Carla the Ranger
Second in the Dark Horse series, which is a sequel to the Loribond series.
\
"Old soldiers never die," Carla quoted to herself as she moved into her new digs. "They just fade away."
She was not fading away. She had not actually lost any weight, since she had started cutting back on groceries to save money. She made up for it in the empty calories contained in cadged drinks.
But she was fading into the background of the station. Her military pension was a pittance compared to the cost of staying in a station hotel. She had moved to an apartment fairly quickly after deciding to remain on Babylon 5. Then she had moved into a smaller apartment. And now she was moving into a room. In downbelow.
At least her things did not look so paltry in the smaller space. She had only intended to come to the station for a few weeks, and had left most of her possessions behind on Earth. She did not miss them. It felt curiously freeing to be back down to a duffel bag, like when she was a gropo. Her Earth landlord had probably sold her stuff by now.
It was nearly happy hour. Carla glanced around at her new room one more time before throwing a cloak around herself and heading out the door. She did not feel comfortable walking around downbelow in her signature bright blue and red FPFP jacket. It was too conspicuous. She felt she should not draw attention to herself down here, where the gravity was light and the light was dim.
She took off the cloak in the elevator before stepping out into the Zocalo, revealing the still-bright colors of the old jacket underneath. With her cloak folded over her arm, she went to the bar and looked around for the tall form of Firuun, who towered over everyone even while sitting down.
Just as she used to search a crowd for Ike, back when the FPFP had been her main social set. Ike was a giant, too, but looked more like a basketball player than a street fighter's worst nightmare. Firuun's military caste origins were written in the sharpness of his head spikes; he looked like he could run someone through by head-butting him.
Carla spotted Firuun, not among the bar regulars but with a group of other black-armored Minbari, probably off his ship. She did not hesitate for a moment. Firuun was her best friend. Which was a little sad, perhaps, but true.
"Hi, Firuun." Carla plopped down in an empty seat a couple of places from Firuun. "Buy me a drink?"
"Sure, Carla." Firuun waved for the bartender. "So when is it going to be your turn to buy?"
"When I find a job. I not only can't get anything in private security, I can't get anything in anything. Nothing legitimate, anyway. Hell, I couldn't even get a job in this bar. I tried. 'Psychological discharge' will dog me forever. It's better than the stockade, mind you."
"It's just horrifying that they kicked you out of the military. I know humans don't actually have a military caste, but…"
"I'm the closest thing there is to it," Carla said. "Old Navy family from the pre space days. Did you know Marines were originally troops carried on sailing ships? The word refers to Earth's oceans."
"Huh."
The bartender appeared with Carla's usual beer.
One of the other Minbari at the table said, "You handled yourself well in the boarding action. Despite the borrowed armor obviously being a little too big for you. I was right behind you when you exited the breeching pod."
Carla smiled. "That was the best moment of the last fifteen years. For an hour, I was military again."
Some of the Minbari warriors made brushing-off gestures which were the Minbari equivalent of a shudder. "The idea that someone could be made to leave the military just horrifies us," said one of the warriors. "We've all told ourselves it's not the same for humans, but perhaps we were wrong."
"Some humans never intend to stick with the military all their lives. They go in, they go out," Carla replied. "But I was a career noncom. A petty officer."
"It's not fair," said Firuun. "I've seen you fight. Not just in the boarding action, which didn't actually have any combat in it. We surprised them. But I've seen you fight right here in this bar, and you're good at it. You're still a warrior, Carla, whatever your people tried to make of you."
"Thank you, Firuun. You don't know what it meant to me to be in a battle again, even if we didn't actually ever fire our guns. That day I had myself back."
"It's human law that's keeping you down. Why not see if non humans will hire you?"
"I have. Human females just aren't in demand as mercenaries. The only offers I've gotten have been for things I'd fight to get away from. Then there's the underground economy, of course, but I'll never be that desperate. I don't just want to fight. I want to fight for something. Barfighting is nice but it's like bar food, just not as satisfying as the real thing. And fighting for some slimeball of the sub economy? No thanks. When I was a Marine my service meant something. It wasn't just the fighting. It was knowing that if I died fighting, I was dying for something that mattered."
"Purpose," said one of the Minbari.
"Yes. Purpose. Not that being a store security guard would be much of a purpose, but it would be better than nothing. But I keep running up against my military record. Under Earth law I'm not permitted to own or wear a weapon of any kind, and most kinds of security work are closed to me just because of that, even if they don't run a background check, which all legit places are sure to do."
Firuun considered. "How would defending the Interstellar Alliance do for a Purpose?"
Carla snorted. "Sure, why not? As long as I'm dreaming, I might as well dream big."
"I mean for real. Fight. Gather intelligence. Be a hero, even. The hope of the downtrodden, the bane of evildoers everywhere."
"Sounds great. Where do I sign up?" Carla tossed off lightly, and finished her beer.
"Walk in the dark places, where no one else will go. Live for the One, die for the One."
Carla set down her mug and stared. "Really? No. You can't be serious. The Rangers? Do they take women?"
"There have been a few, over the centuries. I heard they took a Pakmera. Why not you?"
Carla grinned. "Thank you, Firuun." She stood up and leaned over the table. For a moment it looked as if she might try to plant a kiss on his cheek, but she was too far away. Instead Carla planted a hand on his shoulder pauldron and gave it a squeeze. "Where do I sign up?" This time, she said it with joy, and hope, and pride.
"Minbar," Firuun said. "Maybe I could talk the Captain into giving you a ride. We're shipping out tomorrow."
"Shipping out? I thought your tour wasn't over for another four months."
"The station commander apparently took a dislike to that little redecorating project you and I participated in. Lochley didn't want a hole there, it seems."
"Oh. The breeching pod. Right."
"Let's have a toast! To Carla the Ranger!"
The other Minbari joined Firuun in toasting Carla. She smiled and thanked them in Minbari.
"I didn't know you spoke Minbari," Firuun said.
"Just a little," she responded, again in Minbari. Then she switched to English. "I'm a little rusty. But Rangers are supposed to speak three languages. I've got to get started. At my age you don't learn a language quickly. Well, humans don't, anyway, I don't know about you guys."
Firuun gestured to the bartender again, but when he appeared, Carla said, "No more beer for me. I'm in training. Got anything healthy?"
The barkeep brought her a fruity yoghurt drink.
"No beer?" Firuun asked, looking at her as if she had suddenly sprouted a second head.
"If I'm going to be competing with boys young enough to be my sons, I've got to get in shape. I haven't really been taking care of my body."
"Hey, look," said Firuun. "There's some of those gropos from the wargames. Let's have one last barfight before we go."
Carla grinned. "It'll be my pleasure."
"Just tell me one thing," said Firuun. "I still haven't figured out what a Denebian slime devil is."
Carla laughed. "Remind me to explain science fiction later."
She got up and approached a table full of ground-pounders in green uniforms, and made the ritual exchange of insults. None of them got up to fight for Major Sands, instead looking at each other as if embarrassed. She had to think of the name of their carrier ship's Captain before she got the desired response.
Then one of the smaller women got up and took a swing at her. She ducked and gave her the old one-two, and Firuun and the other Minbari all jumped up. The gropos looked a little shocked, but they rose to the occasion and waded in. Soon the whole bar was engulfed in punching, kicking, and wrestling forms, and the sound of breaking glass.
Carla grinned as she punched out her opponent. Life was good.
\
The smack of metal on metal resounded in the Minbari warship's gym. It was not the ringing of swords, but the dull sound of Minbari Fighting Pikes clashing together.
Carla's hair was plastered to her head with sweat. Once again Firuun's superior strength sent her sprawling, and once again she rolled and popped back up again in a ready stance. She had learned to roll long ago, in Marine combat training, but doing so while holding onto an eight foot long metal pole took some getting used to.
"Not bad," Firuun said. "Just keep it tucked up a little more." They tried it again, and this time Firuun said, "That's it. You've got it."
"Am I ready?" Carla asked.
"As ready as I can make you in three days," said Firuun. "You know they'll teach you the Pike in Ranger training."
"I have to convince them to let me train, first," Carla said. She switched to Minbari, and tried to translate the human expression 'you never get a second chance to make a first impression'.
Firuun suppressed a smile. "Your talent is definitely in combat, not languages." He retracted his Pike, and Carla did the same.
"Oh oh," she said, starting to stretch and cool down. "What did I say?"
"No, I could understand it fine, it just sounds a little funny. Did you know you speak Minbari with a Shoreline accent? You sound like a, um, dalshon, I don't think there is a word for it in the human tongue. One of those who waits for the old and the dying who are going to the sea, and either sells them a boat or robs them, depending on their mood that day. Also digs clams."
Carla laughed. "Dalshon. Boatbuilder, clamdigger, and pirate? Arrrr."
"Well, not actual clams, of course. Minbari shore creatures. Some of them are for eating. Some of them you don't want to touch bare handed. The dalshon know the difference."
Carla suddenly became very serious. "Then perhaps I am a dalshon. I would know a baltor mar if I saw one again."
"Me too," Firuun said quietly. "And the smell." He made a wordless sound of disgust. "Of course, the smell of the jar didn't come out in the highlight reel. Did you know, they're selling stills from the Sheridan Vs. Recnar Highlight Reel in the Zocalo? I can just picture what John will do the first time someone asks him to autograph one."
Carla finished her stretches and creaked to her feet. "I hear he once spaced a teddy bear that had his initials sewn on its jacket."
"What's a teddy bear?"
\
The cities of Minbar looked like forests of tears. Blue crystal dominated the skyline.
"The last time I was on Minbar was for the Ritual of Endurance," Firuun said, in Minbari.
"Are you going to take home leave, now that your ship is going to be parked in Minbar orbit for a while?" Carla responded in Minbari. She had been practicing on the trip, and had found she had not forgotten nearly as much as she thought she had.
"Not me. Not engineering. We're going to be busy, putting in the latest upgrades."
The pilot set the shuttle down on the landing pad in the middle of the Anla'shok training center. This was the original training base, attached to the Anla'shok headquarters, a thousand years old, dating to the founding of the Rangers by Valen. Now there were other bases on other worlds, but this was still the largest.
The pilot lowered the ramp, and Carla walked onto Minbar carrying her duffel. Firuun was right behind her.
An official looking group came out of a building and started walking toward them.
"Are they expecting us?" Carla asked.
"They're expecting a new recruit. I asked John to ask Delenn to tell them one of the people involved in his rescue from the Earth Alliance Marines was coming to join the Anla'shok. But they aren't expecting you."
Carla's mouth quirked in amusement. "This will be fun." Carla set down her duffel bag and turned to her friend. "Until we meet again, Firuun." She embraced him. She only came up to his stomach, and for a moment she felt like a child.
Firuun hugged her back. "Until we meet." Then he switched to English. "Good luck." Firuun turned and went back onto the shuttle. The ship took off, kicking up white dust and blowing out Carla's hair. She did not look back.
The four Minbari and one human who came out to meet her faltered a bit when they realized it was her, and not Firuun, who was there to join the Rangers. Then they started walking again.
Carla picked up her duffel and met them.
The oldest of the Minbari asked her in English, "Why do you wish to join the Anla'shok?"
"To reclaim my self," Carla answered in Minbari.
They waited a moment, but Carla did not elaborate. Finally the old Minbari nodded. He spoke in Minbari now. "A better reason than most of those that I hear. What is your name?"
"Carla."
"Will you live for the One, will you die for the One?"
"I will."
"Then come, Carla of the Anla'shok." He gestured to the human. "Lee will find quarters for you."
\
The Fighting Pike class was strangely silent. So far they were only learning moves, and had not progressed to sparring. No staff clashed against another staff.
Carla resolved to practice her rolls and the other things she had learned from Firuun after all her classes were over, when no one else was using the Pike training room.
She practiced blocks, attacks, and reverses in the air, along with the other beginners. Some of them had been here only a few weeks, others were almost ready to go on to the intermediate level.
Concentrating on the pure movements, without watching an opponent, Carla could see the English heritage of the quarterstaff in the tradition of the Minbari Fighting Pike. Why it was called a Pike, she could not guess. It had no cutting or thrusting end on it. It was really just a retractable staff.
The Minbari instructor called for a halt. "Valen said, the Anla'shok stand on the bridge, and none may pass."
Carla reflected that if she needed any proof that Valen was a human, that was proof enough. The image those words called to her mind was pure Little John and the Quarterstaff, out of the legend of Robin Hood.
The instructor ended the class, and Carla and the other trainees filed out to go change out of white workout gear and back into their uniforms, and assemble for the midday meal. The Anla'shok uniform was really just a black vest with a pin on it. The shirt and pants that went underneath were supplied by the students, and were of various colors, though everyone tried for a dark appearance that would not present a good sniper target.
Carla had been here for almost a week now. When she sat in the mess hall with the other trainees, they no longer expressed any surprise to see a middle aged woman with them. As usual, the recruits, both human and Minbari, conversed in Minbari. The Pakmera, thankfully, was not there; he ate alone in his quarters, which were far away from everyone else's.
One of the young Minbari, Duar, said, "I hear Slenar is going to be torturing us with his notorious lecture on gathering open source information this afternoon. Better have some of that human coffee stuff."
"That sounds like an interesting topic," said one of the other Minbari, a not quite fully grown boy named Khunnier.
"My older brother is an advanced student," Duar replied. "He says Slenar could make a recitation of the First Appearance of Valen sound boring. His words will burrow right into your brain like baltor mar and you'll be snoring in minutes."
"They don't burrow," said Carla. "They're placed surgically with a trefoil scalpel."
"Trefoil scalpel?" Duar repeated, startled. "Where did you learn to speak Minbari?"
"Oh, did I say it wrong?"
"No, you said it perfectly, that's what's so odd. Well, perfectly with a Coastline accent, anyway. You don't read Minbari at all, you don't know any words for philosophy, or the names of the great literary figures, but you know how to say that?"
Carla studied her plate and took a bite of flarn. No one had supplied a new topic by the time she was done chewing it, so she said, "I'd like to learn to read Minbari. I presume there will be a class on it sometime."
"Come on," Duar persisted. "What kind of weird school did you go to?"
Khunnier interceded. "Obviously it wasn't a school. You really need Slenar's lecture if you can't put those obvious clues together. Now about your brother, Duar. What other tips can he give us?"
Carla smiled gratefully at Khunnier for changing the topic.
Later, as they took seats for the lecture, Khunnier sat by Carla and said, "You're welcome."
"You a telepath, too?" Carla asked.
"I wish. No, I just love a mystery. And you're a mystery, Carla. One day the teachers get an order straight from Entilza Delenn, saying to accept the new Anla'shok candidate she's sending on, without a word of explanation, except that the new person did well in a boarding action by a Minbari war cruiser recently. They think they're preparing to meet some young hotshot from the military caste, and then you show up."
"Oh, it's not that hard to explain," Carla said. "I was in the boarding action. The Captain let me tag along." Out of pity, probably, Carla thought. Or maybe some misplaced race guilt. "And now I'm here. I'm myself again. A fresh start."
Khunnier said, "I've wanted to be Anla'shok all my life. When I was a small child, they were an ancient and mysterious order, more exclusive than any group I knew of. When I was an older child, the Anla'shok became the secret agents of the Shadow War, collecting intelligence, carrying messages, working with secret resistance groups. I got books on codes, and studied them until my parents said I'd go blind if I didn't go outside and play. And then they were the captains of the Whitestar Fleet, great warriors in the great war. And now they've become some kind of police force, patrolling Interstellar Alliance space. But they're still all the other things they used to be. And it's intelligence gathering that excites my imagination."
"Ah. So you're trying to figure me out."
"I've already got one thing figured out. Duar and the some of the others don't know enough about humans to tell how old you are. That's why he thinks you came here straight from some school. Here are the clues, and here's my analysis. Clue: you're old enough to have been in the Earth-Minbari war. Clue: you speak Minbari with a Shoreline accent. Like the dalshons of Clan Itma. Clue: you don't know how to say 'meditation' but you do know how to say 'trefoil scalpel'. Clue: you speak of the baltor mar like you have personal experience with them. Conclusion: you learned Minbari as a prisoner of war. On Tifar. From Comac of Clan Itma."
Carla sighed. "It was before you were born, Khunnier. I lost my self on Tifar. I just didn't know it yet. I didn't realize what the consequences were going to be until much later. I thought I was free, when I was first released. Then there was The Night. And then prison, until they figured out what was wrong with me. And then the mental hygiene center. And then the Commission. And Ike, and the support group. And then I really was free. Free, but, without my self. Without being-- being who I am. Military. Psychological discharge. Not guilty by reason of mental reprogramming. A category intended for victims of rogue telepaths. For, for like what happened to Garibaldi. A decade of hanging around with Ike, for lack of any better leader, or anything better to do. When he started the FPFP I jumped in with both feet, thinking here at last was something that mattered. But it didn't get me what I really wanted. Which was to be something other than a used up old wreck. Unable to ever get a real job, because nobody wanted to hire the crazy lady. Living on a military pension that gave me just enough money for beer and monorail passes, and a quarter of a room shared with people who used my dishes and left them in the sink for me to clean if I wanted to use them. I tried to go home, for about a year. Nearly everybody treated me like fragile glass, except for mom and the other relatives who expected me to start being a 13 year old kid again. And the ones who treated me like shit and told me I shouldn't have broken, like it was some kind of choice. And that's probably way more than you wanted to know, isn't it?"
Khunnier's eyes were wide. "They really kicked you out of the military caste? That's horrible. And you couldn't even properly join the worker caste, because no one would give you a chance. There wasn't anyone else you could go to? Old friends from the military?"
"I killed them, Khunnier. I killed my whole unit. But that's the past. I'm here now. I'm military again. All I want now is the present, and the future."
"You killed—" A moment of wide-eyed, slack-jawed shock, and then Khunnier's voice dropped to a whisper. "In Valen's name. You're loribonded. That's the other thing Tifar was infamous for."
"Yes. You just keep that under your—" Minbari didn't wear hats—"bone, OK? I don't want pity. I just want to be a Ranger, like all the rest of you."
"This isn't pity. It's awe. That you could go through that and end up here."
"Oh. I never thought that story would make anyone admire me."
"I admire the strength you have. Inside, where it counts. I'm starting to see that the kind of strength that wins pull-up contests really doesn't count for much in the real world. And I'm really, really—surprised isn't the right word—Whatever it is in your heart that allows you to have Minbari friends—"
Then the lecturer called for attention.
"Well, thank you, Khunnier," Carla whispered, as the room quieted down. "That puts things in a different perspective."
\
The skies of Minbar never truly got as bright as the skies of Earth. Even on the clearest day, when the blue of the sky was a true cyan shade the like of which Earth has never seen.
Khunnier was glowing with excitement enough to compensate, though. He was actually bouncing in place a little. Because today was the infiltration exercise. Anything to do with spying always set his eyes to sparkling.
The class was assembled outside, without their uniform vests and pins. Everyone still favored the dark clothes they generally wore underneath, though. For hiding in shadows and being nondescript.
The instructor, a human, shook his head. "Is that your idea of civvies? You're supposed to pass for tourists. You look like a bunch of Rangers without their vests on. Now go back and try it again. I'm sure you all must have real civilian clothes in your closets. Or, in the case of those of you who came from the military caste, your non Ranger caste clothing. None of you has been here more than a year. We'll reassemble in one standard break. Go."
Carla went back to her room and opened the closet. There was one thing in there that certainly did not look like part of an Anla'shok uniform. It was blue and red, and very worn, and had a hole worn in the elbow from leaning on bars. Carla had thought about pitching it out when she came here, in token of her fresh start. But she had kept it for some reason.
"I've outrun my past," Carla murmured. "But it's still part of who I am." She put on the FPFP jacket and returned to the assembly area.
The others had turned out in a variety of outfits. The Minbari were about evenly divided between black military caste wear, gold religious caste robes, and various tasteful fashions. The humans, on the other hand, had universally gone for bright colors that clashed painfully with each other. One of them had even shown up in a Hawaiian shirt, Bermuda shorts, thong sandals, sunglasses, and a still camera hanging around his neck. Carla had to smile when she saw her fellow humans.
But all the students were all staring at her.
"Well," said the human in the tourist costume. "That explains you."
Carla said, "I take it you know what the FPFP is."
Khunnier said, "It was the subject of one of those documentaries about Earth history that you always skip to go practice the Pike. There's no point in, um, I mean now that everybody knows…"
"Thank you for keeping my secret all this time, Khunnier."
"You're welcome. If I'm going to be an intelligence specialist, I not only need to learn to find out secrets, I need to learn to keep them 'under my bone'." Khunnier patted the top of his head to indicate his brain.
The two of them shared a smile at the in joke.
Carla addressed the group. "I spent a decade and a half trying to outgrow my past, wearing this jacket to various meetings and events. It didn't work. I didn't really outgrow it, and start looking forwards instead of back, until I came here, and joined the Anla'shok. I just wanted to stop looking back. But now that I've established myself as one of you, I guess I don't need to keep being a mystery to everybody."
Some of the humans started applauding, and the Minbari joined in. Carla smiled ironically and made of those politician-waves, to acknowledge the applause at her speech.
\
Space was vast and dark and infinite. The stars were steady; there was no atmosphere out here to make them twinkle. The Minbari fighter had no gravity, and Carla could have felt like she was floating in the amniotic sea of the womb of night… except that she was strapped in, of course. It would not do to have the pilot float away from the controls during combat.
Carla had never seen space like this before. She had been a ground-pounder, confined to views of space from portholes and viewscreens. She had seen simulations of the view out a cockpit, of course, while training on Minbar to fly a fighter. But she, Khunnier, Duar, and a human named Bojo were all on their first live flight.
They streamed away from the Whitestar toward a flashing space buoy the ship had dropped. They were simply supposed to circle it and return, an easy exercise.
They had been on the Whitestar for weeks, manning various posts, practicing in the simulator, holding Pike drills, meditating, sparring, and reading. It was much like training at the training base, except without the lectures.
The ship was deep in space now, away from the normal space lanes, far from any trouble. Or, it was supposed to be far from trouble.
A jump point formed right on top of the fighters.
Carla reversed her engines, realized she was going to plow right into the front of Khunnier's fighter, threw the stick at a random angle and veered off into space.
The ship that came out of the gate was an affront to her reason. Half boxy lines like an Earth ship, half impossible spider legs, all black and faintly shiny, reflecting blue fire from the bright geometry of the jump point.
It screamed in her mind as it passed by. Carla had the sensation of wind, and she sent her fighter into an uncontrolled tumble, trying to compensate for something that was only in her mind.
The alien ship lined up on the Whitestar and its weapons glowed as if preparing for an attack. Then it broke off, formed another jump point and zoomed through it.
The part of space it happened to pick to make its escape was the same area Carla's fighter had whirled into. Carla knew her fighter was going to impact the alien ship. The only choice she had was whether to stick or bounce off.
If she bounced off, and the rapidly expanding jump point took her into hyperspace, she might be lost there forever. Minbari fighters were short range, without hyperdrive.
With only a split second to make her decision, Carla set the claw and attached to the alien ship. The impact made a sickening crunch, but the fighter's hull integrity held, and the atmosphere remained inside where it belonged.
The red light of hyperspace flickered around her. She rode like a limpet to the alien base.
The End
The Dark Horse series continues in Evil Centauri Pirates