The glow of the massive bulb dulled, slowly, but still it flickered. Small, thin Callisto curled suspended from the core, wings so much smaller, so bare. The feather pile in her bulb was so high and thick. The bones of her shoulders, hips, they all stuck out in a sickly manner.

"What did you do, turn her output down like a dimmer?" Vanessa asked, squinting up at the prone girl. She was leaning her weight against the catwalk railing, but still her legs trembled.

"Sit down, Vanessa, you're still too weak," Knives murmured, fingers still tapping away at the panel before him.

"Will she heal, with the output lowered like that?"

"It's called hibernation, it works with the others. I'm hoping it'll work for her, but she isn't a full-breed so it's hard to say. Her condition's worsened. Vanessa, you look like you're going to collapse," he insisted, stopping his work to address her. "Rest for a moment, we've only just arrived."

"If I rest it'll only get worse," she stated plainly. "What does the flickering mean?"

"I've never seen them flicker before, and yes, you need to rest to get better."

Turning to face him, she shook her head. "This isn't from exhaustion," she informed him, realizing he didn't know. "This is because of the rest, itself. If I don't use my legs, they can't be used."

"It takes weeks for atrophy to set in, doesn't it? You have nothing to-"

"That's if your legs are intact," she corrected, suddenly flushing and turning back to stare into the bulb. "I lost a lot of the muscle in my thighs, back on Earth. In an accident. The explosives weren't supposed to be there."

"Explo-"

"Long story short, I went into a battle too quickly, and my legs were blown off. But they're reattached; they work. I just don't have much muscle, to work with, there, anymore. Didn't you see it, when you…"

He continued to stare at her, letting it sink in, heart pounding. This was a story he had half-expected, after seeing her scars, her legs, her thighs only recently. The scarring told the tale, for the most part. The limp, the scarring, the missing flesh…of course it was the fault of humans. "In this battle, who was the aggressor?" he asked simply.

Was she smiling? "I was."

How could that be true?

"I chose to become a warrior. Willingly. It was my idea. I wanted to go into those battles. I believed in them, still do. And I always won," she added, voice solemn as her smile faded.

"I wouldn't call that winning," Knives commented, confused. "Having your legs…what, 'blown off'?"

She chuckled, but there was sadness in her voice. "You should've seen the other guys," she whispered.

They stood in silence, Vanessa's legs shaking harder. Finally she walked away, footsteps ringing off the catwalk stairs, and tucked herself into a sleeping bag.

Knives knew he should feel anger, hatred for the humans' violence toward Vanessa, toward any plant. And he did, he was angry. But not entirely – he was also stunned by her comments, confused, attempting to figure out how this Vanessa could ever be a 'warrior,' and he felt awe, as when he thought of her beating up the human in the desert, and her punching himself in the face. Awe – that this Vanessa knew more about violence and conflict and sweeping battle than he'd given her credit for. And, unlike him, she'd won her battles.

O

O

Weeks passed, and Vanessa's legs regained stability. She worked harder than ever with him in the gardens, learning construction. They built several extensions onto the garden, and another barn, with scraps from city ruins and plant complexes.

Vanessa's skin tanned in the sun, and her figure changed with work. She was muscular, a little too thin. Toned and strong, she doubled their productivity.

Their relationship was growing stronger than ever. She wanted to be with him all the time, as did he with her. Often, they were together working in silence, but it was good. Sometimes she sang, gradually less insecure about how she sounded.

But night was best. Knives lay there with her, in the plutonic nature that it'd always been, and she spoke with him. They talked about what yields in the garden were their favorites, about funny things they saw the cats doing, and Knives told stories of what he'd being doing for those decades alone.

Once, as they lay there, he wondered aloud, "I don't think I raised Callisto correctly…What did you do, with Tessla?"

Vanessa didn't reply.

"When I found her in the bulb, I kept wondering, what did I do wrong? What should I have said, done, when she was little? I believe I made some mistake with her. Maybe…maybe she needed a mother. Someone like you."

"I don't want to talk about this," she snapped.

Knives was shocked. "I'm not a perv-"

"It's not something I like to think about…it's a sensitive topic for me."

He was quiet, thinking. It would be nice to hear something of her past century, but she seemed so unwilling to divulge information more detailed than, 'I was a warrior, Vash and Tessla are ok, I always won, I wasn't forced into anything.' What sort of 'anything?' he wondered.

"Another topic, then. How did you become a warrior?"

"I decided not to hide anymore," she replied, simply. "On those ships, I told them I'm a plant."

Knives' eyes went wide, in the dark.

"I thought they'd kill me. Instead, they asked me what I wanted to do with myself. I didn't know. I thought about it, I found out all about mankind and the issues of the planet. As on Gunsmoke, there was a darkness in humans. Unlike here, most people on Earth lived lives of relative safety and comfort. When allowed proper means of survival, humans are good. Most humans are good. A very, very small percentage of them, however, turn to the darkness. Despite all logic, they want to cause chaos, to believe in something terrible and violent, or to just get more. They were usually the ones who struggled to survive at some point. I researched all I could about the bad elements in society, and the psychology of the average and the abnormal human mind.

"I asked them if they would help me resurrect my gate. If they could, I told them that I wanted to be a warrior. To use my 'natural talent,' they called it, to go out on missions around the globe, as an independent military figurehead, eliminating the majority of military casualties, keeping peace…On the one condition that I have sole right to choose or refuse any mission. They agreed, on the condition that I never reveal my identity, go into hiding, and I was fine with that. I can honestly say that I don't regret a single mission. Wars and corruption were reduced considerably in the time I served. I made a few mistakes, but the accident was the worst. I'd just started seeing black hairs, and since that day I've had strands, at the base of my neck. I didn't want to do it anymore. quit, after that."

Vanessa had a functioning gate? The humans knew she was a plant? She policed them as a plant, killing off the worst of the vermin? "On these missions, you'd do what?"

"I'd, well, usually I'd sneak up to the enemy's base, to where their leader was, they always had a leader, and my support announced my presence. That usually did it."

"What, taking out the leader? It would have been easier if they hadn't announced that you were there, if you could simply diffuse the situation without a word."

"Knives, I don't believe in slaughter. We found something more clever to fight them with – fear. I had a reputation, made demonstrations for the whole world to witness. Take out a chunk of unpopulated landscape in front of the media, once in a while, and there was no need for anyone to die. Once faced with their own mortality, most surrendered on the spot, not a drop of blood spilt."

"Well played," Knives reflected, "So with threat of death, you were able to frighten them into submission. Most of the time. What about the rest of the missions?"

"Sometimes people had to die."

He was somewhat amazed. Vanessa, killing humans, despite the finite philosophy his brother had pushed upon her. Vash wanted Love and Peace. Vanessa's mantra sounded more like Fear and Peace.

"Their deaths are on my head. I couldn't figure out how to reach them. When I rushed out too quickly, that day in Africa…I could've avoided it if I'd waited for the sweep crew to check the area, but I was impatient…If I'd known about the mines, I wouldn't have gotten hurt, and I wouldn't have…gone berserk... I killed…I killed so many, I killed all of them…It was an accident…" Her voice was so weak, so quiet, so hushed and reverent. "I made my peace, I healed, I prepared everything for the project to continue without me, and I came here."

He listened to her quick, sharp breathing, without a word. He wasn't sure what he thought of this, whether he agreed or not with her choices. It was more than she'd told him, about her, than at any other time in his life.

"I, um, I made a mistake, with Vince, with that human I found. I didn't know the whole situation. Just like every other one, he made unjust decisions for the sake of survival, and I wasn't careful. I'm sorry. I didn't tie him to the rock. I lost control of the situation, I let my curiosity take over…I let it go too far. I thought I could do it, it was such a nice plan. But I was tired, and cranky, and I was so angry, and I didn't know that would change it, I'd never been angry when I used the weapon before, but it doesn't work the same when you're-" Her throat caught on her words, as they became louder and faster and wavering. "I didn't want to kill anyone, ever again, but I…they're both dead, both of them, I think, but I was so desperate, I was trying to survive and my darkness took over, just like them," she continued, almost yelling, "I don't want anyone else to die, anyone, and I won't tell you where they are, I can't, I'm sorry!"

Knives sank into thought, not replying.

"If there's ever a good reason for you to know, I'll tell you in a heartbeat, but until then…it has to be my secret," she insisted, in a tone more pleading than commanding.

He traced the silhouette of her, as she lay there beside him, curled up under a ratty quilt. Her eyes were shut, her brows tight, chin tucked in a fold. Sliding his hand under the sheets, he found hers balled into fists under her chin. His fingers tucked into the palm of her fist until it loosened, and he held it there.

Silence passed, and Knives felt himself nodding off, until her voice came, muffled. "Say something."

"About what?"

"Don't you want to know? Or do I have to wait and see what plans that mind of yours is hatching?" she grumbled.

"You're ruining the moment, Vanessa," Knives chuckled, closing his eyes once more. Sliding his fingers just a bit more past hers, he smiled.

Nothing more was said that night. Vanessa was so confused, and quite shocked. As she drifted away, she dare not to move her hands.