"Homecoming" Series

If you haven't by now figured out when and where this story is taking place, you didn't read the other parts yet. Go read them now. Advice, comments, opinions, responses, and suggestions all welcome: h_raelynn@hotmail.com :) I love feedback!

All things and people invented by jms belong to him. He can have them back whenever he wants. Original characters and settings are my own, if you want to use them, just ask nice and I'll say yes. :)

[indicates thoughts.]
*emphasis*

PG - 13 . . . the road to hell isn’t always paved with good intentions.

Note: This part will make a lot more sense if you have seen ‘War Without End’ parts one and two, during Babylon 5’s third season. {:)

~~~~

[Ugh,] Ivanova thought, [This was a lot easier coming down! Oh, buck up, I’ve been sending some of the crew up these stairs every day, to take turns guarding the equipment stored in the sheds against alts. Stupid Shadows, messing people up so that they go nuts around powered instruments. A whole lot of trouble to avoid - well, to avoid trouble. I can handle the trip just as well as my crew. At least I’ve had time to exercise, build up my leg muscles. Physically, I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been in. All these damned stairs. My whole crew, despite complaints, is also in good shape physically. A grain of wheat weighs a lot when its in a big sack with several million of it’s kin.]

[How’s Lyta doing? Still right beside me, but she’s slowing down again. We’ve come a long way already . . . time for another break as soon as we get to the next bench. How many sandwiches are left? I had two, she had one, so there should still be four. And the water. I should have packed more this morning. I could have carried a little more weight. Not much more, but enough for a few apples or something.]

[No matter how much I might have put in the backpack, no matter how heavy the package is, I’m sure Lyta’s load is heavier. She’s carrying Nathaniel, and her heart. I hope she’ll be okay for the rest of the trip - she hasn’t had much time yet to rebuild her muscles. I’ve only been with her for 11 days, but she’s getting closer to normal already.]

[She’s kept him covered for several days now. I guess she wants to remember him the way he was, not the way he must be now. Decomposing slowly. He smelled a little when I last held him. Lyta . . . Lyta should be ok. Physically, anyway. She’s still a little weak, but is getting stronger. Between morning sickness then emotional sickness, she hadn’t put on much weight to lose. She was much too thin for a new mother. If anything, she’s at a lower mass now than when I last saw her, leaving B5 so many years ago. So *few* years ago. A bit more on her middle perhaps, but a little smaller in the bust because of losing her milk again. I’ve had the chance to get a decent visual exam in the shower.]

Ivanova breathed a sigh of relief at the memory of the first shower. [Life had started to leave a smell after a few days. Lyta was so weak - she needed physical support to stay upright for even a few minutes. She’d still refused to let Nathaniel go the first time, I’d had to peel the dress off of her and help rinse. But she’s improved a lot since then. With good luck the only traces will be the stretch marks she already has, and hers aren't too bad.]

That was quite true. Two days later, Lyta had waited for Susan in the changing area just outside the shower stalls, and accepted Susan’s offer to hold him while she washed herself. [He weighed so *little*, compared to how much a baby should.] Afterwards they were able to continue that routine daily, each letting the other scrub off and clean her hair, then Lyta would take the baby back and let Susan re-braid them both.

[It’s fun to have someone else’s scalp to play with. I think I upset her a few days into it, however. I was doing my usual monologue ramble, this time telling her about the sleepovers I’d have as a kid and how we’d do each other’s hair, not expecting a reply since she always listened but so rarely spoke. She wore this strange expression for a few minutes then answered. “Normal . . . I can do that for my boy. I can do that for all the children.” I should have remembered that she was raised by the Corps. It wasn’t right of me to point out the differences. I thought at the time that my apologising made it worse, she just lapsed back into silence.]

They continued to climb stairs, one at a time.

[I guess this is what she meant. She asked for the stonecutter the next day, and he brought this massive little package very early this morning. I’m pretty sure I know what it is. Just under a foot cubed and heavy, very heavy. It’s wrapped in layers of cloth, but hard underneath the protective wrapping. It's a gravemarker. Probably two, from the size and weight. Lyta asked me to carry it for her.

"Sure. To where?"

"Valley 14 . . . where you came down." Where the children's graveyard is.]

[The ascent so far has been slow. It’s a long way to walk, with many stairs. I’ve remembered to stop and let Lyta rest when she wants it. Or if she looks like she needs it but doesn’t say anything. I can finally see the light from above us; the access point’s windows must be open again. It’s taken a long time to get this far, but we’ve seen few people. The general aura around Lyta is one of 'keep away', and the telepaths are obeying. The normals are probably too few in this area and these levels for us to have met any on the trip. But I don’t know what the trip back down will be like.]

~~~~

The meadow looked only a little bit different in the full light of late afternoon. There were maybe 3 dozen marked graves in all, small and scattered, with room for a lot more. Susan wondered how many of the graves here had no markers in the overgrown weeds, since there was a lot of evidence of overturned ground in between the marked graves. It would take a scanner to determine how many bodies lay in the field, something she didn't have. There could be hundreds if the clearing was full, if the graves were in a grid pattern like most graveyards. Not that she could really say that the posts were grave markers. At most, they had a gender sign and a last name lettered out on rough wood. The entire place had never been tended. It wasn't forbidden to come here, but Byron had 'suggested' that doing so would harm the family. [He has no respect for the dead.]

"Most of the dead are buried in the plains, not here. This is just where Byron had the infants put. Those who died before birth, or soon after, so it would be harder to visit - he was trying to force the mothers to move on. Harsh, but effective." Lyta commented offhandedly, like she was remarking on the shapes of the clouds, then added acidly, "to a point."

A few moments of silence followed as Lyta walked up to and stared at the hole, then at the filled space right beside it. “I'd never had the courage to come in person. Sometimes I windwalked here, to mourn my failures.” She looked out over the field. “All my failures.”

The shovel still stood in the dirt pile beside the fresh hole. Most of the hole had fallen back in. It needed to be re-dug to get it to proper depth. Lyta half-sat and half-collapsed in front of the empty grave, then she asked Susan to open the package. Three stone gravemarkers, small squares wrapped up in cloths to keep them from chipping if they were dropped and to pad the arms for carrying. They were carved from fine marble, or something that seemed like it, all three a matching light gray with a faint purple sheen in the light.

In memory of my first angel, far from home but not my heart.
And a single date over the top, several years before, in the Earth calendar year.

In memory of Susannah Alexander, who never knew pain.
And a single date over the top, long before, in the local calendar year. Calendar month. A full local year hadn't passed yet. Almost, but the year read 0.

In memory of Nathaniel James Alexander, my final hope in his final rest.
And a single date over the top, those few days before, in the local calendar. Byron might have claimed to not know how long they'd been here, but Lyta remembered clearly.

They laid the first two stones, one in empty grass, and one to replace the rotting wooden marker. The third had to wait for a few minutes. Lyta let Susan shovel the hole back into form, holding her son for one final time, and wrapped him in the gift Susan had brought down by the ship’s Hazmat teams. Susan asked for a locket of his hair first, and Lyta let her trim a small cluster, not looking at the boy's face while Susan retrieved it and stored it in a cloth she'd brought in her pocket for safekeeping before Nathaniel was again wrapped up. A few tears still fell, remnants of the deluge.

The gift was a silken scarf, given to Susan by Delenn when they last saw each other, 8 months after Lyta had fled B5. It was long, colourful, and soft, and it covered him many times. His body, his blanket, all of him was covered tenderly. Lyta placed him down into the grave, but stopped Susan from covering him with an inarticulate moan of protest. She replaced the soil herself, by hand, making Susan leave while burying him. Susan went a short distance away, to another clearing, and started to pick every flower she could find, gathering them in her worn and slightly dirty EA jacket. When she returned she found Lyta slumped on the ground before the graves, weeping. Lyta straightened up at the gentle hand placed on her shoulder, and wiped the tears away with her sleeve. Lyta helped Susan lay the flowers in front of the markers after Susan set the last stone in the ground, then they helped each other to stand up and went to gather more blossoms. Heaps of flowers slowly hid the fresh dirt over Nathaniel. Sitting down again to rest, they watched the sun setting higher up in the valley. Susan pulled out the paper she had tucked into her pocket, opening it in front of her where the message was visible. Then she sat back to wait, feeling wearier than she could ever remember.

Susan’s mind began to wander in the near-silence, soft words spoken against the soft ‘kirrr, kirrr’ sounds made by a few nearby birds. “I’ll be gone in a few minutes, I think. The sun is just about in the right spot. I could start to remember it all quite clearly, these past few days. I never did tell anyone what I saw from Babylon 4. I wasn’t sure how to change things, and then it was too late. I might have stayed where I was, instead of taking command of my ship. I might have been able to spare you this, if I could have figured out how - but then a lot more people might have died. Oh, Lyta, I do wish things could have been better. I really do.”

Lyta, off in her own little world, didn’t notice what Susan was saying.

So, she didn’t recognise the timeflash when it happened.

Susan Ivanova, rogue telepath, renegade soldier, and then-Commander of Babylon 5, suddenly blinked around in surprise. [Ohhhh hell,] she worried, [this looks even FURTHER from B4 than the last time!] She didn’t say anything, just looked around in confusion, wondering what she'll see this time. A classic double take came next as she startled in recognition of Lyta. Wide green eyes took in the hair change, the sky, and only one thought was able to form clearly. [This is definitely NOT the past!]

Her older-than-she body was on Lyta's left side, so she didn't see the scar marring Lyta’s neck, and she was too bewildered to notice the writing on the other gravemarkers yet. [How far have I gone? In time and in distance? What's this?] She picked out the paper in front of her. Four lines were written out in her own handwriting. One word: Sanctuary. The second line was a long sequence of numbers, the third held a trajectory marker. The forth line was equally cryptic. Do not become violent, because they will not be so unless you are the first. [What?!?]

Lyta was oblivious to the person changing times. More to the air than to her friend, she asked, "Why did so many children have to die? Can you answer that . . . why all of them, and why did I have to know them?"

Susan looked even more bewildered, and Lyta turned in the fading light to face her for a moment. "No, Captain, I take that back. I hope you never have a reason to understand this . . . slaughter. Not even a little." Lyta faded away again, into the dark recesses of her mind.

Susan was about to say something when fate again intervened, and she went whizzing back to B4, while her older personality returned from . . . wherever it went. [I understand now, what I saw . . . I'd assumed there was an attack, or a war or a plague, but didn't know when or where, since the sky hadn't been even the least bit familiar. And then I figured it out, and it was too late . . . I should have moved the flowers. Read the bottom of the marker . . . If I had known to bring a respirator to keep him alive with me, if I’d launched the pod just a little faster and had landed closer to The Wall, closer to Lyta . . . no. One of the alts would have followed the energy signature and destroyed it. I think that death would have been even harder on her. I’ll never know for sure though, will I?] She crumpled up the paper and stuffed it back into hiding beside the wrapped lock of baby hair.

Aloud, she placed a hand on Lyta’s shoulder again and whispered, “It’s getting dark. We should start back.”

Lyta nodded, holding her silence as she stood and began to walk away, pausing only once - to glance back at the rest of the graves.

~~~~

They returned to Lyta's apartment, the return trip aided by gravity and a lighter load for both, but it was still way past the usual time for most residents to be sleeping. Lyta spoke not a word. When Susan turned up a light to see enough to make a meal before going to bed, they noticed Jesse, curled up in one of the overstuffed living room chairs under a borrowed blanket. He had fallen asleep while waiting for them to return.

Lyta looked at the sleeping boy for a few moments, then touched Susan on the shoulder gently to draw her attention. “There are many forms of devotion, Susan. You see one of them before you.”

“Even though us girls have ‘cooties’?” Susan tried to joke, but the humour was lost on Lyta.

“Even so . . . go ahead, I’m not hungry.” Lyta, uneasy again, slid her eyes to look at the doorway to the bedroom for a few seconds, then went in.

“Lyta, you’ve got to eat something!” Susan complained as she followed her in, a few paces behind. “. . . Lyta?”

She was standing in front of the empty patch on the wall, just . . . staring.

“Lyta, what are you doing?”

Susan almost didn’t hear the whispered reply.

"I have to tell someone.”

“Uh, you’re starting to weird me out here.”

“I have to know that someone else knows.”

[She’s remembering something,] Ivanova realised. “I’m listening.”

“This - this is where I put the cradle together. Twice. Each time Byron had workers take it out when it's occupant died. He didn't care about them, it's like he didn't even let himself *try* to care. He used to care about me . . . so much, he cared, I'd never felt so wanted and needed, at first. But when my first pregnancy was known - an accident, it made the others so happy . . . Byron got mad at me, privately, said I had endangered the group. It wasn't on purpose, but I needed much more food than I had been eating before, wanted medicine because I got morning sickness, all day, from my first symptom up to a too-early delivery. All three were that way. I think most of his frustration came from my losing the last bits of sexual interest, because of being ill. He couldn't cheat - we were all telepaths - he had an 'image' to maintain in front of the others."

Her voice was still distant, as if she was commenting offhandedly on the weather, but she soon started to falter. "He still used me, of course, but he couldn't be as creative as before. I was no longer 'fun'. When - when he kept - my belly had grown, and I had such *ugly* stretch marks - He'd not want to look at me, not want to touch me. He'd - f - from behind - it was harder on me, and eventually it started premature labour. The placenta must have torn . . . I didn't know what was wrong. I could sense her distress, her consciousness fading, and I felt her die. There had been nothing that came even close to being so horrible. We were in hyperspace, no medicine available, no other ships nearby, no planets we could jump to in time. I began to bleed profusely, I couldn't stop screaming, she - Marie said it looked like - or at least it didn't seem male. I never saw her. I had started to bleed terribly, and had passed out."

Lyta was crying by then, tears falling as she stared at the empty wall and continued in a faltering voice. "Marie shared her memory with me, when I wasn't so upset, months later, when we were here and she'd had a strong healthy girl. Soon after that, I realised I was pregnant again. Byron seemed almost happy this time. The vortex had been completely generated, and we had already followed through with our plans to destroy the jumpgate. There would be no intruders. We had plenty to eat, lots of room to live and farm and explore and build. Everything seemed fine again. But I'd had about a month left when I went into labour, and we couldn't stop it. She was far too small, without the weight needed to live, even for being 8 earth-months into term. She was no bigger than Nathaniel was. Byron said her heart gave out within a few hours. I'd pulled her cradle up next to the bed, with her gasping inside, trying to pretend it would be all right, holding her hand. I didn't plan on sleeping, but the tears took me and when I woke up a few hours later, it was dark. Byron was gone, and so was my daughter. I'm sure my screams woke up half the Area. He'd buried her. He said it was best for me. He said when I had healed physically, I could visit the site. I never did, until today. He tried to do it again . . . This time, I wasn't going to forgive him. I wasn't even going to try to pretend again. I'm still not. He tried to do it again . . . He spaced the first, did you know that? I checked the ship's airlock logs. Psi Cop protocol: Disposal into hyperspace leaves no body to be found. Their preferred method of single executions. Clean. Neat. At most, it costs an injection of sedative and a few cubic meters of air. Bastards!" Her eyes betrayed her pain.

Susan, upset to hear Lyta's side finally, urged her to get some sleep.

"No! No, no more in that bed of his. I'll take a couch out front; they're good for sleeping on anyway. You can take the bed. It holds no memories for you. I *won't* sleep there again. Tomorrow I contact the carpenter's guilds to get someone to dismantle it. I'll get a new, single bed put in instead. I could use the extra space for a desk to write on. It’s been far too long since I was doing my work."

Lyta kicked off her shoes into a corner angrily, grabbed a nightgown off a hook and stalked out to the living room. Susan heard blankets rustling for a few minutes, as she pulled off her own sweat-stained clothing and climbed into bed. Sighing, she turned to face the outside. Susan managed to smile as she saw the stars, brightly shimmering through the open window. [I think I like seeing them from the ground, the way they look through atmosphere. And it beats looking at hyperspace for weeks on end.] Ivanova knew she wasn’t looking forward to the journey to face the brass back home, but right then and right there, she was reasonably happy. Lyta was healing - she’d just grown a backbone again. A good sign.

The dim outline of Zack's letter to Lyta was still visible where Ivanova had moved it - to the dresser, for safekeeping against any stray breezes - as her eyes closed, the planet's music singing her to sleep, just as it had done for the past month and a half.

Part Six: Akeldama