalizing the loss she was feeling for her friends who'd been killed when the Marine quarters had been exposed to space. It was a punch in the gut, and she was angry; she wanted the rest of the universe to hurt as much as she did and to be the one to make it hurt.

She didn't view herself as an overtly cruel person, but right now, someone had hurt the people she considered family, and there was nothing that she could have done to stop it. The only reason she wasn't in the barracks was because of her assignment to Shadow Squad. that was a whole other level of trauma and guilt that she had to deal with, but like her other pain for the moment, she was tucking it away into its little box and putting it up on a shelf. Taking a deep breath, she wiped her eyes and face, making sure she looked presentable by straightening her uniform before entering the bay and facing this particular cluster and somehow finding time to deal with her shit before the next disaster.

She was feeling cynical and prickly.

Ilan had been sitting quietly in one of the chairs just keeping to herself for once. She’d been injured in the fight and while it hadn’t been terribly bad, it had certainly been an unpleasant and sobering experience. She was sure she would be back to herself soon, but it had definitely forced her to face her mortality on a level she had never been made to before. Like everyone minus one, she was dressed pristinely in her dress uniform and her hair was pulled up in a neat bun. Her eyes were roaming and she watched with interest the little encounter between Andrei and Lyra; she looked gorgeous and he was handsome, nothing out of the ordinary for those two. Even they weren’t really a distraction from the clinging sadness she was feeling. There hadn’t been anyone she knew particularly well who had been killed, but she’d been with a few of them and they’d been fun. The blow to the marines though… that had been a devastating one. No sooner had the thought entered her head when she looked up and saw Bryana walking into the cargo bay.

Ilan could see the distress on the woman’s face immediately and was hit with a pang of sympathy. She was up in an instant and walked over to her. “Bri… hey. Do you… want to come sit with me? If you don’t have to sit with your squad that is?”

Bri jumped a little, having been so focused on keeping things status quo that she completely had zoned the rest of the world out. Though as she looked at Ilan, a slight smile formed on her lips, far from her typically flirty grins as she cleared her throat and nodded at nothing in particular.

“I don’t think we were given assigned seating, but never know with Julius.” She sighed, stepping closer to Ilan before looking her over, more curious than lascivious as she seemed to be struggling to find something to say. “Are you okay? Didn’t get hurt or anything during the rumble?”

Gods she could use a drink right now and this uniform was feeling too damned stuffy.

Ilan frowned slightly, then shrugged it off and her expression returned to a more neutral one. “I mean, I did, but I’m here and not there.” She nodded toward the pyres. “So, it could have been worse, obviously. How are you doing?”

For a moment, her eyes narrowed at the question, though she looked everywhere else toward the casket or the stage where Lyra stood in her regal Imperial brilliance. She tried smiling, but the expression fell almost immediately, so she shook her head to hide it from the other woman. "I don't want to be here. I need enough alcohol to get good and numb, then some pleasant company who'd be more than happy to help me fuck away my feelings."

It was honest and direct. Bri wasn't a delicate woman by any means, but she didn't know how to deal with the tumult she was feeling right now. "Know anyone that could help me with that?" She asked while holding Ilan's gaze, hoping she would say she did.

“Mm…” Ilan murmured sympathetically, a small smile appearing though it was obvious her heart wasn’t in it. “Let’s get past this first part. I wouldn’t be shocked if there’s a lot of people looking for the same thing during the feast.”

Bryana nodded as she moved to take a seat with Ilan, processing the response but not sure how to take it but she supposed that would be the best answer she’d get. Not that she blamed the other woman, it was just that she’d been hoping for something different, or maybe even a little more as she sat there and looked anywhere but at the caskets as if that would will them out of existence.

Cedrik stood among the pyres, the pain in his expression easy to see. While he had experienced loss before, it had never been quite like this. These were his friends - people his own age - not a war hero uncle or great grandparent passing. They had their entire lives in front of them and it had been cut short without mercy. He was grateful they had at least recovered the bodies from space so they could be brought home to Terra.

If they ever returned home.

His jaw set as he looked down at the youthful faces before him. Not three days ago they had all been on the holodeck playing parrises squares and now they were there prepared to cross the river into the next life. It wasn’t fair. His jaw flexed, and he felt himself torn between anger and despair and didn’t quite know how to deal with either. The enemy was dead and he had no part in it, so here he was feeling… useless.

Mika sat, her brown eyes showing clear redness and signs of her tears and her cheeks wet. They’d lost so many in Sickbay, and she herself had been working around the clock to save lives. The thing that had really gotten to her, however, was the death of Kassandra. Unlike the rest of her family, Mika felt a genuine closeness with the woman and an excitement about having an older sister. All of that was dashed now, and the reality of it all sat in her stomach, low and pulsing. Her fingers had been intertwined with her fathers as she tried to leach some of his strength.

When she saw Cedrik enter, however, her mind moved immediately from her own grief to his. The death of the marines was a shock to everyone, and he almost certainly would be among them if he wasn’t assigned to Shadow Squad. She stood, walking over to where he stood and taking up a position next to him, silent and sniffling. Her uniform dress moved bouncing with her steps, marking a contrast with the desperate sadness she felt. She said nothing at all, but she was close.

For a moment, Cedrik didn’t acknowledge her; he didn’t trust himself to do so because he was having trouble sorting through his feelings. What he did know though was he appreciated her coming over to see him and be near - her presence was at least somewhat soothing. Eventually, he lifted his hand and moved his arm around her, his large hand resting on her shoulder. If Andrei and Ivan had a problem with him putting an arm around her in a way to comfort both her and himself, he’d be impressed but not exactly surprised.

“Not a great day.” He finally managed to speak, keeping his voice steady but it was quiet.

“No.” she said quietly, her voice shaking as she quivered. “Not a good day at all.”

She turned to him then, her warm brown eyes full of compassionate sadness. They rested on his, tears welling up again there.

“I’m so sorry about your friends. I don’t know what to say..” she said, her voice thick with tears runoff from her sinuses.

“We all take this risk when we join up with the fleet.” Cedrik sighed, looking into her eyes and seeing the emotion there. She was such a sensitive young woman and he liked that, though his mind was far from delving into that feeling any deeper in the moment. “But it doesn’t prepare for reality.”

She nodded, looking at him and saying nothing for several somber seconds. Then, after that space was ended, she gave a sad smile.

“You’ll get through it. You’re a very strong man, and you’re going to gain so much wisdom from this terrible loss.” She said, before placing a hand subtly on top of his. “Just know I’m here for you for whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Mika. I appreciate that.” Cedrik said and managed a more pronounced, even warm smile that he did genuinely feel. It even reached his eyes slightly, but it was quite clear his grief was his pervading emotion.

Daniel had schooled his features while preparing his uniform in his quarters and made sure they were as tight and crisp as the creases in the cloth. To himself he admitted that he felt little in the comradery that others on the ship had and so was not particularly in mourning for any of it. The agitation he was feeling was only in regards to the fact that their military power had been crippled in many ways from technology to manpower to simple morale. Even he had to admit that the chances of them returning to the Alpha Quadrant was affected by this latest attack.

It was in this contemplative state that the doctor made his way into the modified room. He was less than impressed with the state of the room. The effort was good and execution was flawless, it was more about the idea of some sort of afterlife that awaited that soured his admiration. A man of science, he believed that there was little to do in this life beyond expand your own experiences and make way for those that follow to expand beyond you. Who you pave the way for is the real struggle in this life.

Still he kept the somber face on as he moved towards the pyres and stared at the pyres while allowing his ears to scout out the room around him.

Death was an old friend of Ahira’s, or more accurately an old enemy. One he thought he had left behind, at least for the most part. He didn’t have many friends among the crew. Some treated him with caution, given his hybrid heritage.. But most, at least to his face, treated him with respect. A respect he felt he had to earn everyday.

If he were being honest with himself, something he tried to do as often as possible, he would have admitted that he was mostly responsible. With the exception of Leon, there weren’t many people he could trust or relate to.

So, those who had died he barely knew. So, he wasn’t grieving the way some of his colleagues were. But, he did feel their pain.

Ahira was now the Master at arms, no longer the Captain’s bodyguard. But some things were hard to change and watching Ivan’s six was one of them. This was a funeral and everyone was in mourning, or at least pretending to be and who in their right mind would stage an assassination during the middle of the funeral? Not much, but Ahira wasn’t going to take that chance.

Annalise sat quietly at the back of the assembly. Her rank could have given her a more prominent position of course, but out of respect for the crew of the Vengeance and their fallen, she chose not to divert any attention away from the solemn moment. Her beautiful eyes ran over the faces of those in attendance; many were full of sadness and rightfully so given the situation, but she noted the lack of drawn features, slumped shoulders, and dimness in the eyes. The crew of the Vengeance was thriving and it made her heart hurt to consider the trials her own crew had faced and the losses they had sustained; she had done her best to push forward with her people and it had brought her here.

She was saddened by the loss of life, but if she had to make the decision again regarding reaching out for the Vengeance, she would have done it again without question.

Ivan stood and strode out before the assembly of his crew. His eyes moved from one end of the crowd to the other as he felt the grief they were all processing, like it was a heavy blanket over the room. It was almost tangible. He sighed, and at the clanging of a gentle bell from the back of the room, he began to speak.

“Today we gather to remember our shipmates, brave souls who met their end in the chaos of battle. They were our comrades; they were our friends, and their sacrifice - their lives - will be remembered.” he said, his eyes falling on Bryana and Ilan, seeing that one of the four marines left on the ship had someone else to rely on and taking some solace in that.

In the unforgiving expanse of the Delta Quadrant, we’ve faced treachery and betrayal at every turn. Kazon…Vidian…they will pay one day for what they’ve done, just like the Ocampa and the Numiri have paid. One day, when the Empire reaches this far, what’s left of them will be a race of slaves!”

Bryana's expression remained neutral, and she didn't move a tick as she listened to Ivan's speech, ignoring the wellspring of emotions roiling within her like lava trying to boil up to the surface and erupt. She didn't have it, and she white-knuckled everything down as she seemed to detach from the moment; she physically was still here, but emotionally, she wasn't involved as everything was tucked away and a door shut on it. Though before she had ratcheted that lid closed, she did let herself think about what it would be like to be able to torture the alien scum slowly, making their deaths as painful as possible and if she could, she would want to bleed every last one of them dry until she ended up filthy by their blood, but her soul would be pure. Clean because of what she would have done. She let out a steadying breath as she thought about how cathartic such an act would be, her eyes blazing with a different sort of fire.

The fire of vengeful hatred.

For Sovas, he contemplated the caskets of the dead and even Ivan; However, he wasn't sure how he felt about the older Terran. He understood what he was saying, but he also couldn't help but consider that those same terrible acts had brought this response down on them. These were his thoughts, nothing he would ever voice, but he wondered if Ivan was the right man to lead them through this. The alternative of Andrei might not have been much better, but the man knew how to survive. But without temperance and caution, survival merely prolonged one's inevitable end. Vengeance was an apt name for the ship since he knew that many here would want to reap a bloody toll, but they were far from home and wouldn't be able to replace their losses with fresh Terrans.

He let his thoughts wander, remaining to himself but surrounded by his crew mates whom he knew little more than their names, something he would need to address and change.

Corvin wasn't sure how he felt.

He knew that he wanted the vengeance Ivan spoke of, but he wanted to see home again, and there were so many here who would never see Terra again. While the Marines were always kind of pricks, he could get along with their cause; at the end of the day, they were straight fighters, the ones tasked with making some far-off nobles want something concrete instead of abstract, and he thought they deserved a better fate. He would follow Lyra's orders and see that her desires were manifest because he knew she was far too good for a man like himself, and he would have to accept that he was her hound.

Duty, honor, and blood. Blood for her.

Slaves, Ahira thought to himself. What was the empire’s obsession with enslaving those they considered inferior? It just wasn’t right. It was also not a thought he would share with anyone.

He was still a citizen of the Empire and he wanted revenge as much as the next guy. But honorable death, not a massacre, not genocide and most certainly not slavery. But he kept those thoughts buried deep inside him.

“In this quadrant, our survival hinges on cunning, strength, and brutality. Our alliances are fragile and loyalty can only be bought with blood and gold.” Ivan continued. “I have done my best to ensure we were feared, and our enemies wouldn’t have done this to us if they didn’t think we were a significant threat. They thought they could win, and they came closer than any of us would like to think. Warriors, defenders of the ISS Vengeance and the Shadow Fleet, said their goodbyes…and then we pulled through. With some ingenuity from our crewmen, we survived.”

Revana sat near the middle of the throng of people, her heart heavy with the same grief everyone else was feeling. It came in dark warm waves as she felt sorry for herself and embraced the resentment she felt that she had been made sad. Who was she resentful of? No one could say; probably her father, as usual. She remembered the moment the whole world was coming apart, and the engine room was ringing with panicked voices who knew it was the end. In that moment, before death, she thought of all the things she’d never experienced. True freedom, safety, and more than anything, love.

She considered Ivan’s words. Maybe their high-profile trek across the galaxy was the very reason they were in this situation in the first place. Why weren’t they keeping a low profile? Why weren’t they moving more quickly? She couldn’t help but wonder what her father would do if he were here.

Lyra was standing on the platform behind Ivan, her hands delicately placed in front of her. She seemed more an observer than a participant in some ways, but that wasn’t overly unusual. She heard his promise of revenge for the fallen, but she doubted the follow through in this particular case. Perhaps he would surprise her.

As the affirmations and noise died down, Ivan continued his remarks, his arms resting calmly at his side and his brow full of passionate sadness.

“These valiant crewmen were cut down in the prime of their lives. They were all so young, with their whole lives ahead of them. Perhaps they would have seen our home again; perhaps they would have married and had children..and seen their grandchildren. But, instead, they were victims of an ambush that took us by surprise, and as we found new friends in the crew of the Gladius, we lost some old ones.”

“Their names, etched in the annals of our dark history, serve as a reminder of the sacrifices we make in the pursuit of getting home. We honor their memory, not with tears, but with resolve. We carry their legacy forward, ever mindful of the perils that await us in the weeks, months, or even years ahead, vowing to be even more ruthless in our quest to return to the birthplace of our people, and to stand on Terran soil again. The thought of it fills me with hope and with longing to stand beneath the rays of the resplendent sun and feel its warmth on my face again. We will get there, in flesh or in ashes.”

“Rest, fallen comrades. Your sacrifice shall not be in vain, for we are the Terran Empire, and our hearts are sealed with a sacred fire. By its light, we shall forge our path through the stars, unyielding and unapologetic, in your honor.”

He then turned to the far side of the far side of the shuttlebay where a giant flag hung, crimson with a golden Terran and sword, and gave the Imperial salute.

“Glory to the Empire!”

The crowd issued the common refrain of their people, joining their commander in the Terran Salute.

“Long Live the Emperor!”

Again, they joined together in the same way, and their voices echoed loud.

When the cheering, saluting, and shouting had died down, Andrei rose and strode before the crowd. His father turned and backed up until they were standing next to each other, tall men facing the pyres. And with a voice as sweet as honey and as warm as sun-kissed skin, Andrei began the traditional funeral dirge of the Imperial Military. The tune was sad, and dark, and beautiful, more like a chant than a hymn.

“O Marte, Marte Fortis,
Cui omnes milites precantur,
Vitam Terrani, arma Terrani,
Tibi committe hodie.”

Slowly he sang, his voice ringing in the hollow space of the shuttle bay. When he finished, he sang again, and this time all who were gathered joined in. Their voices rang together with traditional harmonies, and the hearts of the crew of Vengeance beat together.

Jasper mumbled the words to the proper tune, but he wasn’t a singer and wouldn’t pretend to be even for the sake of this. He was surprised to learn that Andrei had quite a voice on him, though he supposed that came from his mother more than anything. He found it strange that the woman wasn’t doing it herself, but he also really didn’t care. He was sitting with his arms crossed, solemn in the moment but truthfully not much affected by the losses - he didn’t know any of the people who were dead well at all and he saw little point in investing any emotion in them. He was here because duty required him to be present.

Nairobi had no talent for singing and, some would say she sounded like a dying cat, but she joined with everyone just the same. It was strange for her to be in this place, singing a song simply by repeating everyone else’s words after them. She didn’t know the dirge or the tune. Her eyes met Virginia’s, checking to see how engaged the woman was with all of this.

Virginia was exhausted and looked every bit of what she felt. She was humming along with the melody as best she could, taking clues from a general knowledge of music and how these things typically were played. Her heart wasn’t in it for a variety of reasons. Even with the constant sense of not belonging in this place, these individuals on their pyres… they were still people. She had tried to treat and save a number of them to little avail. As a doctor, it hurt her. Her brown eyes glittered with tears.

When the singing was over and had given way to silence, Ivan repeated the translation of the dirge aloud for all to hear.

“O Mars, Valiant Mars,
To whom all soldiers pray,
A Terrans Life, a Terran’s arms,
Take thou in charge this day.”

Lyra allowed the echo of Ivan’s voice to die out before she finally moved forward from behind the two men. She moved between them and just in front of them to her proper place for this moment. She stood dignified though at ease, looking out past the black veil that covered her exquisite face with dark eyes that held no feeling for the individuals on their pyres before her, but certainly a healthy animosity toward the aliens who had done this and perhaps even a whisper of melancholy over the general loss of Terran lives.

Most of them, at least.

Her hands lifted from her sides and she turned her palms up with a motion as fluid and effortless as flowing water. The posture gave a sense of openness and welcoming, including all as in this moment they were one people, one voice mourning their loss; there was even a whisper of something maternal behind it, in a strange way. Her lips parted and her voice poured forth clearly and loudly - she projected, she didn’t yell to be heard.

“Audi, magnifice Marte, deus virtutis et potentiae,
Congregamus ut eos honoramus qui in proelio amissi sunt.
Proeliis fortiter commissis,
Pacem eis concede, ubi sunt meriti.

Collisio armorum, acclamatio proelii,
Spiritus eorum alte volitant, numquam morituri.
Sacrificium eorum, debitum nobis,
Pacem eis concede in lumine gloriae.”

Lyra spoke the words with perfect clarity, her voice carrying a gentle, reassuring strength that was so very appropriate for a noblewoman. She had been born for this, made for this; she could play this part. There was no denying that majesty suited her. Her hands floated effortlessly together and one cradled the other as if she were offering that same cradling comfort to those in attendance and peace for the dead.

Subtly, the pinky of her lower hand pressed against the sphere. As soon as it did so, the force fields surrounding the pyres darkened and obscured those in repose from view. The bursts of controlled plasma began, giving the appearance of fire engulfing the pyres though the darkening of the force fields had shielded those gathered from having to witness their friends and family slowly disintegrate into ashes. Real fire would have been used on Terra, but here on starships, their rites had to be adapted.

Andrei’s natural eye may have been fooled by the force fields, but the bionic one behind his hi-tech patch picked up every detail. He watched as his bastard-born half-sister was torn apart; he watched as her boyfriend, his “blood brother,” disintegrated and fell into ashes. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, prompted by the impulse to laugh. He resisted them both and allowed his eyes to fall on Lyra’s shapely hips as a distraction.

What a shame so many Terrans died, really. The aliens who did this would have to pay. Yet, he doubted his father’s typical methods. They had brought on this response and had almost destroyed them. No. They needed to go dark; become the shadow they claimed to be. And, when they struck, their enemies should have no idea where to strike back.

Bryana’s expression darkened almost in sync with the force fields as she thought about all of her friends who were dead, killed without a chance to face their enemy as they killed them, so many Terrans killed like so much chaff before a threshing blade. She reached out and took hold of Ilan’s hand and squeezed it, her expression remaining darkly stoic as she sat up straight and tall. She would need to address this but right now, right this moment she didn’t know how to do that.

Ilan’s attention was on Lyra, watching with rapt attention as she spoke and moved. Lyra was beautiful, but it was more than that; this was just something Ilan had never seen before and she had known Lyra… Madeline… the longest out of anyone on this ship. It wasn’t exactly something they advertised - they weren’t friends -

Corvin watched the force fields as they hid away the truth of what was happening to the bodies, he’d seen it often enough. Not just the Terran ritual to honor the dead but growing up he’d had to help feed the corpses of dead Terrans into incinerators after they’d been worked to death by their alien overlords and this just reminded him that he would never go back to being the slave of an alien. Never. His gaze shifted to Lyra as she stood before the assembled crew, perfectly poised and looking every bit the part of an Imperial Royal. He admired her now, using it to distract himself from his own dark thoughts.

Sovas impassively watched the incineration of the bodies, listening to the traditional dirge, but still it didn’t stir anything within him and he found that both curious and disconcerting as he thought about the losses they had suffered and what might be the next course of action. It would have to be something different, they would have to be the hidden predators, no longer walking within the light so that all could know where they were, but he was curious if Ivan was capable of achieving such a thing or if they might need to look to someone else for such leadership after this.

The doctor found himself strangely moved and also numb to the proceedings. He had spent hours saving those that he could and still the number that didn’t make it were still numerous. The ceremony itself didn’t mean much to him, but the loss of the sheer number of unknown faces that he simply was unaware of previously. Daniel glanced around at those gathered and wondered how many more of those gathered would be just as quickly removed from the board without being known.

Lyra’s voice raised again.

“Te obsecramus, Mars, duc viam eorum,
Ad campos Elysii, ubi heroes habitant.
Complectere eos in tua divina gratia,
Ut locum requiemque finalem inveniant.”

Lyra’s hands parted and slowly began to float down to her sides.

“Valete, milites, vestrum munus est confectum,
Nunc requiescite, sub oculo solis Martis vigili.
In cordibus nostris, vestra virtus semper morabitur,
In memoria manebitis, semper bene et fortiter.”

On the last word, her moving hands stilled and she spoke one final time, addressing the living alone. “Gloria lapsis. Gloria vobis, fratres et sorores, sed meminīte etiam vōs aliquando moritūrōs esse. Vīvite cum honōre, morimini cum glōriā. Gloria Imperio.”

“Gloria Imperio!” The reply in unison came from those gathered.

Sovas felt the reply pass his lips, feeling robotic, his responses wrought through the repetition from the past as he focused on the pods. He held it for a ten count before looking away and seeming to withdraw into himself as he waited.

Bryana’s voice hitched as she gave the traditional reply, it was only a momentary thing but she recovered, cleared her throat and spoke more clearly as she gently pulled her hand from Ilan’s retreating within herself as she waited for what would come.

Corvin’s brow furrowed as he thought about the reply to Lyra’s song, it was a powerful symbol to see her up there, but he didn’t think too hard on it as he was now waiting for what came next, not just now but for the future as his eyes drifted to Andrei and then to his father, wondering if there was conflict coming.

By the end, Daniel’s attention was back on Lyra’s performance. The difference in her bearing in the ‘correct’ body from the little he knew of her as Madeline was notable. Even after such a short time she seemed more comfortable in both the body as well as the role she was filling. How long had she been wanting to embrace her true self or was this simply another act and her preference would have been to keep her old face.

Now that he was able to have an excuse to look at her longer than a few moments at a time he still wasn’t sure which form he preferred. Neither was worth the black ops levels of trouble the pursuit would still entail. Both? Now that was an interesting thought that he would remember to process deeper…later.

Ivan stood and faced the people again, but this time with a somewhat more casual air about him. He was still somber as the mood had remained so.

“This concludes the funeral. Now we will go to Cargobay 2 where a Feast of Remembrance has been prepared for us by Commander Petrova. The meal will begin in twenty minutes. As always, there will be time for remarks about the honored dead.”

Then, stepping back to his seat, he went to greet members of his crew individually.

END