Date: Mon, 10 Apr 1995 18:41:53 -0400 From: HomyakChik@aol.com Subject: Cassie's Farewell (fanfic) Hokay; I read LizBeth's own version of Cassie's Goodbye To Cain; now here's my own. A couple of things to bear in mind: this is first of all an excerpt from my own BG alternate universe (the GSDF series) version of SAGA OF A STAR WORLD, HOLOCAUST. These events take place _literally_ the night of the Attack. Other stuff to remember: Gemonese 'culture' (it's the least balkanized of the colonies, discounting Scorp-occupied Taura) differs from American culture. A Socialator is more like a geisha than a prostitute (if you don't know what a geisha REALLY does, go look it up; it's interesting reading). Cain's from Aer (fits; the planet named after an ancient diety of warfare, and the legendary Warrior Of Our Time...). Everything else should be self-explanatory. Hopefully you'll enjoy it. I'd appreciate hearing it, though, either way. Me handle's HomyakChik@aol.com, and I have to log on most every night now (stupid, stupid star-l mailing list...), so a reply is guaranteed. Other than that, all the usual stuff. This is by Davey Jones, and it's all his, even if the main character therein is MCA's. "Yes!" Tilus shouted exuberantly, jumping into the air and coming back down on the cushions in the common room with a monstrous thump, arms and legs outstretched. "Yes!" he reasserted, "did you hear? The Armistice is finally beginning! Now! My friends," he cried grandly, his full bass thundering even over all seven screens that were carrying different Peace Talks broadcasts, "we are living history!" He pointed at the largest of the screens, carrying a broadcast live from Bliznetsi, their own city, the capitol of Gemon. With the exception of the owner, the entire complement of this Sheiga House, socialator and staff alike, was assembled in this massive meeting room. Tonight, rarity itself, the Kaltso House was closed to the public; no orders for entertainment or companionship had been accepted. Tonight, peace was being celebrated by all. Tilus' companions laughed at his cheerfulness. Even among men and women trained in the arts of comfort and fellowship, Tilus was an extrovert, highly popular with both the Sheiga House's regular patrons and the passing souls who sought a night's company, well-loved by both friends and psuedo-family. "Yes, well, Tilus," Sasha said with mock firmness, kneading Anton's wide, dark shoulders, "if you persist in leaping around like that, you can live history in your own room!" There was a roar of good-natured laughter at this meaningless threat, which Tilus acknowledged with a salute. Anton grinned, looked back at his friend in appreciation, and raised his own head from her lap. "I was going to offer a toast. Is everyone here?" Sasha continued kneading his arms but glanced around, taking a quick headcount. "Yes, I think--no, we're missing one." "Who? We're all free tonight." Sasha's fingers briefly squeezed his shoulders and she caught his eye. "Ah. Yes, I should have known." He reared back, levered himself gracefully to his feet. "Perhaps she wishes to be alone tonight, Anton," Sasha suggested. There was no malice, no jealousy in her voice, emotions almost alien to the outgoing, vastly-loving Gemonese as a people; she spoke an honest opinion. "If that's what she wants, then I'll respect her wishes," Anton nodded. "But would you wish it on anyone to be alone tonight of all nights?" Sasha shook her head, smiled wistfully. Anton touched her cheek with a gentleness that seemed out of place to his graceful bulk. "I'll be back when I've found her." In truth the massive man felt he already knew where his friend would be now. The others could take joy in the coming peace, the end of a war long fought and long-regretted, a conflict foreign to everything these gentle people had been taught to revere. His friend, however, had her own reasons to find sadness amid the raucous joy. He was right; the first chamber he came to showed a gentle amber light around the door, an indication that the room was in use. He placed fingertips sensitive enough to read the raised print of the blind against the smooth wooden panels, felt the faintest of vibrations even through the soundproofing. He sighed and touched the lockplate, entering quickly that the sound from the room would not disturb his friends in the front of the building. His eyes blinked involuntarily at the thundrous, crashing chords reverberating from the walls. This was not the gentle, folksy ballad of a classic, or the racy chords of the city streets, or even the rhythmic multidrums of the hillsmen, but a harsh, pulse-pounding beat of a martial anthem, one foreign to this gentle world but familiar nonetheless to this woman and her friends. In contrast to the volume of the music, the room was dimly lit, the lamps set to seem like huge, reddish candles that flickered and swam in the breezes of the chamber. Even the walls had been reset--rather than wood or metal or fiber, they seemed carved from the heaviest, hardest stone. Carpets, real ones, covered a floor that no doubt matched the walls in apparent texture, and tapestries waved in the simulated breeze from simulated windows. A breath of incense tickled his nose; he wiggled it to stifle the sneeze reflex, stuffed his fingers in his ears, and watched. The woman danced. She whirled and spun, grace in motion, her delicate toes seeming merely to brush the ground on their way to loftier destinations, her long limbs flowing and boneless, slender fingers fans against the view of her unseen audience. She crouched to the thick rugs, arms waving both temptation and denial to her watchers, hair a golden spray as her head turned, the jewels of her headress sparkling in the red light. As she came to a stop, kneeling, the shimmering veils that had circled her like the smokiest of clouds drifted to rest across her back and arms. For a moment she paused, one knee up, the other to one side, a figure in abject submission. Then she was up again, this time a rolling invitation and desperate plea at the same time. Her gowns and veils whirled, drawing wildly leaping shadows in the guttering light of imitation candles. All the while, her eyes stayed shut. The woman danced in familiar settings, to familiar music, for that most familiar of audiences. Anton was moved in spite of--or because of--the exotic quality of the dance. She had mastered these techniques at the behest of Dame Harleson, owner of this Sheiga House and holder of her contract, and had subsequently had cause to rejoice in such teachings. Anton knew why she danced here, alone except in her thoughts and memories. He thought, if he cared to check so thoroughly, that beneath the shadow and rouge on her cheeks and eyes, he would see the silver glitter of tears. He knew who she danced for, and who she cried for. The socialators who worked in this Sheiga House, as in any on Gemon, did so because they loved people, because they thrived on the good feelings of those around them and were well-trained in evoking such reactions. None was unhappy in their profession, an ancient and blessed one-- --yet each had the dream of someday meeting someone that might care more than most, someone to purchase their contract and take them away to join a family somewhere. _How would it have felt to her,_ Anton wondered, no longer noticing the loud music for the bright, twisting form of his friend, _to have had him buy her contract and take her away somewhere? She would have belonged to him, as partner, or concubine, or wife, but only to him, never to be part of a family. It would seem so sad to me. But she loved him,_ he admitted admiringly, _loved him as she has loved no other. And he promised her that he would return for her, and that they would be together. And she wanted him to return. She wanted his love. If any could have adjusted to such a lifestyle, it would have been her._ He sighed in genuine sorrow. He could regret for his friend the opportunity forever lost to her. He turned to leave as unobtrusively as he had entered. She wanted solitude tonight, and he, as her friend, owed her that consideration. He knew why she wanted to be alone, to celebrate the long-awaited peace even as she mourned the memory of a man she had loved and been loved by. For some, peace had come too late. _Ah, Cassie,_ Anton thought as the door slid silently shut at his back, _will you ever be able to forget your handsome commander?_