Subject: STORY: Anniversary Under the Falling Stars Date: Tue, 30 Aug 1994 03:33:19 -0400 From: Threadkiller I haven't seen any fiction here, so here goes... -- Andrew Arensburger Systems Wrangler, Center for Automation Research arensb@cfar.umd.edu University of Maryland Light a candle, curse the glare. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- ANNIVERSARY UNDER THE FALLING STARS Copyright (C) 1994 by Andrew Arensburger Night was falling when Jean-Michel reached the parking lot at the head of the trail. To one side, he could see all the way across Lake Leman, from Nyon in the east, past Gland, to Versoix, and finally to the bombed-out husk that had been Geneva. Earthdome caught and refracted the setting sun like a brobdingnagian soap bubble nestled at the bottom of the valley. The far side of the lake was a single garland of light, and Jean-Michel could almost hear the festive music coming from the chartered boats that crisscrossed the lake on this holiday night. Every city on this and a dozen other worlds was lit up this night, each one illuminated like a planet-sized Christmas tree ornament, to celebrate the twelfth anniversary of victory at the Line. Although Jean-Michel himself hadn't been in Earthforce during the war, he could still have gotten himself invited to one of the private parties. He had been, after all, related not just to a soldier, but one who had served on the Line. This, however, was also why he didn't want to go to any parties. He zipped up his jacket, put on his backpack, and went off toward the trail. He was lucky: the sky was clearer than it had been the last five years. Only a few clouds blocked his view of the stars. Nowadays, the stars themselves seemed tame, just another place to go to, as far as most people were concerned. But on a night like this one, Jean- Michel could see the awe that they had inspired to uncounted generations of humanity. God! There were so many of them! How could there be enough names for them all? The first meteor fell just as he reached the top of the Jura, and he felt a twinge. Four more fell before he found his spot, the same spot where he had spent the last eleven Line Anniversaries: a hollow between two peaks that shielded him from the worst of the light pollution around him. As the rest of the world oohed and aahed at their local fireworks displays, Jean-Michel lay down on a blanket and waited for his own cosmic firework show. Another meteor sped across the sky, this one lasting almost ten seconds before dying out, and Jean-Michel thought of his Nathalie, who had died up there, twelve years ago today. Another star fell from the sky, and another, and another, until Jean-Michel could see the Line all over again, as he had when the God-damned Minbari had murdered his wife. He and his co-workers had hidden in the factory's underground shelter that day, sucking up whatever molecules of news they could get from the tatters of the net. Jean-Michel and a hundred others had stared, hypnotized, at a monitor showing the sky above some night-side city. Each time a star exploded, they had hoped--prayed--that it was one of the Minbari bastards, all the while knowing in their hearts that it wasn't. The stars continued to rain, and each one was, to Jean-Michel, a piece of Nathalie's ship, burning its way down to Earth, to find itself a grave on the planet where she was born. He could no longer hold back his tears, but neither could he help baring his teeth in a smile, a rictus of victory. We showed the bastards! When our backs were against the wall, we beat the sons of bitches! And Nathalie had given her life to preserve the freedom of her people. Given her life for him. Shortly after midnight, Jean-Michel sat up and lit a small fire. He took a framed photograph of Nathalie from his backpack and leaned it against a tree stump. Next to it, he placed a black-framed communique from Earthforce, telling him that his wife had died in the line of duty. He said a prayer, asking the Lord to have mercy on Nathalie's soul, and asked that she be allowed to find her way back to the planet of her birth, a piece at a time, if necessary. Around dawn, the Earth moved out of position and the fiery rain of debris petered out. No matter. It would be passing through this part of space again on its next swing around the sun, and then a few more bits and pieces from the Line would find their way back home. As the sun came up above the Alps, Jean-Michel made his way back to the car, back to the world.