A/N: Welcome to the sequel to the Human Heart! I know I said I wasn't going to put this up until I finished DE: Citadel, but as I have found myself beating my head on the wall trying to get word down on paper for Citadel the last few weeks with no success, I decided to go forward with this.

For those of you already familiar with my style and previous stories, feel free to skip this boring bit. For those who aren't, a couple of quick notes.

This story, like its predecessor, is very loosely based on the Wing Commander video game series. A lot of the basic frame work remains the same: the Terran Confederation, the Kilrathi, etc. but you won't find characters from the games or books in this story. There's no Blair, no Hobbes. While there is an Angel, and a Shadow, they are not the characters that you may know from the canon tales. The ship names, the slang, and tech are all mine.

Most of the time I write left-of-canon; here, I've swerved so far left you can only barely see canon if you have an extra nice set of binoculars and know exactly where to look.

If you haven't read the previous story, please do. I write with the assumption that the reader has done so, although there will be some exposition here and there throughout this story.

I tend toward diversity in my writing and LGBT relationships with predominantly lesbian relationships, though by no means is this all that I include or write. If LGBT+, or heck, even straight relationships, offend you, don't read on. Also, don't expect too much in the way of detailed shmexy, I tend to fade to black.

You will find a good many of the characters from my previous fic have returned to play with us. Angel, Ripley, Hammer, Reaper, and many more will be here. The first story was told from Ripley and Angel's points of view, but while they remain main characters and a pretty big focus of this story as well, they will not be the sole focus as they were in the first. Also, in the first one, I examined the strengths and capacities of the Human Heart.

Here, we have a peek at what truly makes up a Human Soul, and that's never a thing to take lightly.

I left several questions open in the end of the last story that will be answered here, or potentially in yet a third one if I decide to go on with this. As we venture back into these starry waters, remember just one thing for me, ok? To quote a few random comic books (you may not have heard of them, I don't think they're very popular- they certainly didn't make ten trillion movies **cough**)

With great power comes great responsibility.

And in the end, the bill comes due. Always, the bill comes due.

Try not to hate me too much, ok? I am but the humble voice over on the opening credits. Now, shall I set the scene?

The Human Soul

October the 31st, Earth Standard Year 2223- ten years after the Battle for Earth that ended the Kilrathi war.

A ship drifts through shoals of amber and rose light, skirting the edge of a nebula lit by triple suns. A spotlight catches the designation, painted in white and blue on its starboard side, revealing it as the ISCS Black Eye.

Silently, the sleek silver arrows of ten fighters part ahead of the bow like water flowing around a rock, five to a side. They move at a cautious speed along its flank, their lights playing over the hull. Several portholes are lit, but most are dark.

In the pit of one of the fighters, a pilot turns her head and watches as the porthole lights flicker, stutter, and then return to strength. Painted on her helmet is a jack o' lantern with eldritch eyes, the gaps in its mouth forming her callsign- 'Pumpkin'.

"Sir, we have visual confirmation on the Black Eye," she says.

{Damages?}

"Negative hull damage on my scope thus far, she's at a lazy cruise but she's on fumes. The lights are flashing."

{Pumpkin; Blaster. I've got damage on the aft port side bulkhead. Doesn't look too serious but the hull is breached.}

"Scoring?"

{Negative, doesn't look like munitions impact. I'd say they were hit by debris, or maybe an asteroid. Hull breach looks about a meter and a half on a maintenance deck.}

{Pumpkin; Rainbow. I'm not seeing any sign of motion aboard. The static from the nebula is still throwing off our scans. Our reads are useless, but the damage I can see here is not significant. Even with that breach they should have been able to lock down safely and start on repairs. I don't see why they'd mayday.}

"Sir, we're reading no better up close. Visual shows minimal damage, but no motion on board."

{Copy that, we're moving closer to 35 and sending feet. Hold position}.

"Wing; Pumpkin. You heard the man. Keep flank position on the Black Eye and hold pattern, we're getting feet on deck."

She moves her fighter toward the Black Eye's nosecone, the Wing wordlessly following her example and swimming alongside the silent vessel in the eddies of the nebula.

{Pumpkin; Rainbow. The Gaza has moved to close distance of 35.2 aft. I've got the shuttle on scope.}

The pilot watches as the transport shuttle quietly slides into position just in front of her, joining onto the Black Eye's command air lock. Only a few minutes after it has it latched into place, and the infantry commander aboard is coming over her comm.

{Gaza, this is Tisdale. We've got the lock open and cleared the helm. No one is on the command deck, sir. Life support is still up but I think we have less than an hour of appreciable fuel left. Computer damage reports read as nominal, no engine breach or serious compromise. Radiation levels are nominal and in spec. No sign of anyone on the bridge, dead or alive.}

In the pit of the silver fighter, Pumpkin grimaces as the infantryman says his given. Given names are forbidden for pilots, shock jockeys, and crews the moment a boot enters the flight deck until they return. Infantry had their own set of superstitions that didn't include such a belief- and she was not a particularly superstitious pilot herself- but everything about the Black Eye already felt hinky as shit. She didn't relish the invitation of additional bad luck.

{Acknowledged, proceed cautiously.}

{Gaza, I've got Charles digging deeper into the computer systems, the rest of the team is proceeding aft. I…what the hell is that? Don't-}

For a brief moment, Pumpkin sees the Black Eye swelling, her plates starting to buckle, and reflexively she hauls her stick.

Unfortunately, it's far, far too late.

TCS Tenacious, Flag Ship of the Terran Confederation First Fleet, Omicron Sector

The false sky above the running track on the PT and Rec Deck of the Tenacious was an almost eye-wrenching shade of blue. A small squad of marine infantry on PT was trotting around it at a steady clip, the few independent joggers sharing the track shifting to the left or the right as they approached.

One of these joggers, a small woman wearing shorts and a tank top of Confed blue, her dark hair pulled back from her face in a short braid, heard the squad coming up behind her again and gave a little smirk. Unlike the other runners, she didn't just move over and give them room.

"SIR GIVE WAY SIR!" The entire squad shouted as they came up behind her.

"THAT IS A NEGATIVE GRUNTS!" she shouted back. "ALPHA DO NOT GIVE WAY!"

"OORAH!" the marines barked as one.

On the last four laps they had done this, the squad had parted neatly in the middle and passed her on both left and right with salutes, their commanding officer ordering them to do so with a laugh in her voice.

This time, however, the commander had other ideas.

"MARINES, WHERE DO PILOTS BELONG?"

The runner cried out in surprise as two of the marines swept up behind her, dropping their arms under her thighs and all but throwing her up into the air, right into the arms of the other marines. Holding her as if she were surfing the crowd at a concert, the marines hefted her high and helpless, bearing their trophy to the final ten-mile mark of their jog.

"IN THE AIR SIR!"

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU! WHERE DO PILOTS BELONG?" The officer sounded like she was having far too much fun.

"IN THE AIR SIR!"

They lifted her even higher. She was laughing so hard she almost missed the next bit.

"AND WHAT DO MARINES DO?"

"WE BRING PILOTS HOME SIR!"

"THEN LET'S BRING HER HOME!"

"OORAH!"

They crossed the ten-mile mark, bearing their trophy proudly every step of the way. By the time their commander ordered them to halt, their hapless victim was blinking back tears from her laughter.

"Marines, please put the pilot on her feet!" the commander ordered. The runner was swung down as if she weighed no more than a whisp of cotton, and planted gently on her feet. Wiping her face, clearing her throat, the runner put on an indignant look and smoothed the wrinkles out of her sweaty tank-top.

"Commander Robinson, do you think that was funny?" she asked.

"Sir, yes, sir," Robinson said with a grin.

"Well, it absolutely was! I want these men whipped!"

"Would a shower do instead, sir?"

"Oh God yes please. Sorry, but you guys really stink."

"You heard the Major! Dismissed to the showers! Move it grunts!"

Robinson dogged them toward the showers, the squad falling into formation again as they went, their voices rising high again in a cadence.

"I don't know but heard it said!

Weren't for us, they'd all be dead!"

"Who'd be dead?" Robinson.

"PILOTS!"

"Who told you?"

"I don't know but it's been said!

Pilot wings are made of lead!

I don't know but I've been told!

Marine boots are made of gold!"

Cupping her hands around her mouth, Ray Caruso shouted back at them.

"Fool's gold!"

"OORAH!"

"Gotta love the marines," Ray said to herself, backhanding some sweat from her eyes, and unconsciously giving her right leg a bit of a shake.

Though she'd had the prosthesis for over ten years now, she still expected to feel a bit of a weary ache in it when she finished PT. It never came. While she could feel with the prosthetic, it did not get tired like her real leg did, nor did it have muscles inside it to ache.

To be honest, this prosthetic was outdated when compared to a lot of the cutting-edge limb-replacements they had now, but it had served her just fine and she'd never felt the need to upgrade.

She'd lost her leg when still in SFT training, back when the war had still been going on. She and the rest of her Wing had been isolated on a routine patrol run by the Kilrathi, and had been hit by a missile as she put herself between it and her wingmate. The explosion had torn up the side of her pit and her leg so terribly they'd had to cut the limb off just to get her out of her crashed tourney.

Heading off the track, she went inside the gym, quickly spotting her target.

A series of chin-up bars had been set over mats, but only one woman was using them. She had her back to Ray, dressed in the same Confed blue shorts and tank. She was in the middle of a set, and from the sweat soaking the back of the tank it was far from her first.

White scars lined her shoulders and biceps, forming a patchwork of hash marks over her muscles. On her arm, one set of scars looked far less haphazard. These had been carefully carved by a claw and formed a single Kilrathi word: Property.

She'd gotten those scars at the same time that Ray had gotten her leg cut off. The battle that had put that missile into Caruso's pit had ended with Parry, her wingman, being captured by the Cats. Parry had been tortured, for days, by a sadistic piece of work named Chiv- and his first act in that torture had been to carve that word into her skin.

Above the Kilrathi word, almost scrawled over it, was a tattoo. It was written in English instead of Kilrathi, but as well consisted of a single word.

Not.

Wordlessly, Ray watched from behind her as Parry continued her pull ups, muscles bunching and shifting the scars almost hypnotically.

Finally finishing her set, Parry released the bar and dropped easily to the ground. Bending she picked up her towel, mopping it over her face. Without turning, she hooked it around her neck and then said "It's a good thing you're gorgeous, because you smell."

"I know," Ray said. "So do you."

Parry looked around at her with an affectionate smirk. "Then I suppose we need to get a shower, don't we Major?"

"Yup. And we'd better hurry, Colonel. We've got the two new assigns coming in at ten hundred."

Parry reached out a hand, and Ray took it, the pair heading out of the gym and toward their quarters.

"What do we know about our new blood?" Parry asked almost the moment they'd stepped into their room. The quarters were small, little more than a bed and tiny sitting space, but it had a private bathroom and a porthole, and was world's more luxurious than the old bunks they'd had on the Houston.

Ray smirked to herself, sitting down to take off her joggers. She knew perfectly well that Parry had read their files repeatedly from the moment she'd been informed Car-Rack and Buzzsaw were leaving Alpha Wing; Car-Rack for a teaching position at Johannesburg and Buzzsaw to join his wife in the new colonizing efforts.

"The greenest is Masha Drozdova," Ray said. "'Firefly'. Graduated a year ago from Yelchin with a score of 189, her first assignment was to the Anso- moderate SFT training. Fluent in English and Russian. I'd like to learn Russian."

"Maybe she'll teach you," Parry said, peeling off her tank top. "And the second?"

"Willa Braun. Callsign 'Woncha'." Ray giggled as she stood up and started getting out of her sweaty clothes. "Willa Woncha. Classic. Graduated Boriston three years ago, with a flight score of 192. Been in SFT training on the Houston."

"One nine two?" Parry echoed, her eyebrows lifting as she cast the rest of her dirty clothes aside.

"Yes. Two higher than you did," Ray said, throwing her own onto the pile and giving Parry a teasing smirk as she stepped past into the small bath, turning on the shower. "Worried she'll take over as WC?"

Parry snorted, following her. "Hardly. Yours was 200. If anyone's going to take my job it would be you. Why the hell do you think I keep you close? I gotta keep an eye on you, make sure you don't get any ideas."

Ray gave her a grin, then grabbed her hand and pulled her in under the spray. Parry, water streaming over her head and face, reached over and began to unwind Ray's braid. "I notice you didn't reassure me that you were not, in fact, gunning for my job," she said.

"Didn't I?" Ray asked. "Huh."

"C'mon, fess up Caruso," Parry said, settling her hands around Ray's waist.

"And remove your reason for keeping me close?" Ray asked. "I don't think so."

"I'll just have to keep you closer then," Parry laughed, then pulled her in and kissed her.

"My plan worked," Ray said a few moments later, when the kiss broke. "We can't be late."

"We won't be," Parry said, and kissed her again.

Thirty minutes later, dressed in fresh uniforms, the pair headed at a jog toward the aft dock of the Tenacious. Unlike the two fighter launches on the port and starboard, the aft dock was designed for much larger supply shuttles, transports, and a pair of combat search and rescue vessels.

A transport was already lowering to the deck as the two pilots paused outside the open hangar, and Parry gave Ray a somewhat breathless grin. "See? I told you we wouldn't be late."

"Colonel Mazurek, there you are," Alonso 'Grumpy' Perkins, tech sergeant and deck chief for the aft dock, turned from the maintenance area as he caught sight of them. "New blood for Alpha, huh? Major, good to see you."

"Good to see you too, Grumpy," Ray said.

"Surprised the rest of the Wing isn't here."

"We've got evening rotation," Parry told him. "They'll meet the new blood at muster later on. Technically, even Ray doesn't need to be here, but no matter how hard I try I can't seem to shake her."

"If I didn't keep you in line, who knows what kind of trouble you'd get into," Ray said, watching the transport through tempered glass.

As the transport settled fully to deck, the big steel launch doors slid closed. The silently rotating red lights bathing them from every direction turned to yellow, then to green as the deck was repressurized, and the hanger itself unlocked. Grumpy excused himself and moved back out into the hanger toward the transport, just as their two new pilots disembarked, duffels over their shoulders.

Parry and Ray waited in the corridor for them. It wouldn't do, after all, to make introductions on deck, and break the good luck of the Wing or the Tenacious as a whole, by using their given names.

As she stepped out of the hanger, the taller of the newcomers saw them first and dropped her duffle, giving a neat salute. The shorter, dark haired and olive skinned, was far more casual as she set her bag down and echoed her companion's salute.

"At ease," Parry told them, as she and Ray returned the gesture. "I'm Colonel Parry Mazurek, WC of Alpha Wing. This is my second, Major Ray Caruso. Welcome aboard the Tenacious."

"Thank you, sir," the taller said, her Russian accent noticeable. "First Lieutenant Masha Drozdova."

"First Lieutenant Willa Braun," her companion said. Though there was no trace of an accent, Ray grinned.

"Guten tag. Ich hoffe mein Deutsch ist passabel. Ich lerne immer noch."

Braun lifted her brows a little, then smiled. "Es ist überhaupt nicht schlecht, Herr."

"Ray is a bit of a language nerd," Parry told them. "Actually, she's a bit of a nerd in everything."

Drozdova as well smiled at Ray. "Vi znayetye roosskiy yazik?"

"Sorry, that's one I hope to learn," Ray told her.

"I would be happy to help teach you, sir."

"I would enjoy that, thank you," Ray said.

"You may regret telling her that," Parry said to Drozdova with a smile. "She-"

{Colonel Mazurek, Major Caruso; please report ASAP to the bridge.}

Both Parry and Ray's eyebrows lifted, and they exchanged looks, before Parry regarded her two newbies.

"My apologies."

She touched her earlobe, the chip in her thumb interfacing with the one in her earlobe and opening up a comm line. "Rafe, Ray and I have been called up to the bridge. Our two new wingmen are here outside of the aft dock. Yes. Thank you."

She dropped her hand. "Major Gorski will be here shortly to direct you to your bunks and get you situated. The afternoon is yours, but we are on evening rotation, muster at 1900. We'll see you then."

Both the women saluted again, Parry and Ray returning them before they turned and headed down the corridor. As soon as they were out of ear shot of the new recruits, Ray looked at Parry worriedly.

"The bridge?" she asked. "In the nine years we've served here, have you ever been called to the bridge before?"

"Never," Parry said. "I don't think I've ever set foot up there."

Catching Ray's face out of the corner of her eye, Parry added, "Are you going to be ok?"

"What? Yes, I'll be fine."

"If the Blazer-"

"I'll be fine," Ray said again. Parry didn't look convinced, but didn't press.

The bridge of a typical dreadnought was a sight to behold, but the bridge of the HMS Tenacious swept even that away.

The Tenacious had been commissioned as the new flagship of the First Fleet after the Battle for Earth, in which the TCS Londontown had been destroyed. In many ways, the Tenacious was unique- not just because of her size, but also in her name. It was Confed tradition that ships and supply platforms were named after cities, countries, or other locales.

The powers that be, however, had decided that the new flagship should be named something that reflected the spirit of humanity, highlighting how close they had come to total annihilation and their determination to recover.

No one was quite certain, even now, how humanity had managed to win that day. The human fleets had been decimated, the Kilrathi closing in on Earth. Parry herself had been in the pit of a fighter and had literally been plotting her course for a suicide run into the engines of the Kilrathi emperor's ship when the Cat forces had just…stopped.

No communication, no reason given. The Cats had been within moments of complete victory and the systematic genocide of the entire human race and they had simply stopped, turned around, and retreated back through their Jump gates, scuttling them in the process.

That was just over ten years ago, and no one had heard from the Kilrathi since.

The Confed was just starting to recover. In the final months of the war, they had lost nearly every colony outside of the Sol system. Billions had died, entire Fleets had been wiped out or badly broken. Of their thirty supply platforms, only the TCP Seattle and the TCP Houston had survived; and the Houston had been in the process of being captured by the Cats when they'd abruptly departed.

Only within the last year had humanity recovered enough to start serious attempts at moving beyond the Sol system again; planning out colonies and sending research and seeding ships out to establish them.

And military vessels to protect them, Parry added silently to herself, then half-glanced at Ray again as they rode the final lift up into the bridge. She had claimed she'd be fine, and so far she looked as if she was, but Parry had known Ray long enough to know that what the woman truly was feeling could be completely at odds with what one would expect, or what she would demonstrate.

As the lift opened onto the bridge and the pair of pilots stepped out, they were immediately greeted by Captain Flask.

He echoed their salutes with a quick one of his own, then pointed toward a door. "Colonel, Major. They're waiting for you in there."

"Sir, do you-" Parry began, but Flask just shook his head.

"In there, Colonel," he said, and then turned aside to examine a report his yeoman was trying to hand him.

As they headed toward the indicated door, neither woman could resist glancing around the bustling bridge. It was nearly as big as their old flight hanger had been back on Houston, and every single one of the thirty-odd personnel who staffed it seemed to be extremely busy.

Parry touched the call outside the door, and almost immediately the door slid open.

They stepped inside the briefing room to find two women waiting for them. The first was Fleet General Helen 'Nemesis' Bastille. She had been a fighter pilot in the beginning of the Kilrathi War, who had distinguished herself as a hero several times before she had left the pit for a desk. When Parry and Ray had first met her, she had been the General in command of the TCP Houston, and she'd answered to Fleet General Miels Lowman, who had commanded the entire First from the deck of the Londontown.

Lowman had been killed when the Londontown had been destroyed, and Bastille had been given command of the First in his place. She had aged noticeably since the Battle for Earth. When the First Fleet had been broken and forced to flee from the Front, Parry, Ray, and several of the others had been stranded, left behind as the Houston had retreated through the Jump back to Sol space. One of their number had been Bastille's own daughter. Jennifer 'Diamond' Bastille had been killed when the Cats had finally caught up to them weeks later on a small planet in the Territories called Provaktor, where they had tried to hide.

The war, and the death of her daughter, may have aged her, but she had lost none of the dignity and fire that had made her such a formidable pilot in the pit, and a solid force to be reckoned with at the head of the First.

The second woman was not wearing a uniform, and had an odd patch of lavender around her left eye. She rose from where she sat at the briefing table as they entered. Parry blinked at her in surprise, and did not miss the way her wingman immediately stiffened.

"Caruso, Mazurek, please. Come in," Bastille said, her voice lightly accented in French. "Have a seat."

"Sir," Ray began, still looking at the other woman, but Bastille did not let her continue.

"I know, Major. Please sit down. There is much to go over."

They moved to sit, Bastille wasting no time before she began to speak again. "Before I begin, what I am about to say is highly classified."

Parry nodded once. Ray was looking at a spot somewhere in the middle of the table, jaw clenched. The woman in civilian clothes was looking at Ray with a slightly troubled expression. If Bastille noticed it, she ignored it.

"Three days ago, the TCS Cairo of the Third Fleet picked up a signal hidden in normal background static," she said. "They were able to decipher the message and its originations were verified by SOTAC and Earth Command. It came from hostile sector one- Kilrah."

Parry sat forward a bit. "The Cats?"

"What was the nature of the signal?" Ray asked.

"It was determined to be a distress call," Bastille said. "We have no further information. The call itself ceased less than thirty minutes after it was picked up."

"As you know, we have no information on what happened to the Kilrathi or why they abandoned the Sol system the self-same hour that their victory seemed certain," the civilian said, leaning forward a little as she threaded her fingers together. The lavender patch around her eye sparkled a little in the light as she did, as if it were touched with glitter. "Even our people have heard nothing, and no Nedris have come back to home space to fill us in."

When she said 'our', her gaze fixed meaningfully to Ray, who refused to look at her.

"A distress call," Parry said thoughtfully. "Could it be Shadow?"

Colonel Diane Rochester, callsign 'Shadow', had been second-in-command to Zarold 'Merlin' Killdare of the old Alpha Wing. Merlin had already been a hero and a legend when Parry and Ray were still in their Academy, and he had also died on Provaktor; murdered by the Cats in front of his son and wingman when he'd jumped on a grenade to protect them from the blast.

After his death and their capture, Shadow had worked with the Kilrathi resistance, and with Emperor Surc's traitorous brother Prince Zuhn, to try and stop the war before humanity could be annihilated. She had infiltrated Surc's ship with the prince and a handful of others to kill him and his bloodthirsty sister Sela, and get Zuhn on the throne.

The prince had promised to halt the battle the moment he had the power to do so, and spare humanity from Surc and Sela's mad genocide, but while the Kilrathi fleets had in fact retreated, there had been no word from Zuhn or Shadow ever since.

"That is a possibility, but personally I do not think so," Bastille said. "Had this come even months after the battle, that might have been a different story. Ten years is a very long time to hold out hope that Diane is still alive."

"My first instinct would be 'trap'," Parry said thoughtfully, then snorted. "If it made any sort of sense. I cannot fathom why the Cats would retreat on the cusp of victory only to lay such a weak trap a decade later."

Bastille nodded. "It does not follow, I agree, but we can make no assumptions here. The truth of the matter is, we simply do not know what happened with the Kilrathi."

"Ambassador, the Nephilim can peek into different sectors of space, no matter how far." Parry said to the civilian. "Surely that was tried?"

"Yes," she said, and her troubled look deepened. "And we did. Aulani…"

Now Ray looked at her, worried. "Eve, what happened?"

"Aulani did exactly that," Eve told her. "At the President's request, she 'peeked' into Kilrathi space to see if she could determine what had happened, what had caused the Cat's to retreat…and she died."

"What?" Ray was not very often angry, but now she looked both furious and horrified. "Why wasn't I told, what-"

"Major," Bastille said calmly, fixing her with a look. "You asked the President to be nothing more than human again. You were made aware of the conditions of that request when it was granted."

"You chose to have nothing to do with us anymore," Eve told Ray gently. "And while I don't understand all of your reasons why, I have respected that to the best of my ability."

Not many knew that Major Rayna Caruso was a Nephilim, an alien race from something they called 'quantum space', another dimension outside of the material. Unwittingly, both the Confed and the Kilrathi had been punching holes into this other dimension with their Jump gates; devices that bypassed space and time to allow a ship to transport itself over lightyears instantly.

Occasionally, ships that had made these Jumps had vanished, and both the humans and the Cats had undergone experiments to try and find out why they disappeared and where they went to. As a result of these experiments, Ray and her family, including Eve, had been purposefully vanished and then returned.

Only what had come back hadn't been them. A material creature could not survive the transition into quantum space. The Nephilim, trying their own experiments to find out what was happening to their reality, had sent back volunteers of their own kind in the empty bodies and minds of the material beings. While the Nephilim did not die upon their entry to the material plane, their memory and entire sense of identity was wiped clean. Ray and others that had survived without going mad, had done so solely because the bodies they had occupied were those of small children; the younger the child, the easier it was for the Nephilim to grow and learn without insanity, or becoming desperately suicidal. She and Eve had grown up feeling out of place but with no idea they weren't truly human, until a series of accidents and events with the Kilrathi had shown Ray the truth.

This had only been announced to mankind as a whole after the Battle for Earth, when then President Ndiaye had addressed the world and revealed the unethical and even horrific experiments that had been done, and that first contact had been made with yet another alien species.

Much of what the President had attributed to Eve, when she revealed the Nephilim's existence and what had transpired in the Battle for Earth, was actually Ray's doing.

One of the abilities of the Nephilim was Folding space, something material beings could only do with the Jump gates. To solve the issue of the Jumps wreaking calamity on quantum space, and as part of the treaty between the Nephilim and humanity, all Jump technology had been banned. Instead, Eve had been working tirelessly with human scientists to construct adequate and fast-growing cyber-biological bodies that could be occupied by Nephilim without them having to possess the body of a child. The Nephilim that volunteered to enter these bodies still lost their memories, but with Eve able to show them the truth about themselves, and with the cybernetic portion of their partially synthetic brains giving them the ability to learn at an accelerated pace, none went mad or became suicidal.

It was only within the last two years that these new Nephilim had started to join the crews of interstellar ships. Dubbed Trailblazers, or just 'Blazers', these Nephilim served the Confed and interstellar civilian travel by opening Jumps, allowing the human ships to once again go beyond the Sol system in a manner far safer for both quantum and material space.

Ray, Eve, and three other Nephilim had served in this capacity during the Battle, trying to help humanity stand against the Kilrathi's devastating offensive. After the battle, Ray had stepped down from her standing as Ambassador and had requested that from that moment on, as far as the Confed and anyone else was concerned, she was nothing more than a human being. The truth that she was Nephilim was tightly classified, and she was limited to only her human abilities, forbidden from revealing her true nature to anyone that didn't already know.

Parry had been involved, one of the very first people that Ray had pulled through a Jump, along with their Wing Commander Jondell Killdare. Bastille had been there with the President and the Joint Chiefs when 'first contact' had officially been made.

Even Parry didn't know why Ray had chosen to step down, not fully. She didn't know why, immediately after the Kilrathi had retreated, Ray had been found unconscious on the floor of the President's secure bunker and had remained in that state for four days. Her discomfort with the Blazers and any mention of the Nephilim, however, was plain; and Parry did not press.

In truth, she was more than happy with Ray back to being just another human, a Confed pilot in Alpha Wing and the love of her life; nothing more, and certainly nothing less.

Ray fixed Eve with a look.

"What happened to Aulani?"

"She died, as I said," Eve told her. "The moment she departed her body to look into Kilrathi space, she died. There was no sign of injury or cause. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine."

Ray was shaking her head. "No. The only way that's possible is if she somehow didn't return to quantum space-"

"I know," Eve said, her voice again gentle. "But that's precisely what happened. Her body died here in material space, but she never returned to quantum space. She's simply…gone."

Guten tag. Ich hoffe mein Deutsch ist passabel. Ich lerne immer noch - *Good day. I hope my German is passable. I am still learning.

Es ist überhaupt nicht schlecht, Herr - *It's not bad at all, sir. (yes, I am aware that Herr in German is usually gendered, but it also means 'sir', which in the Confed all higher ranking officers are referred to as 'sir' regardless of gender. The German has evolved that way as well as the English, to make sir or 'Herr' in that context a gender-neutral term).

Vi znayetye roosskiy yazik - *Do you know Russian?