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Planet Yamatai, Malifar
The Outskirts
10:28
The change between sunny, beach atmosphere and harsh, desert life was slow but palpable. The arid air was more forgotten on the coast, filled with beautiful Neko and strapping, tan men and women. In the other direction, where the roads gave way to more open paths, and homes were spread among the dry landscape. This borderland area resembled the edges of the Nuocr, with the small outposts for nomads replaced with permanent settlements. Gualmyan and sand-crawlers were replaced by dune-buggies and the occasional air-bike, but the overall atmosphere was still there.
Despite the harshness of the environment, these people wanted to be here, just like the Sund Wakir of the Nuocr. Whether it was a tradition, or the call for some place new, there was lively air of people in this rougher section of Yamatai. Albeit, there seemed to be a lot less in the way of beasts roaming around in the area. The Yamataians had gone past those old customs.
There was a reason why one of the Iromakuanhe's Temple Guard sought sanctuary in such a place. He had been across several planets in the Kikyo Sector, and slowly had worked his way towards the core world. For a year he had served furthering the cause of Shosho of this planet's military, and the rest had been spent seeking a way home. He had few contacts in the wake of the events which placed him so far east, and the journey had left him tired. So, when he arrived to Malifar, he stopped and took root.
Mu'Tasim sat at the edge of the outskirts, just far enough to where the buggies didn't come buzzing by. The sun laid down a heavy blanket of light on his shoulders, making his white hair almost shine. His beard had been tugged together and plaited into a single, neat style by some of the locals. What remained of his old uniform and mantle had long been battered and discarded, and now he enjoyed the more modern fashions of the nation he played visitor to.
A Sund Wakir without a caravan, a Vanguard Soldier without a mission, a Temple Guard without a mantle. The thought drove him to these little reaches on the edge of the city, to feel a little closer to home.
It had taken time, too much time to track one lone individual across the Kikyo sector. World after world, barely missed or by days and months, but finally he had caught up to the stranded Temple Guard. The sun beat down upon Malifar's sands. The heat did not bother him. Neither did the winds or powdery sand which wafted up from the occasional breeze. Ahrim kept a steady pace with the sun at his back.
The High Guardian had come to find the wayward youth whom the Commonwealth had left to his own, or rather to the devices of a Shôshô of the Yamataian Star Army. He seemed to know where he was going despite the landscape's ubiquitous appearance. It was akin to the Nuocr, to home, so much so that he had worn a traditional kaftan with a wrap about his head and face. There was no need for him to announce his presense to everyone. The sun was high in the sky, eyes squinting as he looked up. So much different from Irutol's own star.
The young Temple Guard was not far now.
The sands seem to split aside in the wake of this ancient Iromakuanhe, much like curtains to open the way. Titles like "Savior of the Sky Pillar" meant little out here, but even the brusque Malifarians made way for the imminent Iromakuanhe. The outskirt's children, minds that never knew the war, would huddle the alien's feet until called away by concerned, embarassed, or stern parents. Thugs and delinquents, who would hassle most unwise vistors, avoided the glowing gaze of the Iromakuanhe Primarch.
Instead, fingers pointed, tanned hands of the local people, who knew their horned visitor. He was a common sight on the western end of the Temeridi beach, and a particular area out in the Outskirts. Originally a volunteer-visitor, pitching in with whatever loose civic projects were available, he had taken up work as a teacher spreading the language and history among the childrens. Certainly enough, Saal'sari greetings whipped off the children's tongues, carefully practiced.
Ahrim found him on the edge of a rocky line that rose from the sand, the edge of the ancient city itself. The man they sought stared off in a shifting landscape, adorned in a collared shirt and khakis, quite unlike his people's clothing. A heavy head of white hair whipped against the wind.
His steps were no longer quiet as sand gave way to rock. The steady rhythm of boots giving him away as Ahrim drew closer to Mu'tasim. He did not opt for a greeting at first. No, instead the old High Guardian came to stand beside him. "You are a hard young man to find, Mu'tasim Farouk." came the exclamation in a soothing, mello baritone. The wrap about this stranger's face obscured all but his eyes which shone a luminous gray.
Ahrim gestured to a spot beside the young Guardian, "May I?"
Mu'tasim looked up from a carefully guarded Book of Dreams, his golden eyes lighting up at the familiar clothing and most of all, his name.
"It isn't my place to give nor take, friend," answered Farouk, closing his book and placing it in his lap. "Please, sit."
A suspicious look colored his face, and Ahrim could feel it, but it gave way to a mild warmth rising up through it. He seemed refreshed to see one of his own kind so far out. The young Temple Guard smiled, "Muna's grace is lost on me out here in the middling worlds, I've nothing to offer you for your company or your trouble."
"To share your company is enough, friend." Ahrim said as he seated himself with a small sigh of approval. His body may be a mass of symbiotics, but he still felt his age from time to time. He stared out over the vista, nodding appreciatively. Mu'tasim had taste in scenery. Raising his hands, the High Guardian began to unwind the head wrap.
With a glance to the book in the younger Sund Wakir's hands, there was a smile behind this stranger's eyes. "You hold true to the teachings even upon a world such as this?" approval in his tone as he held the fabric of his head wrap in one hand, the other going to the short-cut, tousled gray hair. He was clean shaven, a scar ran the length of his cheek down toward toe carotid artery of his neck and below that the tell-tale indications of far more bodily scars.
Fabric in hand, Ahrim simply stared out over the dunes toward the seemingly infinite horizon. He wore a small smile of appreciation at the sight. He may well have to visit more of this land of Malifar. So like, yet so much unlike his home in the Expanse.
The newly found Wakir stared as well, but not at the horizon. His eyes widened in an apparent shock, a slow burning fire that made all his hair stand on end. Certainly, he was more than well accepting of seeing one of the Children of the Makuori out in the reaches, but to see the one and only Keeper of the Vigil? The lowly guardian in Yamataian garb rubbed one eye, and then then the other.
Then, finally, he remembered his manners. With his knuckles against the rock, he picked himself up and turned himself to face Ahrim, then bowed respectfully.
"Adravni, High Guardian."
Ahrim raked a hand through his hair again, "Adravni, Mu'tasim Farouk." his tone kindly as he gave Mu'tasim a sidelong glance. "You were a surprisingly hard fellow to find given our race's unique appearance. I had to utilize several favors with the Yamataian Government to find you." that small smile spread across his features. "I've come to bring you home, young one. If you so choose. If nothing tempts you to stay."
Wordless, breathless, and utterly blown aback, the man had little to say to that, not yet. Instead, the desert wind spoke for him, spinning gusts that urged them in one direction and then the other. Ahrim could feel the doubt wafting off of him, a bristling fire at the center of it all. He wanted to say yes, he could feel it.
"There is little I would rather want in this world than to see my home again," began Mu'tasim, before setting his eyes downcast, "I only worried that my people may have thought I abandoned them."
"What happened that fateful day with the Boutros was a true tragedy," Ahrim began, looking toward the sun baked rock beneath his boot. "None were forgotten. You, were not forgotten. It was unfortunate hapenstance and much in the way of political redtape with the Yamataian Government which prevented your retrieval." he reached over to his side and pulled a small canteen from the belt around his waist.
"We fought to bring you home, but. . ." gesturing, Ahrim took a sip of the lukewarm water. "I lost patience with the bureaucracy and contacted my erm," he coughed, sipping again at the canteen, "Friend in the Yamataian government. However by the time we reached the former United Outer Colonies, you had disappeared."
"Knowing the Yamataians, we did not linger and I remained behind to search for you while the others chose to stay along their territorial line. These people are very particular and blunt. Especially the one called Fujiwara, Miu." he shook his head at recalling the dour Neko. "We never lost hope, Farouk, nor did we believe you abandoned us. We held to the hope in finding you."
Mu'tasim's hand had found his face, and hid his eyes from what the elder Iroma could feel in their close distance. What had been said was a lot to take in at once, especially to a homesick Sund Wakir in a strange land. This was no lie, or just another step forward to the path home, this was it, he was going home. The long night was over, and the sun could finally rise on the horizon, Iroutl's sun. Perhaps he could go home, see his mother and father? His caravan? His friends? The comrades that left ahead?
"You walked all this way out for me, you've been away from your home just as long, have you not?" asked Mu'tasim, before laughing wryly, "I am not worthy of such an act of grace, you'd shame Bukor himself with your generousity!"
His dry laughter faded, and he bowed his head, "I would be honored to return home, to return to service, High Guardian."
Ahrim placed a hand upon Mu'tasim's shoulder, giving him a little, companionable shake. "Bukor may look upon me favoably for this, young one. But it is nothing compared to that which is gained in this bargain." placing the cap back on his small canteen, the High Guardian took his hand away from the other's shoulder. The fabric of his head wrap went about his neck and lower face to shield him from stray motes of powdered sand.
As if reading his mind, Ahrim spoke up then, "I've assured those waiting for you home upon precious Maekardan that you would be returned to them. It gladens my heart to find you hale and healthy, Mu'tasim Farouk. But tell me, what of your travels among Yamatai's people? You have lived among them for some time now."
Mu'tasim took a moment to consider his answer.
"They are a wary people, to say the least," he started, turning his gaze out the wide Jhuniata, and the sun which baked and cooked the sand within it. The breezes about them began to pick up in an earnest whirl, "Years of war have done to them a great disservice, but have also shaped them intimately. Many of the women on the beaches here are Nekovalkyrja, Yamataian War-Maidens, and their very purpose was at one point, war-itself."
The Book of Dreams came off his lap at that, and he began to thumb through the pages, "Jafar once spoke to the scholar Ibtisam on the matter in his later years."
A tanned finger traced the lines until it found purchase on section.
"What choice does the fellow have, that builds bridges only to find them burnt?" asked Ibtisam, seeking to challange Jafar's wisdom. "What point is there to seek peace when your grace is spurned?"
"A scorned man will at once, build his walls high and thick," answered Jafar, "A wise one will let the river be its own wall, and let his enemy build their own bridge."
"War is so prevalent, that it is difficult to find individuals who have not served nor felt the influence of the Star Army in their lives," explained Mu'tasim. "Every world is filled with optimistic, and diverse people, but that same diversity is a careful acceptance. These people, who live in utopia, are not strangers to the reality of the stars."
A stray hand glided down his beard's plait, "Even the homeworld bears the scars of conflict. This very city was razed, I'm told, in a recent conflict. Yet now you see them revel in beauty, built above the scars of the past. They are not forgotten, as a the somber memory makes it difficult to even walk the center of the city, but they are not detered to continue. As have many world in this nation, but it seems that as time persists, their walls grow."
Ahrim found himself nodding both from the passage and assessment of the Yamataians. "For a people so young, they have grown into their own with remarkable alacrity." the High Guardian looked over the horizon toward the city. It was easy for these Yamataians to go on, especially with the miraculous and dare he say it, blasphemous Soul Transfer technology. Those that passed on be it from war or accident; provided they had made a 'Backup' could be brought back to life with but a keystroke or verbal command.
They knew the predations of war. But its cost? There were certain reservations he had when confronted by the ideaology of this species.
"With their technology they have but to wave a hand to bring back those lost with astonishing efficiency. But what do they lose in turn?" saying it aloud for all but the dust, sand and rock to hear.
"Despite my words, the Yamataians have a strength to them. Even when faced with true loss. Respectable. Admirable." casting a glance over to his younger counterpart it was evident from the sparkle behind those bio-luminescent eyes he wore a smile. "Your assessment of their race is a hopeful one. This is good."
"The universe, this sector, is filled with pockets of shadow and darkness that occasionally reach out to snuff out bits of light," analyzed Mu'tasim as he closed the book and set it carefully aside, "I have seen them, with my own eyes. Their hearts."
A miring stare cut in the ground in front of him, "I watched them snuff out the hearts of our people, and I watched them prey upon our works at the cost of our lives."
The Temple Guard's eyes clenched shut, choking the golden light, and his hands bunched up at his knees, "I thought that there was little redemption for this galaxy, and that our people were doomed to be victim of the debased monsters that cut so many of us down. I thought I myself was lost to hatred and wrath, that I would prefer to die fighting than persist among them."
His admission seemed to be difficult to make, but with a sigh, his features softened and he took up further, "But they know loss. They know honor. I was given an opportunity pay my fury forward, but in the betterment of all. While there are some who have spurned all morality, there are some who are driven by purity in its entireity. I do not regret a day of that service, but it made my heart yearn any less for home."
Ahrim listened, patient, non-judgmental as he sat beside his younger counterpart. Truth be told he had shared some of those same views upon the Iromakuanhe's first encounter with the political landscape of the Kikyo Sector.
"Redemption can be found in many, many places. And in the hearts of untold legions of people. For the hopes of men have been justly called waking dreams. Many hope for nothing more than peace and a quiet life. Yet there are those bad seeds in every nation, people, caste color or creed. We living beings are perfect in our imperfection."
"But fury, my young friend," with a gentle shake of his head he quoted: "Men often make up in wrath what they want in reason. So said Mu'Klamal to a nameless young warrior full of fire and and righteous anger."
"I have found that fire is well-enough to burn away the filth that cakes itself on good-people," dared to argue Mu'Tasim, the glow in his eyes becoming a bit thin. "I have always contended with fury, and in my experience, it can only be directed, not contained. The people out here do not understand, nor care to, and at times, moderation has only gotten them killed."
The young Guardian closed his eyes, "The Vigil is a tempering force in my life, but I been challenged on its tenets many times, and I have not always succeeded."
The old High Guardian chuckled, humor behind luminous grey eyes. "Time, my young friend. It takes time. You burn bright. But given enough time to pass, for you to grow, to experience, you should mellow with age. People, regardless of our teachings and intent are prone to their own mistakes just as children dirty themselves in the sand." to envy the young, it was something Ahrim did only on the occasional whim.
"You will be challenged. You will fail at times. But you mustn't ever give up. We serve at the sufferance of the people. And we can only hope they will take some of our teachings to heart, to better themselves."
Those words brought a netting silence over Mu'tasim, a passing wind whipped at as his hair. A small scorpion passed by, only showing a meager interest in the two visitors to its homeworld. In the distance, the rumble of dune buggie engines could be heard as the native youths raced eachother.
"You really are like the stories," said the young Guardian, drowning out the muted sounds. His admiration was almost audible in the air that passed his lips and lungs, manifesting in clearer words, "They said you walked with a light within you, that even the most indolent cynic could find the courage to better themselves in your glow."
The High Guardian merely shook his head, "I only offer advice to those with willing hearts. Yet it does indeed seem to attract earnest souls," he re-adjusted the cloth covering his lower face. "But whether they listen is entirely their choice. A choice I respect."
He then clapped his hands together, wringing them a little. "Tell me young man, what lessons will you take from these people? To what will you bring home to Maekardan? I have it on good authority you will be awash with questions from the Initiates." saying the last with a little humor laced with sympathy.
"Is that so," Mu'tasim wryly smiled, sensing the forewarning, "I suppose that there are a few things I could tell them. For example, these Nekowalkaree, are very friendly." He gestured freely, as if one was with them, butchering their name in the process, "Yet, if you're not careful, you'll be reciting quotes from Ahni to whip out of their clutches."
He rubs his chin, thumbing a scar that looked like a claw mark, "Perhaps a tad profane for a first example, but if you aren't aware of their advances, they'll assume quite a bit. They're quite fierce when upset."
Thankfully his smile was hidden. He knew well of the amorous nature of the species. Particularly the Imperial Premier. "Something all hopeful individuals should remember if they were to venture here certainly." Ahrim stated with a nod of his head.
"What other wisdom would you be willing to share concerning this world, its inhabitants? I dare say after myself you are a leading authority, along with our diplomatic team."
That inspired a musing silence, showing Mu'tasim either had a wealth or nothing, though Ahrim could sense comtemplation.
"Yamataians, Neko or otherwise, are impatient creatures. A great many of them are very young, or have lived through ages of great transition, and so they've little tolerance for stagnation. If you pace yourself in a conversation, you may find your Yamataian friend getting a bit annoyed, or concerned." Farouk looked a little annoyed himself, as if a particular memory had quirked at his senses, "Their digital minds afford them an accuity they take for granted. Such a benefit lends to their ability to process quickly, and remember wealths of information. Yet, I feel it is also what lends to their madness."
"But is anyone truly sane?" Ahrim asked, amending, "We all have a little madness, Farouk. Yet it seems these creatures move and act quickly. Yet there is always a method to their madness. I dare say I see it plainly with these Malfarians. So very much like certain elements in our society." remarking with a wry tint to his words.
"Thus far your insights are quite like my own. However mine have been colored by the more cosmopolitan aspect of their society. Tell me, do the common folk also share such attributes? Does it vary?"
"These people do not suffer, the only days they've known struggle are before the Empire and when their homes were sundered in war. Even then, look at their cities," Mu'tasim cast a hand back at the silhouette of Malifar, buildings growing above the sand and the distant sound of the ocean. "I have been told that if you were to stand and look towards the Melami, there would be nothing a few years ago. Now, glittering homes and streets. These people live in a utopia, happy lives apart from conflicts that they see more like stories and movies."
With a burdened sigh, he continued, "They choose to go to the stars for adventure, but I feel that none know the true darkness of the sky until it is washed away in the weaponsfire of warships. They are ignorant, and treat their tragedy as a distant memory, but are nonetheless kind and giving even if it is all for face and etiquette."
"Yet they used to be fairly warlike, not unlike our Saali ancestors. Or so the Colonials, the Nepleslians say. Two wars. First against this SMX, then a latter, newer generation of the same species. They are young, impetuous things at times. But I believe firmly they are learning from their mistakes in earnest." he gestured to Mu'tasim.
"Your words also hold truth. It is almost as if they seek or invite violence in the wake of their passing across the stars. Perhaps not consciously. It however follows them, trailing in their wake. And now they are at war again if their news service is to be believed. " finishing with a huff. He let silence fill the void.
"A distant conflict, to these people, and another day in this Empire of Yamatai," filled Mu'tasim, sensing the way the primarch trailed off.
Looking skyward, Ahrim squinted against the sun, "One which threatens to once more embroil their sector in conflict. A conflict the Commonwealth is watching very closely. We live outside of their bounds. But members of the government, including the Makuzhar are concerned."
"We have our own battles to fight against our former kith and kin, the diaspora. Something the Commonwealth as a whole wishes to end soon. Such is our way. Would that our foreign brothers would settle this peaceably." he shook his head again, "I fear the next International Relations Conference may bring the ugly truth of war with these Kuvexians to our step."
"How would you approach this? If you do not mind indulging me. I find this conversation rather refreshing. And with your view on this nation and its people perhaps you can shed some insight on the matter."
"War is the unfortunate truth of the galaxy," declared Mu'tasim, rather boldly, choosing not to look directly at the High Guardian as he said that. "Yamatai, Nepleslia, and all others that still breath with the air of sovereignty do so because they carry swords and strike while the iron burns hot. There is no peaceful nation that survives the fire of the stars unscathed."
With a grim shadow to his features, he stared at a cactus their scorpion friend had climbed rather triumphantly, "Dominance, Master Guardian. Should we not practice it, our beloved people will become as much a memory as the Makuori unnamed in the Book of Dreams. We grew from tribes in the desert, to only find that tribes exist among the stars, and there is little mercy in the dark."
A youthful light burned in Mu'tasim's heart, it seemed. He showed it in a stern gaze to the elder, "The threat is inevitable, our isolation will not last. Were you to ask me, we would strike alongside the Yamataians, prove our fire, and go home and build. Fanir favors the bold, the say, and I would think he would agree with my assessment."
He listened quietly, attentively. He did not judge, did not condemn. Each was entitled to their views of the world. Something he had learned through over five hundred years of life, and four long, perilous wars with their own people. In fact the only thing he seemed to show was the faint wisp of sadness.
"By boldness, great fears are concealed young one." with a grunt, he lurched to his feet turning to face the seated Mu'tasim as he dusted himself off. "The threat and cloak of war are always inevitable. But we are not required to bear the torch and sword when peaceful means are allotted to us. I would have us avoid war at all costs."
Taking a moment to adjust his attire,he held a hand out to help the young Guardian to his feet. "I have seen the horror of war four times in my long life. And seen what comes from it. First with the Battle of Maral Fuiz, then the First Outer System Conflict, the Second, the Third and now the Fourth." his craggy hand remained outstretched as it was taken.
"I know of your service during the early stages of our conflict with the New Veyrin Republic. You've had a taste of war. And it is something I would spare you, and all others from witnessing, let alone experiencing for yourselves. War breeds impossible, and hard choices. Choices which can temper or shatter a person. By its conclusion, should they live to see its end they will be forever changed. Would that we never began to lay our own enemy's foundations."
The High Guardian gestured toward the city, "Come, it is time we begin to head back. We can continue to speak as we go if you wish. But the pilot I employed may feel differently to being made to wait as we speak of war, philosophy and home among the sands."
Mu'tasim got quickly to his feet, as if an Acolyte in his freshly pressed robes. When the primarch of the Temple Guard told you to move, your heart doesn't have the fortitude to deny the command. He made sure to gather what meager things he had on his person.
"But High Guardian, are you familiar with the horrors that breed themselves at the edges of known-space? There are things out there that make the terrors under the dunes seem like children's stories," Farouk kept a quick pace to match the mightier Guardian, he was an old man but moved with greater grace and purpose, "I have seen people perform atrocities for much less than ideology or the defense of a home. Corruption, greed, hate, those things are everywhere. Are we supposed to act passively against it?"
"Are we to clatter sword against shield everytime we come across such?" asked Ahrim as he strode with purpose, but remained at a steady, appreciable pace while surveying the dunes as one would among the Expanse back home. He raised a hand, pointing to the side of his head. Tapping it several times against his temple.
"There are better ways to resolve a conflict if the opportunity presents itself. Conflict does not always need to be resolved with the strength of the sword arm. Or the stout hearted. The clever can overcome even the mightiest of foes when given the chance." taking wrapping about his neck, Ahrim pulled it down low, past his chin.
"People. However noble will always find the ignoble. During the First Outer System Conflict, we faced our brothers, pirates then. Some believed in a cause that was just. Others gave their hearts over to greed. Avarice was ever a vice we flawed things must contend with. It is nature. The conflict came to a peaceful conclusion once the armsitice agreement was ratified. We came to blows then, yes, but we also exercised control. There was no needless suffering on either side."
"Cunning is as sharp a weapon as is the sword, young Farouk. Peace a shield those wish to seek shelter behind and find succor. In every single conflict that I have had a hand in, I tried to reduce atrocities, death, and temper inflammed passion and wanton bloodlust." The old man raised an arm, pulling the garb back to show a mass of scared flesh, crisscrossed, burnt scar tissue, it was not a wholly ugly sight but it was testament to Ahrim Ehrish Anyu Cu'Seddir's philosophy. He was a shield. A shield that even extended to the enemy if possible to prevent further bloodshed.
"To the victors history is written. What happened all those years ago during the first conflicts haunts me to this day the things we leave out of the 'war stories' and histories. Of the choices I have had to make. But each choice I have always tried to take the gentler path. The path of non-conflict. If war can be avoided, I would see it avoided and spare the young those choices and the horrific scars it can inflict. It is not always the right answer. Yet it is one we seem fond of coming to nonetheless which saddens my heart."
"But I will not force my idealology on the masses. I can but teach, if even a few listen, it is a small victory."
Here, Mu'tasim thought, was Maekardan itself. What do you say to that? How do you respond to that? What he felt was a feeling similar to the feeling he had when he first came to the City of Seddir. His mentor had been a Knight Guardian, Nitha', who glowed quite like Ahrim did in this moment. Farouk had been such an angry initiate, his rage key in his ferocity in battle. He followed her footsteps, the Knight Guardian, for months, and her light brought him a peace he hadn't known in all his life.
Again, now, he knew a peace he hadn't felt in years.
"How do you find the will? To carry on for so long?" asked Mu'tasim, his eyes upon the High Guardian and little else, "You've seen more than the rest of us, you've weathered so much. Is it something you just... do? How does all the hate in this ugly world wash off?"
There was no mirth this time. "Because my young friend. It is the right thing to do."
For a passing moment, Mu'tasim waited to see if there was more to be said, but when nothing came he struggled to speak. All he could manage was, "As simple as that."
"It is," Ahrim confirmed as they continued their trek. He pulled forth a communicator as they neared the city limits and began speaking in Yamataian, his Maekardani accent apparent. He was simply telling the pilot they were on their way back, apologizing for taking their time and to be ready to leave when they arrive.
"I could tell you more, but it boils down just to that. I have been a Guardsman for well over four hundred years. Five hundred if you wish to count in the Colonial's calendar and time measurement. For everything it comes to just those seven words."
Those words played on the younger Guardian's mind for a heavy moment. Perhaps it was too simple, perhaps it was not enough for his younger mind. Mu'tasim was barely at half a century of the colonial's time. His own wisdom had calmed many hearts, but never in so few words.
"Then what does this mean for the International Relations Conference? Where do we go from here? Do we continue to shelter ourselves in Iruotl? The world will not stop in its path to war."
"We move forward. The Kikyo sector, or at least those that take part of the Conference know of our existence. They however do not know the location of Iruotl. If our homesystem is found out we can but dig the trenches, and continue to sew our neutrality and peaceful intentions." Ahrim replaced the communicator as a dunebuggy roared by not thirty feet away. He didn't stop to wait, but continued on as it passed.
"It is why we take part. The Makuzhar does not desire to be drawn into the conflicts of the Sector. Not when the New Veyrin Republic continues its attacks. Even then both he, and the government wish for peaceful resolution. The NVR, however continue their bint on genocide. The best we can do is armed intervention and disarmament." he stated the latter with a ting of sadness.
"Already we have non-aggression pacts with the Gartagen Union, Abwehrans to which we also hold a trade agreement, and are on friendly terms with the major faction within the Sector, Yamatai and also Nepleslia. We do not simper or cury for favor as some might in the face of its military power. We broker peace where we find fertile soil. Even in the most inhospitable environment we must try."
"The Commonwealth is not large, Farouk. We do not boast military power the likes of the Colonials, or Yamatai or even the Union. Peace and diplomacy are our only recourse."
"Something must change," resolved Mu'tasim, his heart burned at thought of being at the mercy of the rest of the galaxy, "Something must be done. We cannot just wait until they find us one day. I have seen worlds where the horrors of the galaxy left their mark."
A bit of renewed energy in him, he pressed ahead a bit, looking back. Around them, were the growing buildings of Malifar, "We are walking over the graves of thousands, High Guardian, what will we do when we find an enemy that can't be bargained for peace? What will we do when they find our home system, and threaten our worlds like the horrors threatened these?"
Ahrim exhaled through his nose, his shoulder's slumped just a little. He suddenly sounded old, ancient even: "Then we fight. How we fight is not my decision to make, young Farouk. My intentions remain the same none the less. But I will fight for what is right and just should, the Dreamers-forbid such a thing to occur."
"War must not be waged for war's sake. We have thankfully avoided the SMX, the NMX, and have thus far stayed outside of the Kuvexian's sight and ire. War is harsh. For both sides. Each believe they are in the right. That theirs' is the correct path. I have worked tirelessly to avoid our being dragged into the many conflicts of this sector. We cannot afford it. Not with the Diaspora still plotting our demise."
"Four years," Mu'tasim struggled to believe that the conflict still carried on. He had weathered that confict in its infancy, and nearly died in the process. His pace slowed, matching back to the elder, almost significant of how he came back down to his wavelength. "You must forgive me, High Guardian. It seems that my time here has made me almost as warlike as the war-maidens that grace this land."
Ahrim merely raised a hand, "Ahrim. Call me Ahrim." his tone turning friendly again.
"Ahrim," Mu'tasim blinked, saying the name slowly as the gulf between their status, rank, and history sharply narrowed for a familiar moment.
Mu'tasim received a friendly chuckle in turn, "I do not usually stand on titles, young one. Or rather I try not to."
"You're the High Guardian," incredulously replied Mu'tasim in a low hum, "You're the face of our people to entire civilizations, and friends to many of the most powerful figures in the galaxy." At that, he began to chuckle, "You'll have to forgive me if I have a little trouble hitting that first-name basis."
Another small chuckle from Ahrim in response, "I will call you Mu'tasim if you call me Ahrim. No longer will I call you young man, one, and so on. A simple, first-name basis between new friends. Very simple, yes?" almost assuredly he knew many powerful, influential members of galactic society. But at heart he was still a simple man. However much his body had been given over to Symbiotic enhancements and replacements to keep him alive. He was just a man. No more no less.
The younger Sund Wakir laughed at the sheer audacity of it, but something about it helped him cope with how maekardan-shattering his day was to this point. "Ha ha! Alright. Ahrim."
That hung in the air for a second, and the feeling of them both being just two Sund Wakir on a strange world began to set in, "Simple. You're right. You know, it's a shame you don't have more time here. The Eastern Continents have a lot to offer to our kind, through Easterwood onto Ralt. A lot colder, but the people there are much more like us."
Ahrim nodded to this, smiling faintly. "I would very much like to visit these places one day. As it is, I've set back several meetings and business upon fair Maekardan to see you home myself. It was not an easy experience." he shook his head ruefully.
"A very dour Nekovalkyrja directed me here after appearing as if she desired to bisect me when I called her Ms.Fujiwara. Then, here in Malifar a man very nearly started an altercation with me due to my laughing at his calling me a what was it. . .?" he tapped a finger on his bottom lip a moment before snapping his fingers.
"A 'Goat-horned bastard'. yes, he appeared to be rather serious about this title. And took immediate offense when I laughed. A very strange people, these Malfarians." what he did not say was that he'd easily caught the man's blow with a hand, had lifted him aloft by said hand and arm and asked politely for him to stop. Which only had seemed to ensense the Malfarian further.
Thankfully he'd been bought off with a few alcoholic drinks.
"One of the many kinds of Yamataians you will see floating about on this world and others. Malifarians are a lot like Colonials, in fact some of them are Colonials, and this town used to be more rough around the edges." For the young Guardian, imagining anyone with the gall or stupidity to attack a man like Ahrim would be unthinkable on their homeworld. Anywhere else, especially in a place Malifar, was definitely plauible.
"I hope Shosho Fujiwara didn't give you any trouble. That's not the first time you brought her up," said Mu'tasim, a bit concerned that the pale cat-woman might have been a little inhospitable. "She always seemed to receptive to Fujiwara-sera."
"I did not use an honorific with her, perhaps this is why." Ahrim stated as he mulled the thought over. "But she is a very capable young woman. And dealing with these Astarians I believe they are called. So perhaps it was merely stress?" he shrugged then, forgotten.
"You should know, Mu'tasim, that some of the survivors of the Boutros have also been sent home. Some however have elected to stay provided communications with loved ones and family were sent. They speak fondly of you and your heroism in holding them together during such a time."
The smile Ahrim got was a bittersweet one as he mentioned his heroism. A mix of emotions roiled in his chest as he went back to that bitter month, in the days where he saw so much needless death. He closed his eyes, sighing a regretful breath.
"I am glad to hear it."
It was easy to get a sense of the young Guardian's feelings on the matter and so Ahrim did not bring it up any further. "Tell me, how did you end up here, in Malifar?" he asked as they finally crossed into the city limits. He nodded toward where they needed to go after having asked.
"I landed here, I spent the last of my KS to get a ship to Malifar, and I've been staying here ever since. The starport here is cheaper to fly into," came a quick answer, happy to replace the prior subject. Mu'tasim was about to explain further, before he seemed to realize something, "Ah, do you mean, how I got here from Asura?"
"From Asura," was Ahrim's simple answer.
"Ah ha, heh," chuckled Mu'tasim, giving his beard an idle stroke, "I spent a year working for the Shosho Fujiwara, helping her clean up what remained of the people who caused the Asuran Tragedy. After that, she gave me a bit of traveling money and I started making my way back. There are no direct routes from Asura to Yamatai, there are few direct routes to Yamatai it turns out. I had to convince a bounty hunter to take me to Jiyuu."
He drew a small line in the air, as if referencing a star map, "From there, I had to charter a flight to Miu. The planet, of course. It wasn't too expensive a trip, but I was ejected and denied travel due to incident on Asura. A year out, and it was still fresh on everyone's mind. So I traveled about Jiyuu trying to find someone who would deal with a Iroma. A salvager tried to rob me blind on a price, but changed his tune when I offered bodyguard services."
Again he traced his finger from one place to another.
Having turned to look at what Mu'tasim was doing, Ahrim appeared thoughtful as he retold his story. "Creative, very savvy. I assume from there you made your way here, to Yamatai and Malifar proper?"
"I had to stop in Miu, first. The salvager dropped me off at his drop off point, and left me there. I spent a while locating a Spaceport that would take me to Tatiana, and from there, I was able to land into Malifar with the last of the money I had on hand." Recalling the experience had left a sharp frown the Guardian's face, "I'm sure it's easier these days, but the Signatory in YE 36 left people wary of the Iromakuanhe."
"Our public image now has faired better than that in the past. The opening of Nariman Terrace has done much to foster a better understanding and relationship with those in Kyoto and the other nations embassies." Ahrim mentioned as he stroked his chin. "Tell me, Mu'tasim, do you have anything else you would like to attend to here in Malifar before we depart?"
Of course, thought Mu'tasim. He had a small apartment, which was given to him by the Yamataians in their housing program. That home had most of the things he kept, and a lot of the things he had taken. Not to mention that there were actually a few people he had come to know there, people he should have said goodbye to. There was a short pause in the decision.
He'd send for his things, he'd send messages.
"No, I would like to go home, Ahrim," resolved Mu'tasim firmly, a fire smouldering his gaze.
Placing a hand on Mu'tasim's shoulder, Ahrim adopted a stern expression to mirror the smouldering gaze of his companion. "Go say your goodbyes, Mu'tasim. Do not leave them messages, Do not leave things unsaid." he said, almost as if he'd known the thought Mu'tasim had, had regarding the matter. "Your things can be sent for. But your goodbyes should be done in person. Such is our way, we do not as the Colonials like to say, 'Leave things half-assed'." he nodded at this choice of words.
"I will wait for you at the space port. Docking bay two, sublevel A. It will be the red and gray shuttle, on Pad C." patting his shoulder, Ahrim then made to move on, heading toward the spaceport by himself. Mu'tasim was left a bit shaken, as the High Guardian proved himself once again.
"Thank you, Ahrim," said the younger Guardian, misty eyed.
Mu'tasim would receive a waving hand in response as Ahrim walked away and headed toward where their shuttle awaited in the space port.
Planet Yamatai, Malifar
The Outskirts
10:28
The change between sunny, beach atmosphere and harsh, desert life was slow but palpable. The arid air was more forgotten on the coast, filled with beautiful Neko and strapping, tan men and women. In the other direction, where the roads gave way to more open paths, and homes were spread among the dry landscape. This borderland area resembled the edges of the Nuocr, with the small outposts for nomads replaced with permanent settlements. Gualmyan and sand-crawlers were replaced by dune-buggies and the occasional air-bike, but the overall atmosphere was still there.
Despite the harshness of the environment, these people wanted to be here, just like the Sund Wakir of the Nuocr. Whether it was a tradition, or the call for some place new, there was lively air of people in this rougher section of Yamatai. Albeit, there seemed to be a lot less in the way of beasts roaming around in the area. The Yamataians had gone past those old customs.
There was a reason why one of the Iromakuanhe's Temple Guard sought sanctuary in such a place. He had been across several planets in the Kikyo Sector, and slowly had worked his way towards the core world. For a year he had served furthering the cause of Shosho of this planet's military, and the rest had been spent seeking a way home. He had few contacts in the wake of the events which placed him so far east, and the journey had left him tired. So, when he arrived to Malifar, he stopped and took root.
Mu'Tasim sat at the edge of the outskirts, just far enough to where the buggies didn't come buzzing by. The sun laid down a heavy blanket of light on his shoulders, making his white hair almost shine. His beard had been tugged together and plaited into a single, neat style by some of the locals. What remained of his old uniform and mantle had long been battered and discarded, and now he enjoyed the more modern fashions of the nation he played visitor to.
A Sund Wakir without a caravan, a Vanguard Soldier without a mission, a Temple Guard without a mantle. The thought drove him to these little reaches on the edge of the city, to feel a little closer to home.
It had taken time, too much time to track one lone individual across the Kikyo sector. World after world, barely missed or by days and months, but finally he had caught up to the stranded Temple Guard. The sun beat down upon Malifar's sands. The heat did not bother him. Neither did the winds or powdery sand which wafted up from the occasional breeze. Ahrim kept a steady pace with the sun at his back.
The High Guardian had come to find the wayward youth whom the Commonwealth had left to his own, or rather to the devices of a Shôshô of the Yamataian Star Army. He seemed to know where he was going despite the landscape's ubiquitous appearance. It was akin to the Nuocr, to home, so much so that he had worn a traditional kaftan with a wrap about his head and face. There was no need for him to announce his presense to everyone. The sun was high in the sky, eyes squinting as he looked up. So much different from Irutol's own star.
The young Temple Guard was not far now.
The sands seem to split aside in the wake of this ancient Iromakuanhe, much like curtains to open the way. Titles like "Savior of the Sky Pillar" meant little out here, but even the brusque Malifarians made way for the imminent Iromakuanhe. The outskirt's children, minds that never knew the war, would huddle the alien's feet until called away by concerned, embarassed, or stern parents. Thugs and delinquents, who would hassle most unwise vistors, avoided the glowing gaze of the Iromakuanhe Primarch.
Instead, fingers pointed, tanned hands of the local people, who knew their horned visitor. He was a common sight on the western end of the Temeridi beach, and a particular area out in the Outskirts. Originally a volunteer-visitor, pitching in with whatever loose civic projects were available, he had taken up work as a teacher spreading the language and history among the childrens. Certainly enough, Saal'sari greetings whipped off the children's tongues, carefully practiced.
Ahrim found him on the edge of a rocky line that rose from the sand, the edge of the ancient city itself. The man they sought stared off in a shifting landscape, adorned in a collared shirt and khakis, quite unlike his people's clothing. A heavy head of white hair whipped against the wind.
His steps were no longer quiet as sand gave way to rock. The steady rhythm of boots giving him away as Ahrim drew closer to Mu'tasim. He did not opt for a greeting at first. No, instead the old High Guardian came to stand beside him. "You are a hard young man to find, Mu'tasim Farouk." came the exclamation in a soothing, mello baritone. The wrap about this stranger's face obscured all but his eyes which shone a luminous gray.
Ahrim gestured to a spot beside the young Guardian, "May I?"
Mu'tasim looked up from a carefully guarded Book of Dreams, his golden eyes lighting up at the familiar clothing and most of all, his name.
"It isn't my place to give nor take, friend," answered Farouk, closing his book and placing it in his lap. "Please, sit."
A suspicious look colored his face, and Ahrim could feel it, but it gave way to a mild warmth rising up through it. He seemed refreshed to see one of his own kind so far out. The young Temple Guard smiled, "Muna's grace is lost on me out here in the middling worlds, I've nothing to offer you for your company or your trouble."
"To share your company is enough, friend." Ahrim said as he seated himself with a small sigh of approval. His body may be a mass of symbiotics, but he still felt his age from time to time. He stared out over the vista, nodding appreciatively. Mu'tasim had taste in scenery. Raising his hands, the High Guardian began to unwind the head wrap.
With a glance to the book in the younger Sund Wakir's hands, there was a smile behind this stranger's eyes. "You hold true to the teachings even upon a world such as this?" approval in his tone as he held the fabric of his head wrap in one hand, the other going to the short-cut, tousled gray hair. He was clean shaven, a scar ran the length of his cheek down toward toe carotid artery of his neck and below that the tell-tale indications of far more bodily scars.
Fabric in hand, Ahrim simply stared out over the dunes toward the seemingly infinite horizon. He wore a small smile of appreciation at the sight. He may well have to visit more of this land of Malifar. So like, yet so much unlike his home in the Expanse.
The newly found Wakir stared as well, but not at the horizon. His eyes widened in an apparent shock, a slow burning fire that made all his hair stand on end. Certainly, he was more than well accepting of seeing one of the Children of the Makuori out in the reaches, but to see the one and only Keeper of the Vigil? The lowly guardian in Yamataian garb rubbed one eye, and then then the other.
Then, finally, he remembered his manners. With his knuckles against the rock, he picked himself up and turned himself to face Ahrim, then bowed respectfully.
"Adravni, High Guardian."
Ahrim raked a hand through his hair again, "Adravni, Mu'tasim Farouk." his tone kindly as he gave Mu'tasim a sidelong glance. "You were a surprisingly hard fellow to find given our race's unique appearance. I had to utilize several favors with the Yamataian Government to find you." that small smile spread across his features. "I've come to bring you home, young one. If you so choose. If nothing tempts you to stay."
Wordless, breathless, and utterly blown aback, the man had little to say to that, not yet. Instead, the desert wind spoke for him, spinning gusts that urged them in one direction and then the other. Ahrim could feel the doubt wafting off of him, a bristling fire at the center of it all. He wanted to say yes, he could feel it.
"There is little I would rather want in this world than to see my home again," began Mu'tasim, before setting his eyes downcast, "I only worried that my people may have thought I abandoned them."
"What happened that fateful day with the Boutros was a true tragedy," Ahrim began, looking toward the sun baked rock beneath his boot. "None were forgotten. You, were not forgotten. It was unfortunate hapenstance and much in the way of political redtape with the Yamataian Government which prevented your retrieval." he reached over to his side and pulled a small canteen from the belt around his waist.
"We fought to bring you home, but. . ." gesturing, Ahrim took a sip of the lukewarm water. "I lost patience with the bureaucracy and contacted my erm," he coughed, sipping again at the canteen, "Friend in the Yamataian government. However by the time we reached the former United Outer Colonies, you had disappeared."
"Knowing the Yamataians, we did not linger and I remained behind to search for you while the others chose to stay along their territorial line. These people are very particular and blunt. Especially the one called Fujiwara, Miu." he shook his head at recalling the dour Neko. "We never lost hope, Farouk, nor did we believe you abandoned us. We held to the hope in finding you."
Mu'tasim's hand had found his face, and hid his eyes from what the elder Iroma could feel in their close distance. What had been said was a lot to take in at once, especially to a homesick Sund Wakir in a strange land. This was no lie, or just another step forward to the path home, this was it, he was going home. The long night was over, and the sun could finally rise on the horizon, Iroutl's sun. Perhaps he could go home, see his mother and father? His caravan? His friends? The comrades that left ahead?
"You walked all this way out for me, you've been away from your home just as long, have you not?" asked Mu'tasim, before laughing wryly, "I am not worthy of such an act of grace, you'd shame Bukor himself with your generousity!"
His dry laughter faded, and he bowed his head, "I would be honored to return home, to return to service, High Guardian."
Ahrim placed a hand upon Mu'tasim's shoulder, giving him a little, companionable shake. "Bukor may look upon me favoably for this, young one. But it is nothing compared to that which is gained in this bargain." placing the cap back on his small canteen, the High Guardian took his hand away from the other's shoulder. The fabric of his head wrap went about his neck and lower face to shield him from stray motes of powdered sand.
As if reading his mind, Ahrim spoke up then, "I've assured those waiting for you home upon precious Maekardan that you would be returned to them. It gladens my heart to find you hale and healthy, Mu'tasim Farouk. But tell me, what of your travels among Yamatai's people? You have lived among them for some time now."
Mu'tasim took a moment to consider his answer.
"They are a wary people, to say the least," he started, turning his gaze out the wide Jhuniata, and the sun which baked and cooked the sand within it. The breezes about them began to pick up in an earnest whirl, "Years of war have done to them a great disservice, but have also shaped them intimately. Many of the women on the beaches here are Nekovalkyrja, Yamataian War-Maidens, and their very purpose was at one point, war-itself."
The Book of Dreams came off his lap at that, and he began to thumb through the pages, "Jafar once spoke to the scholar Ibtisam on the matter in his later years."
A tanned finger traced the lines until it found purchase on section.
"What choice does the fellow have, that builds bridges only to find them burnt?" asked Ibtisam, seeking to challange Jafar's wisdom. "What point is there to seek peace when your grace is spurned?"
"A scorned man will at once, build his walls high and thick," answered Jafar, "A wise one will let the river be its own wall, and let his enemy build their own bridge."
"War is so prevalent, that it is difficult to find individuals who have not served nor felt the influence of the Star Army in their lives," explained Mu'tasim. "Every world is filled with optimistic, and diverse people, but that same diversity is a careful acceptance. These people, who live in utopia, are not strangers to the reality of the stars."
A stray hand glided down his beard's plait, "Even the homeworld bears the scars of conflict. This very city was razed, I'm told, in a recent conflict. Yet now you see them revel in beauty, built above the scars of the past. They are not forgotten, as a the somber memory makes it difficult to even walk the center of the city, but they are not detered to continue. As have many world in this nation, but it seems that as time persists, their walls grow."
Ahrim found himself nodding both from the passage and assessment of the Yamataians. "For a people so young, they have grown into their own with remarkable alacrity." the High Guardian looked over the horizon toward the city. It was easy for these Yamataians to go on, especially with the miraculous and dare he say it, blasphemous Soul Transfer technology. Those that passed on be it from war or accident; provided they had made a 'Backup' could be brought back to life with but a keystroke or verbal command.
They knew the predations of war. But its cost? There were certain reservations he had when confronted by the ideaology of this species.
"With their technology they have but to wave a hand to bring back those lost with astonishing efficiency. But what do they lose in turn?" saying it aloud for all but the dust, sand and rock to hear.
"Despite my words, the Yamataians have a strength to them. Even when faced with true loss. Respectable. Admirable." casting a glance over to his younger counterpart it was evident from the sparkle behind those bio-luminescent eyes he wore a smile. "Your assessment of their race is a hopeful one. This is good."
"The universe, this sector, is filled with pockets of shadow and darkness that occasionally reach out to snuff out bits of light," analyzed Mu'tasim as he closed the book and set it carefully aside, "I have seen them, with my own eyes. Their hearts."
A miring stare cut in the ground in front of him, "I watched them snuff out the hearts of our people, and I watched them prey upon our works at the cost of our lives."
The Temple Guard's eyes clenched shut, choking the golden light, and his hands bunched up at his knees, "I thought that there was little redemption for this galaxy, and that our people were doomed to be victim of the debased monsters that cut so many of us down. I thought I myself was lost to hatred and wrath, that I would prefer to die fighting than persist among them."
His admission seemed to be difficult to make, but with a sigh, his features softened and he took up further, "But they know loss. They know honor. I was given an opportunity pay my fury forward, but in the betterment of all. While there are some who have spurned all morality, there are some who are driven by purity in its entireity. I do not regret a day of that service, but it made my heart yearn any less for home."
Ahrim listened, patient, non-judgmental as he sat beside his younger counterpart. Truth be told he had shared some of those same views upon the Iromakuanhe's first encounter with the political landscape of the Kikyo Sector.
"Redemption can be found in many, many places. And in the hearts of untold legions of people. For the hopes of men have been justly called waking dreams. Many hope for nothing more than peace and a quiet life. Yet there are those bad seeds in every nation, people, caste color or creed. We living beings are perfect in our imperfection."
"But fury, my young friend," with a gentle shake of his head he quoted: "Men often make up in wrath what they want in reason. So said Mu'Klamal to a nameless young warrior full of fire and and righteous anger."
"I have found that fire is well-enough to burn away the filth that cakes itself on good-people," dared to argue Mu'Tasim, the glow in his eyes becoming a bit thin. "I have always contended with fury, and in my experience, it can only be directed, not contained. The people out here do not understand, nor care to, and at times, moderation has only gotten them killed."
The young Guardian closed his eyes, "The Vigil is a tempering force in my life, but I been challenged on its tenets many times, and I have not always succeeded."
The old High Guardian chuckled, humor behind luminous grey eyes. "Time, my young friend. It takes time. You burn bright. But given enough time to pass, for you to grow, to experience, you should mellow with age. People, regardless of our teachings and intent are prone to their own mistakes just as children dirty themselves in the sand." to envy the young, it was something Ahrim did only on the occasional whim.
"You will be challenged. You will fail at times. But you mustn't ever give up. We serve at the sufferance of the people. And we can only hope they will take some of our teachings to heart, to better themselves."
Those words brought a netting silence over Mu'tasim, a passing wind whipped at as his hair. A small scorpion passed by, only showing a meager interest in the two visitors to its homeworld. In the distance, the rumble of dune buggie engines could be heard as the native youths raced eachother.
"You really are like the stories," said the young Guardian, drowning out the muted sounds. His admiration was almost audible in the air that passed his lips and lungs, manifesting in clearer words, "They said you walked with a light within you, that even the most indolent cynic could find the courage to better themselves in your glow."
The High Guardian merely shook his head, "I only offer advice to those with willing hearts. Yet it does indeed seem to attract earnest souls," he re-adjusted the cloth covering his lower face. "But whether they listen is entirely their choice. A choice I respect."
He then clapped his hands together, wringing them a little. "Tell me young man, what lessons will you take from these people? To what will you bring home to Maekardan? I have it on good authority you will be awash with questions from the Initiates." saying the last with a little humor laced with sympathy.
"Is that so," Mu'tasim wryly smiled, sensing the forewarning, "I suppose that there are a few things I could tell them. For example, these Nekowalkaree, are very friendly." He gestured freely, as if one was with them, butchering their name in the process, "Yet, if you're not careful, you'll be reciting quotes from Ahni to whip out of their clutches."
He rubs his chin, thumbing a scar that looked like a claw mark, "Perhaps a tad profane for a first example, but if you aren't aware of their advances, they'll assume quite a bit. They're quite fierce when upset."
Thankfully his smile was hidden. He knew well of the amorous nature of the species. Particularly the Imperial Premier. "Something all hopeful individuals should remember if they were to venture here certainly." Ahrim stated with a nod of his head.
"What other wisdom would you be willing to share concerning this world, its inhabitants? I dare say after myself you are a leading authority, along with our diplomatic team."
That inspired a musing silence, showing Mu'tasim either had a wealth or nothing, though Ahrim could sense comtemplation.
"Yamataians, Neko or otherwise, are impatient creatures. A great many of them are very young, or have lived through ages of great transition, and so they've little tolerance for stagnation. If you pace yourself in a conversation, you may find your Yamataian friend getting a bit annoyed, or concerned." Farouk looked a little annoyed himself, as if a particular memory had quirked at his senses, "Their digital minds afford them an accuity they take for granted. Such a benefit lends to their ability to process quickly, and remember wealths of information. Yet, I feel it is also what lends to their madness."
"But is anyone truly sane?" Ahrim asked, amending, "We all have a little madness, Farouk. Yet it seems these creatures move and act quickly. Yet there is always a method to their madness. I dare say I see it plainly with these Malfarians. So very much like certain elements in our society." remarking with a wry tint to his words.
"Thus far your insights are quite like my own. However mine have been colored by the more cosmopolitan aspect of their society. Tell me, do the common folk also share such attributes? Does it vary?"
"These people do not suffer, the only days they've known struggle are before the Empire and when their homes were sundered in war. Even then, look at their cities," Mu'tasim cast a hand back at the silhouette of Malifar, buildings growing above the sand and the distant sound of the ocean. "I have been told that if you were to stand and look towards the Melami, there would be nothing a few years ago. Now, glittering homes and streets. These people live in a utopia, happy lives apart from conflicts that they see more like stories and movies."
With a burdened sigh, he continued, "They choose to go to the stars for adventure, but I feel that none know the true darkness of the sky until it is washed away in the weaponsfire of warships. They are ignorant, and treat their tragedy as a distant memory, but are nonetheless kind and giving even if it is all for face and etiquette."
"Yet they used to be fairly warlike, not unlike our Saali ancestors. Or so the Colonials, the Nepleslians say. Two wars. First against this SMX, then a latter, newer generation of the same species. They are young, impetuous things at times. But I believe firmly they are learning from their mistakes in earnest." he gestured to Mu'tasim.
"Your words also hold truth. It is almost as if they seek or invite violence in the wake of their passing across the stars. Perhaps not consciously. It however follows them, trailing in their wake. And now they are at war again if their news service is to be believed. " finishing with a huff. He let silence fill the void.
"A distant conflict, to these people, and another day in this Empire of Yamatai," filled Mu'tasim, sensing the way the primarch trailed off.
Looking skyward, Ahrim squinted against the sun, "One which threatens to once more embroil their sector in conflict. A conflict the Commonwealth is watching very closely. We live outside of their bounds. But members of the government, including the Makuzhar are concerned."
"We have our own battles to fight against our former kith and kin, the diaspora. Something the Commonwealth as a whole wishes to end soon. Such is our way. Would that our foreign brothers would settle this peaceably." he shook his head again, "I fear the next International Relations Conference may bring the ugly truth of war with these Kuvexians to our step."
"How would you approach this? If you do not mind indulging me. I find this conversation rather refreshing. And with your view on this nation and its people perhaps you can shed some insight on the matter."
"War is the unfortunate truth of the galaxy," declared Mu'tasim, rather boldly, choosing not to look directly at the High Guardian as he said that. "Yamatai, Nepleslia, and all others that still breath with the air of sovereignty do so because they carry swords and strike while the iron burns hot. There is no peaceful nation that survives the fire of the stars unscathed."
With a grim shadow to his features, he stared at a cactus their scorpion friend had climbed rather triumphantly, "Dominance, Master Guardian. Should we not practice it, our beloved people will become as much a memory as the Makuori unnamed in the Book of Dreams. We grew from tribes in the desert, to only find that tribes exist among the stars, and there is little mercy in the dark."
A youthful light burned in Mu'tasim's heart, it seemed. He showed it in a stern gaze to the elder, "The threat is inevitable, our isolation will not last. Were you to ask me, we would strike alongside the Yamataians, prove our fire, and go home and build. Fanir favors the bold, the say, and I would think he would agree with my assessment."
He listened quietly, attentively. He did not judge, did not condemn. Each was entitled to their views of the world. Something he had learned through over five hundred years of life, and four long, perilous wars with their own people. In fact the only thing he seemed to show was the faint wisp of sadness.
"By boldness, great fears are concealed young one." with a grunt, he lurched to his feet turning to face the seated Mu'tasim as he dusted himself off. "The threat and cloak of war are always inevitable. But we are not required to bear the torch and sword when peaceful means are allotted to us. I would have us avoid war at all costs."
Taking a moment to adjust his attire,he held a hand out to help the young Guardian to his feet. "I have seen the horror of war four times in my long life. And seen what comes from it. First with the Battle of Maral Fuiz, then the First Outer System Conflict, the Second, the Third and now the Fourth." his craggy hand remained outstretched as it was taken.
"I know of your service during the early stages of our conflict with the New Veyrin Republic. You've had a taste of war. And it is something I would spare you, and all others from witnessing, let alone experiencing for yourselves. War breeds impossible, and hard choices. Choices which can temper or shatter a person. By its conclusion, should they live to see its end they will be forever changed. Would that we never began to lay our own enemy's foundations."
The High Guardian gestured toward the city, "Come, it is time we begin to head back. We can continue to speak as we go if you wish. But the pilot I employed may feel differently to being made to wait as we speak of war, philosophy and home among the sands."
Mu'tasim got quickly to his feet, as if an Acolyte in his freshly pressed robes. When the primarch of the Temple Guard told you to move, your heart doesn't have the fortitude to deny the command. He made sure to gather what meager things he had on his person.
"But High Guardian, are you familiar with the horrors that breed themselves at the edges of known-space? There are things out there that make the terrors under the dunes seem like children's stories," Farouk kept a quick pace to match the mightier Guardian, he was an old man but moved with greater grace and purpose, "I have seen people perform atrocities for much less than ideology or the defense of a home. Corruption, greed, hate, those things are everywhere. Are we supposed to act passively against it?"
"Are we to clatter sword against shield everytime we come across such?" asked Ahrim as he strode with purpose, but remained at a steady, appreciable pace while surveying the dunes as one would among the Expanse back home. He raised a hand, pointing to the side of his head. Tapping it several times against his temple.
"There are better ways to resolve a conflict if the opportunity presents itself. Conflict does not always need to be resolved with the strength of the sword arm. Or the stout hearted. The clever can overcome even the mightiest of foes when given the chance." taking wrapping about his neck, Ahrim pulled it down low, past his chin.
"People. However noble will always find the ignoble. During the First Outer System Conflict, we faced our brothers, pirates then. Some believed in a cause that was just. Others gave their hearts over to greed. Avarice was ever a vice we flawed things must contend with. It is nature. The conflict came to a peaceful conclusion once the armsitice agreement was ratified. We came to blows then, yes, but we also exercised control. There was no needless suffering on either side."
"Cunning is as sharp a weapon as is the sword, young Farouk. Peace a shield those wish to seek shelter behind and find succor. In every single conflict that I have had a hand in, I tried to reduce atrocities, death, and temper inflammed passion and wanton bloodlust." The old man raised an arm, pulling the garb back to show a mass of scared flesh, crisscrossed, burnt scar tissue, it was not a wholly ugly sight but it was testament to Ahrim Ehrish Anyu Cu'Seddir's philosophy. He was a shield. A shield that even extended to the enemy if possible to prevent further bloodshed.
"To the victors history is written. What happened all those years ago during the first conflicts haunts me to this day the things we leave out of the 'war stories' and histories. Of the choices I have had to make. But each choice I have always tried to take the gentler path. The path of non-conflict. If war can be avoided, I would see it avoided and spare the young those choices and the horrific scars it can inflict. It is not always the right answer. Yet it is one we seem fond of coming to nonetheless which saddens my heart."
"But I will not force my idealology on the masses. I can but teach, if even a few listen, it is a small victory."
Here, Mu'tasim thought, was Maekardan itself. What do you say to that? How do you respond to that? What he felt was a feeling similar to the feeling he had when he first came to the City of Seddir. His mentor had been a Knight Guardian, Nitha', who glowed quite like Ahrim did in this moment. Farouk had been such an angry initiate, his rage key in his ferocity in battle. He followed her footsteps, the Knight Guardian, for months, and her light brought him a peace he hadn't known in all his life.
Again, now, he knew a peace he hadn't felt in years.
"How do you find the will? To carry on for so long?" asked Mu'tasim, his eyes upon the High Guardian and little else, "You've seen more than the rest of us, you've weathered so much. Is it something you just... do? How does all the hate in this ugly world wash off?"
There was no mirth this time. "Because my young friend. It is the right thing to do."
For a passing moment, Mu'tasim waited to see if there was more to be said, but when nothing came he struggled to speak. All he could manage was, "As simple as that."
"It is," Ahrim confirmed as they continued their trek. He pulled forth a communicator as they neared the city limits and began speaking in Yamataian, his Maekardani accent apparent. He was simply telling the pilot they were on their way back, apologizing for taking their time and to be ready to leave when they arrive.
"I could tell you more, but it boils down just to that. I have been a Guardsman for well over four hundred years. Five hundred if you wish to count in the Colonial's calendar and time measurement. For everything it comes to just those seven words."
Those words played on the younger Guardian's mind for a heavy moment. Perhaps it was too simple, perhaps it was not enough for his younger mind. Mu'tasim was barely at half a century of the colonial's time. His own wisdom had calmed many hearts, but never in so few words.
"Then what does this mean for the International Relations Conference? Where do we go from here? Do we continue to shelter ourselves in Iruotl? The world will not stop in its path to war."
"We move forward. The Kikyo sector, or at least those that take part of the Conference know of our existence. They however do not know the location of Iruotl. If our homesystem is found out we can but dig the trenches, and continue to sew our neutrality and peaceful intentions." Ahrim replaced the communicator as a dunebuggy roared by not thirty feet away. He didn't stop to wait, but continued on as it passed.
"It is why we take part. The Makuzhar does not desire to be drawn into the conflicts of the Sector. Not when the New Veyrin Republic continues its attacks. Even then both he, and the government wish for peaceful resolution. The NVR, however continue their bint on genocide. The best we can do is armed intervention and disarmament." he stated the latter with a ting of sadness.
"Already we have non-aggression pacts with the Gartagen Union, Abwehrans to which we also hold a trade agreement, and are on friendly terms with the major faction within the Sector, Yamatai and also Nepleslia. We do not simper or cury for favor as some might in the face of its military power. We broker peace where we find fertile soil. Even in the most inhospitable environment we must try."
"The Commonwealth is not large, Farouk. We do not boast military power the likes of the Colonials, or Yamatai or even the Union. Peace and diplomacy are our only recourse."
"Something must change," resolved Mu'tasim, his heart burned at thought of being at the mercy of the rest of the galaxy, "Something must be done. We cannot just wait until they find us one day. I have seen worlds where the horrors of the galaxy left their mark."
A bit of renewed energy in him, he pressed ahead a bit, looking back. Around them, were the growing buildings of Malifar, "We are walking over the graves of thousands, High Guardian, what will we do when we find an enemy that can't be bargained for peace? What will we do when they find our home system, and threaten our worlds like the horrors threatened these?"
Ahrim exhaled through his nose, his shoulder's slumped just a little. He suddenly sounded old, ancient even: "Then we fight. How we fight is not my decision to make, young Farouk. My intentions remain the same none the less. But I will fight for what is right and just should, the Dreamers-forbid such a thing to occur."
"War must not be waged for war's sake. We have thankfully avoided the SMX, the NMX, and have thus far stayed outside of the Kuvexian's sight and ire. War is harsh. For both sides. Each believe they are in the right. That theirs' is the correct path. I have worked tirelessly to avoid our being dragged into the many conflicts of this sector. We cannot afford it. Not with the Diaspora still plotting our demise."
"Four years," Mu'tasim struggled to believe that the conflict still carried on. He had weathered that confict in its infancy, and nearly died in the process. His pace slowed, matching back to the elder, almost significant of how he came back down to his wavelength. "You must forgive me, High Guardian. It seems that my time here has made me almost as warlike as the war-maidens that grace this land."
Ahrim merely raised a hand, "Ahrim. Call me Ahrim." his tone turning friendly again.
"Ahrim," Mu'tasim blinked, saying the name slowly as the gulf between their status, rank, and history sharply narrowed for a familiar moment.
Mu'tasim received a friendly chuckle in turn, "I do not usually stand on titles, young one. Or rather I try not to."
"You're the High Guardian," incredulously replied Mu'tasim in a low hum, "You're the face of our people to entire civilizations, and friends to many of the most powerful figures in the galaxy." At that, he began to chuckle, "You'll have to forgive me if I have a little trouble hitting that first-name basis."
Another small chuckle from Ahrim in response, "I will call you Mu'tasim if you call me Ahrim. No longer will I call you young man, one, and so on. A simple, first-name basis between new friends. Very simple, yes?" almost assuredly he knew many powerful, influential members of galactic society. But at heart he was still a simple man. However much his body had been given over to Symbiotic enhancements and replacements to keep him alive. He was just a man. No more no less.
The younger Sund Wakir laughed at the sheer audacity of it, but something about it helped him cope with how maekardan-shattering his day was to this point. "Ha ha! Alright. Ahrim."
That hung in the air for a second, and the feeling of them both being just two Sund Wakir on a strange world began to set in, "Simple. You're right. You know, it's a shame you don't have more time here. The Eastern Continents have a lot to offer to our kind, through Easterwood onto Ralt. A lot colder, but the people there are much more like us."
Ahrim nodded to this, smiling faintly. "I would very much like to visit these places one day. As it is, I've set back several meetings and business upon fair Maekardan to see you home myself. It was not an easy experience." he shook his head ruefully.
"A very dour Nekovalkyrja directed me here after appearing as if she desired to bisect me when I called her Ms.Fujiwara. Then, here in Malifar a man very nearly started an altercation with me due to my laughing at his calling me a what was it. . .?" he tapped a finger on his bottom lip a moment before snapping his fingers.
"A 'Goat-horned bastard'. yes, he appeared to be rather serious about this title. And took immediate offense when I laughed. A very strange people, these Malfarians." what he did not say was that he'd easily caught the man's blow with a hand, had lifted him aloft by said hand and arm and asked politely for him to stop. Which only had seemed to ensense the Malfarian further.
Thankfully he'd been bought off with a few alcoholic drinks.
"One of the many kinds of Yamataians you will see floating about on this world and others. Malifarians are a lot like Colonials, in fact some of them are Colonials, and this town used to be more rough around the edges." For the young Guardian, imagining anyone with the gall or stupidity to attack a man like Ahrim would be unthinkable on their homeworld. Anywhere else, especially in a place Malifar, was definitely plauible.
"I hope Shosho Fujiwara didn't give you any trouble. That's not the first time you brought her up," said Mu'tasim, a bit concerned that the pale cat-woman might have been a little inhospitable. "She always seemed to receptive to Fujiwara-sera."
"I did not use an honorific with her, perhaps this is why." Ahrim stated as he mulled the thought over. "But she is a very capable young woman. And dealing with these Astarians I believe they are called. So perhaps it was merely stress?" he shrugged then, forgotten.
"You should know, Mu'tasim, that some of the survivors of the Boutros have also been sent home. Some however have elected to stay provided communications with loved ones and family were sent. They speak fondly of you and your heroism in holding them together during such a time."
The smile Ahrim got was a bittersweet one as he mentioned his heroism. A mix of emotions roiled in his chest as he went back to that bitter month, in the days where he saw so much needless death. He closed his eyes, sighing a regretful breath.
"I am glad to hear it."
It was easy to get a sense of the young Guardian's feelings on the matter and so Ahrim did not bring it up any further. "Tell me, how did you end up here, in Malifar?" he asked as they finally crossed into the city limits. He nodded toward where they needed to go after having asked.
"I landed here, I spent the last of my KS to get a ship to Malifar, and I've been staying here ever since. The starport here is cheaper to fly into," came a quick answer, happy to replace the prior subject. Mu'tasim was about to explain further, before he seemed to realize something, "Ah, do you mean, how I got here from Asura?"
"From Asura," was Ahrim's simple answer.
"Ah ha, heh," chuckled Mu'tasim, giving his beard an idle stroke, "I spent a year working for the Shosho Fujiwara, helping her clean up what remained of the people who caused the Asuran Tragedy. After that, she gave me a bit of traveling money and I started making my way back. There are no direct routes from Asura to Yamatai, there are few direct routes to Yamatai it turns out. I had to convince a bounty hunter to take me to Jiyuu."
He drew a small line in the air, as if referencing a star map, "From there, I had to charter a flight to Miu. The planet, of course. It wasn't too expensive a trip, but I was ejected and denied travel due to incident on Asura. A year out, and it was still fresh on everyone's mind. So I traveled about Jiyuu trying to find someone who would deal with a Iroma. A salvager tried to rob me blind on a price, but changed his tune when I offered bodyguard services."
Again he traced his finger from one place to another.
Having turned to look at what Mu'tasim was doing, Ahrim appeared thoughtful as he retold his story. "Creative, very savvy. I assume from there you made your way here, to Yamatai and Malifar proper?"
"I had to stop in Miu, first. The salvager dropped me off at his drop off point, and left me there. I spent a while locating a Spaceport that would take me to Tatiana, and from there, I was able to land into Malifar with the last of the money I had on hand." Recalling the experience had left a sharp frown the Guardian's face, "I'm sure it's easier these days, but the Signatory in YE 36 left people wary of the Iromakuanhe."
"Our public image now has faired better than that in the past. The opening of Nariman Terrace has done much to foster a better understanding and relationship with those in Kyoto and the other nations embassies." Ahrim mentioned as he stroked his chin. "Tell me, Mu'tasim, do you have anything else you would like to attend to here in Malifar before we depart?"
Of course, thought Mu'tasim. He had a small apartment, which was given to him by the Yamataians in their housing program. That home had most of the things he kept, and a lot of the things he had taken. Not to mention that there were actually a few people he had come to know there, people he should have said goodbye to. There was a short pause in the decision.
He'd send for his things, he'd send messages.
"No, I would like to go home, Ahrim," resolved Mu'tasim firmly, a fire smouldering his gaze.
Placing a hand on Mu'tasim's shoulder, Ahrim adopted a stern expression to mirror the smouldering gaze of his companion. "Go say your goodbyes, Mu'tasim. Do not leave them messages, Do not leave things unsaid." he said, almost as if he'd known the thought Mu'tasim had, had regarding the matter. "Your things can be sent for. But your goodbyes should be done in person. Such is our way, we do not as the Colonials like to say, 'Leave things half-assed'." he nodded at this choice of words.
"I will wait for you at the space port. Docking bay two, sublevel A. It will be the red and gray shuttle, on Pad C." patting his shoulder, Ahrim then made to move on, heading toward the spaceport by himself. Mu'tasim was left a bit shaken, as the High Guardian proved himself once again.
"Thank you, Ahrim," said the younger Guardian, misty eyed.
Mu'tasim would receive a waving hand in response as Ahrim walked away and headed toward where their shuttle awaited in the space port.
