5.
Departures and Moonfire
Friday 13, 2201
Living at Derek Wildstar's house, Atiranhyi knew peace just long enough to be furious when it was disrupted. Power surges, blackouts and increasing unrest—and now she found herself packing up her possessions, getting ready to be immediately sent to college. Her uncle had told her of his imminent departure aboard the Argo; over tears, protests, pleas and recriminations, Wildstar stood firm: Yes, it was necessary. No, she would not be permitted to accompany them. And no, he did not feel safe in leaving her alone in the house.
"Listen," he had said. "We're leaving without orders, possibly under fire from our own defense forces. We're going to be poorly provisioned and overmanned. And… no matter how smart you are, you still don't have the kind of technical training I need for someone on the crew. This doesn't have anything to do with me not trusting you, Ati, I swear it. But, if my hunch is correct… there's going to be a whole lot of trouble very soon, and I just can't justify leaving you completely alone. The purse-strings are wide-open; study whatever you wish at any college you choose. But, you are going to have to live on a campus with some recourse to safety and supervision."
She had sat, arms folded, at the kitchen table, her narrowed eyes regarding him. Her fiercely-stubborn nature urged her to engage in further protest, but logic and reason won out in the end. Wildstar had been more than fair, kind and generous with her. He had encouraged her in every study and interest—perhaps even spoiling her a little. Their few arguments had been strident, but short-lived; she came to know that the Deputy Captain had reasons for everything he did. He was the one living being she trusted, outside herself.
"All right, Derek. But… if you go out there and get killed and leave me alone, I'll find some way to make the afterlife unpleasant for you. I'll use mysterious Iscandarian hoodoo-powers." She broke into a slight smile; the joke was an old one between the two of them.
"No hoodoo," he smiled. "I'm going to come back. And I'm going to be right there, yelling like an idiot, the night you throw your mortarboard up in the air with your graduating class, I promise."
The promise had sealed it. She could not return his kindness with reckless action, no matter how much she wanted to be left on her own. Besides, the opportunity to acquire more knowledge beckoned to her. Music and study; theirs was a siren song she could not resist.
She managed to beat the curse of Friday the 13th that night, and made it to her chosen school: the prestigious Juilliard, in New York City. They had just gotten word that her entrance audition and test scores were more than sufficient for her acceptance there. Her enrollment had been a very rushed affair; her unique situation had required a great deal of string-pulling, arranging and argument. Only her stellar grades and educational achievements and the impending departure of her sole guardian enabled her to win out at the very last minute—literally. She had had to run to catch the last shuttle, barely making it aboard the flight. As she sat, looking out the window, she wished once again that she could have at least seen the Argo take off.
Oh, well; nothing I can do about it, she mused. I just hope he doesn't get his ass shot off out there.
Her hand caressed the Star Force patch she had sewn onto her leather jacket; still facing the window, she nodded off to sleep.
The intervening year began pleasantly enough, but the encroaching threat presented by this new foe, the Gatlantian Empire, began to present problems. More and more students were leaving or being called home; as the seasons advanced and her third semester reached its end, she was one of only a few staff and students remaining at the Meredith Willson Residence Hall. They stopped encouraging her to return to her family when she pointed to the Star Force patch, telling the dean that her only family was many light-years away. She had nowhere else to go, and she had promised Derek that she would remain at school until either his return… or whatever might occur in the event of failure. She had not allowed herself to contemplate that potential outcome; therein lay the beginnings of a panic which could not be permitted to overcome her.
Her roommate, a drama major, had left months ago, leaving her alone in the double room. She took advantage of the increase in space by disassembling the extra bed and stashing it in an abandoned dorm room. She spent her days immersed in study, using automated learning programs to fill in gaps left by absent professors. In the evenings, she divided her time between practice with her voice and chosen instruments, and an on-campus martial arts class she had enrolled in for physical exercise.
The sensei of the dojo, a dance professor as well, was one of very few of the faculty that allowed no worry to show, even when things began to deteriorate in the city. Deema Rashid's calm, encouraging manner was a comfort to her, and she found herself adding other classes of his, unofficially doubling her major in dance. She would finalize it—but only in the event that the Star Force won out in the end, and there was a world left for which to perform.
The city truly deteriorated as the Thanksgiving break approached. Outside the walls, the sounds of looting, rioting and even occasional gunfire caused the scant few remaining people at Juilliard to barricade themselves into Willson Hall. Atiranhyi emerged as something of a leader among the score or so remaining students; Professor Rashid did all he could to help her maintain some sort of order and prevent the panic and hardship they faced from worsening.
Professor Rashid kept a small palmtop, but he and Atiranhyi both agreed that free access to news outlets would only make matters worse. They, Dean Marquisette and the remaining seven professors kept watch, even trying to keep some semblance of the learning process in place. As the crisis continued to worsen, they came to the decision that moving underground would be safer. For the first time in two years, the extension built beneath the school during the war with Gamilon was opened, and they descended into what they hoped would be safety, deep underground. Atiranyhi was helping everyone settle in when Rashid came to find her.
"Ati," he said, "can you help me with something over here?" The voice was his usual soft-spoken tone, but she caught a flash of urgency in his dark eyes. She nodded and followed him at once.
"What's going on, Professor?" she asked quietly.
"We've moved down here not a moment too soon." He ran one deep-brown hand over his long dreadlocks, and then handed her the palmtop.
The Moon was burning. The night sky revealed on the screen revealed an oozing, blood-red ball, a molten welt where once there had been a lovely sphere.
"Oh, fuck," she gasped. And then she winced, looking to Rashid. "Sorry… that just slipped out."
"Funny, that's exactly the same thing I said when I saw this image," he said softly. "Ati, we're in deep trouble. The rest of the news is very bad. I'm… afraid the Star Force may not make it back. Every other ship in the Defense Force has been destroyed… even those huge Andromeda-class ships they just built. They're… talking surrender."
The words hit her like a cold deluge. She pressed fisted hands against eyes closed against the hot tears that were so difficult for her to shed. She stood, and just shook, unable to answer him.
"I'm not going to let anything happen to you, okay?" He said softly. "You're a treasure, a leader and an artist, and this world needs people like you, especially right now. What do you want to do?"
Her hands lowered from her eyes, and there was a terrible expression in them despite the tears.
"Resist. I will fight them with everything in me. Professor… we need to walk farther down, because I'm going to let you in on a little secret. What I am about to tell you can be told to no one else. Ever. I need your word."
"I swear by Allah, the Most Merciful, and by every stripe on every belt I hold," He answered, eyes wide.
"I'm… not entirely human," she began. Quietly, she told him precisely who and what she was—down to why she had even been born. At the end of it, she said simply, "So… I was made for this. I have to resist. I can't let Derek and everyone else on Earth down, if there is a single thing I can do to prevent our whole way of life from being destroyed."
He stood, staring at her, eyes wide and a little fearful. But then, Rashid gave a single nod and extended a hand. "Resistance." It was all he said.
They clasped hands, standing with tears pouring down their cheeks.
The next two days were a rollercoaster. First, there was the weathering of despair as they told what was left of the Juilliard community the fate of the Moon, and potentially of Terra herself. And the, huddled around the tiny palmtop, they began hearing the other reports: the turning back of the surrender committee, the incandescent final victory of Trelaina of Telezart over Zordar and his dreadnaught, the restoration of the Moon… and, at the last, the return of the Star Force.
Rather than returning home to see her uncle, however, Atiranhyi opted to remain at Juilliard and help get things back to normal as the students and faculty began trickling back. After a few days of stuffy military awards ceremonies, command functions and debriefings, Wildstar finally made his way to New York, to see the niece that Juilliard was quietly calling 'hero'.
In the scant months that they had been apart, Atiranhyi had grown even more, standing at a queenly 6'2". Performance, discipline and the hardships of the preceding year had formed the troubled adolescent into a young, talented woman of great promise. She greeted him with a hug—and with the first piece of composed music she had written herself, a harp piece called 'Voice of the Nebula'. The sheer beauty of her voice and the ethereal sound of the harp evoked the cold beauty of space. After the impromptu performance—greeted by a standing ovation in the courtyard—she brought him to meet some of her instructors, the intrepid Deema Rashid among them.
As they were making arrangements to take lunch together, Atiranhyi was called away by one of the dorm monitors, to assist with a dispute between roommates. Wildstar and Rashid were left on their own for a few minutes.
"Your niece is a remarkable young woman, Captain," Rashid said quietly, smiling.
"Thank you. She hasn't been in my charge for very long, but I wouldn't trade the time we've spent as family for the world. I hear the two of you weathered the whole crisis here at Juilliard?"
"We did. And things were pretty rough for a while; we were down to just a few dozen people from the eight hundred or so that are usually on campus. I couldn't have come close to keeping order and safety with out Ati's help, though."
"Let's just say I'm not surprised at all that she stood fast the way she did. I can't go into the reasons… but I do know that kind of courage and then some is within her." He gave Rashid a slight smile. "Look; here she comes. Shall we? I'll let you New Yorkers pick a good place."
As the three of them walked, Deema Rashid found himself quietly thankful that he had not had to see Atiranhyi take the action they had so desperately voiced in the days before. It was better that she be allowed to be an artist rather than to become the weapon her mother had intended. Of the fact that he knew the truth of her, Deema said nothing.