AS DAWN BROKE, the first few fingers of light pierced the dark. Clouds ran to cover the moon. A woman dressed in simple white huddled against the chill of night, a chill that seeped into her very marrow. Pulling the heavy cloak about her did little to ward off the cold. Arms pulled tightly about her she bowed her head and wept. Wept till deep-racking sobs finally overtook her slender body. All the while the quiet stillness of night, slowly passing into day, oblivious of such grief.
The Carthagian Prefect, Rhé Elissa-Dido, lost in sorrow, was unaware that someone stood behind her, concealed in dark shadows by a small cluster of bushes. Someone, who, up until that moment, had been unaware of another’s presence, someone who, like her, had come to a quiet place to be alone to reflect through a night of solitude. But instead, had inadvertently shared a night of soul-searching.
Captain Caroline O’Neil moved out of her concealment, drawn to the emotion of the sobbing woman and the terrible sound of a heart breaking. The ache in those plaintive notes reaching deep inside O’Neil, touching her soul. She moved cautiously forward and then stopped a few feet away, arguing with herself. Propriety told her it wasn’t polite to approach the stranger, let alone invade their moment of grief. Though her heart told her otherwise.
The Captain made to leave, to slip off into what remained of the night, but stepped on a fallen twig. It cracked underfoot. O’Neil looked down at the offending appendage then looked up, straight into a face surrounded by light and shadow. The sun had partly crested the mountains behind the woman, radiating light about her so that she glowed.
The mysterious woman pushed back her cowl to reveal a sculptured face, crowned with luxuriant curled hair as black as Space itself.
“How simply wonderful. The universe always sees fit to listen in on me whenever I choose to have a theatrical moment.” The voice was soft, low and resonant. Use to commanding, O’Neil noted.
“I’m flattered you think me the whole universe, I am but one.” O’Neil responded with a formal bow from the waist, dressed as she was in full military uniform.
“One is all it takes.” Rhé answered, eyeing the blond Valkyrie resplendent in black. Noting the insignia, obviously a full-ranking officer of the Line.
O’Neil heard the weight of sadness in the words, and was intrigued.
“One alone, against the night.” She quoted the Fleet motto. The regal-looking woman seemed to regard her a moment. A perfect brow arched in query.
“But I wasn’t alone, was I?”
“No.” It was all O’Neil could think to say.
The sun was climbing higher. The stranger now seemed on fire, backlit with blazing light. Eyes followed her gaze, turning to face the sunrise.
“Beautiful.” Came the single word, exhaled on a soft breath.
“Yes.” O’Neil heard herself say, but she was no longer looking at the emerging sun.
The woman turned back to face her. A hand reached up and brushed at a still damp cheek. O’Neil looked away for a moment aware of the fact she’d witnessed such an intense and private moment. She glanced about the small clearing. The soft golden light made everything look surreal, serene. It belied the turmoil of emotions that still raged, deep inside her, screaming for her attention. She ignored them all, turning back to face the stranger and found herself being regarded, head to foot.
“I’m sorry.” O’Neil said into the ensuing silence. Eyes continued to regard her. The face before her, unreadable.
Like a soft sigh, the woman said, “So am I.”
The words hung between them a moment. O’Neil didn’t know what to say, she wanted to stay and question the woman. Wanting to know what had brought them both to this place, of all places, at the same time. It made her think about her mother’s words and her prediction.
Had that moment arrived?
Turning slowly, with grace, Rhé faced the rising sun. “The show’s over, better buy a ticket, join the queue, I save the Galaxy next week.”
O’Neil paused but a heartbeat.
“Next week’s too late, tomorrow would be better.” She took a couple of steps forward. The woman turned back to face her. Another heartbeat passed. O’Neil thought she saw the woman’s lips curl into a faint smile.
“Tomorrow’s booked, heal the sick, raise the dead, you know how it is.”
Funnily enough, she did.
“How about the day after tomorrow?” O’Neil asked in the same offhand mocking tone the woman used. “Are you free then?”
“Possibly—I’ll check my schedule.” Rhé mimed thumbing the pages of a non-existent old-fashioned book. “Oh, look, wouldn’t you believe it. No, nothing planned, not for today, not tomorrow or, as a matter of fact, for the rest of my life—” Rhé paused, staring at her hands as if realizing what she was doing, aware of her audience. Her arms fell to her side.
The face came up slowly. Liquid dark chocolate-brown eyes once again regarded O’Neil. There was a look of resignation that seemed forever etched into the lines at the corners.
Sucking in a quiet breath, O’Neil took the final step and now stood in front of the other woman. Who, in turn, pulled herself up to her full and diminutive height, staring up at O’Neil almost in defiance. O’Neil didn’t quite tower over her, but she was certainly giving the shorter woman a crick in the neck. Their eyes met and locked. As if in self-defense, the woman turned away.
“What did your mother feed you as a child?” The tone was clipped.
The sun was now well above the far mountains as light bathed the land, glinting off a distant sea.
“The usual—” O’Neil began, feeling her mouth twitch.
“That being what—the seeds of wild weeds?” The woman intercepted.
O’Neil grinned. “I was born in space.” The lighter gravity, and living for extended periods of time, in space, made all the difference. O’Neil knew from the way the dark-haired woman was dressed, and more, the way she carried herself with a ramrod straight back, and that certain poise, that she was Carthagian born and bred. O’Neil had already assessed she was probably a member of the Delegation that was there, on Central, petitioning the Council for aid and supplies. Carthagia was under siege and in desperate need. A lone world caught between space, time, and warring sectors, as well as warring factions. A fact the Captain knew all too well, having spoken vocally out about sending aid. Namely her ship, the Aurora, and any other that would join the fight, only to be reprimanded by the Admiralty in no uncertain terms.
It wasn’t their fight.
O’Neil, however, had other ideas about that.
The retort was tart. “Space? Really? I’ve never met anyone yet who could breathe vacuum. You would be a first.”
O’Neil stifled the laugh that erupted by coughing into her fist. Not quite the response she had expected. The woman was certainly a surprise, given what she had witnessed earlier.
Today, O’Neil mused, just might turn out better than she had hoped for. Indeed, a new day was dawning.
TO BE CONTINUED…
© ALEXANDRA WOLFE
THE AIR WAS DECIDEDLY DAMP rather than chilly as Kate Mackenzie stepped off the back end of the big red double-decker bus. Which was nothing unusual for an average winter’s day here in London. If it snowed in the heart of the city you knew the rest of the country was in dire straights, or, at the very least, up to its proverbial ankles in it. She smiled wryly to herself and pulled her coat collar up round her neck. For someone who’d just spent the last five years in the province of Quebec, in the heart of snow country—where the Winter’s lasted a good six months and snow piled up by the foot rather than the centimetre—she was thankful it never snowed in the Big Smoke.
