"Oh my God...."

CSA Arondight, with a pair of corvettes and the destroyer CSA Morgan swept into the Smuggler's Belt, her flotilla of Skipjack-class pickets and Reannan strike craft riding ahead of her. Some Thunderbird Starfuries made almost flirtatious passes at the slowly spining, nearly devastated ring of Despayre Station.

Chastity and Fairon stood on the bridge of the Arondight, both almost unbelieving as they looked at the shrikes' data input. "We're too damn late," Chastity murmured.

"No," he said insistently. "We're not, look. The station still has power...."

As the space control ship closed in on the stricken ring, the Cygnians and Reannan could see that the station did, indeed, have power. The sheer amount of debris in the area, though, made it more of a grim parody of functionality.

"Commander, we're picking up a large debris reading, at about three kay-klicks, bearing 267 by 15." The tac plot officer touched his headset, then paled beneath his russet fur, the coyote's ears drooping. "It's the Paladin, sir. She's been... smashed."

"On the screen!" Chastity snapped, and a moment later the view of Despayre was replaced by the blackened, twisted wreck of the heavy battlecruiser. Beside it, not two kilometers away, was an equally-large molten wreck.

"That looks like a Xur heavy cruiser," Fairon said quietly. "They must have destroyed each other...." He glanced over at his wife, not even needing the subtle link they shared to read her emotions, as masked on her face as they were.

She stood there, looking at the destruction for a long moment, then turned and walked back to the command station. In a perfectly neutral, quiet voice, she said, "Contact Despayre. I want to talk to Sa Kallahan-Galand."

"Sa Kallahan-Galand isn't available, Commander," the signals officer piped up. Her tail twitched nervously, an ermine's worry apparent in her face. "She's in the station sickbay, listed in serious but stable condition. Colonel Rourke is in charge."

"Fine." Oh, no, Vikky, what happened? Are you all right? "Put him through."

Rourke's report was, as Chastity had expected, complete yet concise. The Xurians had come, there was a fleet engagement, Paladin had been blown to smithereens, when the Xurian CA scuttled, along with a couple of 'vettes and a Reannan combat ship. Troopcraft came and latched onto Despayre. She felt her husband's anguisned wince; Dreamstar, fair Dreamstar, had been violated by Xurian death commandoes in her final hours. But here at Despayre they had been beaten back, and despite a sudden power loss the defense turrets came back online and the station was saved.

Her mind in a dull haze wrought by the devastation, she numbly approved his requests for badges of honor to be awarded to the defense turret crews. One thing kept nagging her mind, however: "Colonel, what happened to Sa Kallahan-Galand?"

The equine shook his shaggy, perspiration-dampened head. "Not sure, Commander. She was involved mostly with damage control. Once the Xurians showed up and we started taking damage, she asked me to run the defense and went with the DamCon crews. She kept us in one piece, sir. Long enough to blow those demons out of the ether."

Chastity nodded slowly. "Thank you, Colonel. I'll be over shortly. We'll begin transfer of medical and damage control personnel immediately. Intel doesn't expect a followup attack anytime soon."

The com channel closed. Fairon stood by, verbally mute. Something bothers me about this.

Victory? He mentally nodded in reply. We'll see when I go over there. I just hope she's all right.

Despayre was a mess, and Chastity still had to pick her way through debris and detrius. The damage control teams had been trying their best to make the station structurally sound again, before trying to do any other repairs.

Accompanied by Lokei, one of the rangers from the Command Protective Unit, Chastity made her way through green sector to red, entering the station administration section.

Predictably, the room was something of a mess, with papers and office supplies still strewn about. But a couple of privates were working on the mess, and had made a bit of a dent in it, when Chastity and Lokei entered. The came to attention hastilly before Chas had a chance to tell them not to bother.

"Uhm, as you were, please," she said. "Where can I find Colonel Rourke?"

The privates glanced at one another. "He's in the three-cee, sir," the shorter one, a squirrel with the name tag of IVANOV chirred. "I don't know if he's expecting you, I can take you there...."

"No, thank you, Private." She looked aroumd. "I take it it was bad."

Both privates seemed to relax slightly. "I think it could have been worse, ma'am," the other, a felne by the name of Ghurri admitted. "If it wasn't for the DC people we'd be dogmeat. They and Sa Kallahan-Galand kept us going long enough to swat a lot of the troopcraft."

Chas noticed that Ghurri had the star and crossed cannons on his collar patches of gunnery, while Ivanov was a sensor technician. "That's right, sir," Ivanov provided helpfully. "Lil' Sister ... I mean, I don't know what Sa Kallahan-Galand and Ser Westerman did, but it was none too soon. When power came back on, my board had thirty lampreys on it. Thank the Czar we got power back when we did, otherwise we'd have been overrun."

Ghurri nodded. "Thank the Czar... and Lil' Sister and her crew!" Ivanov nodded enthusiastically.

Something tugged at Chastity's mind, but she wasn't sure what. "How are they doing? I assume they're in sickbay?"

The two privates' expressions fell. At that moment, however, the hatch to the CCC opened, and Rourke poked his head out. "Oh, Commander! Sorry I didn't meet you at the dock."

"That's all right, Colonel." She turned back to Ivanov and Ghurri. "Thank you, gentlemen."

"Our pleasure, ma'am." "No problem, sir."

"Carry on," Rourke said wearilly to the privates, ushering Chastity into the CCC. He even walked as if tired.

The CCC was a little better as far as organization went. One console was blackened as if by fire but was being replaced by several technicians. Normal white lights instead of harsh red emergency lighting filled the room.

"Colonel, when did you get some sleep?"

He chuckled slightly. "I think it was sometime in the last week."

Chastity shook her head. Sometimes, highly-motivated people were a pain. "You're setting a bad example," she said wryly.

"Too much work to do, sir...."

"I know, I know. We'll send over some DC teams. Once the atation is structurally sound again, put your people into work shifts--:

He interjected, a little uncomfortably, "Er, I was planning to do just that, Commander."

Oops. You're not just able to micro-manage everything like you once did, Chas. Count your lucky stars, too. "My apologies, Colonel."

"Oh, you're right, Commander. We've just been through Hel, that's all."

"I can understand that! You have the action logs?"

He nodded, and handed Lokei a flat box that had a number of data ports in its side. "You'll see why I recommended the gunnery crews for badges of honor. When power came back on there was no time to get automatic firing solutions. They had to run the turrets manually."

Chastity nodded, as Lokei secured the recorded in a slender satchel hade fast to her belt. "I'll look it over when I get back to the Arondight. What about the DC crews?"

Rourke nodded. "They did their job and they did it better than any I have ever seen before. We owe a lot to them, Commander."

That nameless something that was tugging at her mind came back again, a bit stronger. "I'd like to go down to sickbay, Colonel, visit the wounded."

Rourke nodded. "Of course, sir. I can walk you down there...."

"That's all right, I know the way. But thank you. You have enough to do up here." Something was bothering Chastity about this whole thing, and it was starting to give her headache. She needed to see Vikky, and to talk with her.

The room Victory Kallahan-Galand was in was like just about any other deep-space military hospital: small, not entirely uncomfortable, and a little on the chilly side. Still, Despayres' medical staff had gone far in making it a little more comfortable. While the flowers were plastic, the prints on the walls and the brightly-colored ribbons flapping in the breeze of the air vent made the room a little more tolerable.

Moira Galand-Kallahan was sitting there, beside the bed and holding Victory's hand. The ruff had drifted into a light nap, and Moira didn't want to disturb her. Vikky, the people aboard Despayre Station had taken to calling her "Lil' Sister", had been through an awful ordeal, and needed as much rest as possible.

When she had sqeezed herself into that small crawlway, she had managed to crush all of her ribs, puncture a lung, almost shatter her pelvis, dislocate both her arms, have more internal bleeding than any doctor aboard the station had ever seem before.... The list of details was long, and Moira could probably recall all of them in agonizing detail.

She didn't. It was too depressing, and besides, what mattered was that her love would live.

There was a slight knock on the door, and Chastity Ward opened the door slightly. "Vikky...? Oh! Hoi, Moira, I knew you would be here."

Moira smiles warmly. "Chas , you made it! Oh, thank Goddess!" When Chastity came over, she managed to hug her without letting go of Vikky's hand.

Chastity hugged the android vixen back warmly, then looked down at Vikky, a wave a anguish passing over her face. "I wish we could have been here sooner."

"You came as fast as you could, we all know that." Moira sat back down, looking at Victory worriedly. "Vikky's probably the worst off. The others...."

"I've seen some of them already," Chastity said softly. She turned to the ranger, who was standing beside the doorway. "Could you excuse us for a bit, Lokei?"

The void drow glanced around, as if to make sure no Xurian death commando would jump out of the water closet, and nodded. She slipped outside, letting the door slide closed behind her.

Chastity turned back to Moira and Vikky, sighing. "We torpedoed one of the destroyers that escaped, yesterday. Our scouts are surrounding their base at Malleus Cygni, looking for any futher sorties." At Moira's mute nod, Chastity continued. "The, uhm, doctors say she's going to pull through."

"Lady Ward...?"

They gave a start. Victory stirred in ther bed, and opened her eyes. "Oh ... t'ought I 'erd thine voice. Th' red ones, we beat 'em back ... oh ... but West'rman, could ye see..."

Moira squeezed Victory's hand tightly. "It's okay, love, you can rest now. You saved the station."

Victory made a tiny sound. "Nae, lassie ... West'rman did more th'n me." She tried to push herself up, struggling against the chest-cast. "Lady Ward, I'm sorry, about tha station ..."

Chastity placed a gentle hand on the little ruff's shoulder. "Get some rest, Victory. The station'll be here when you wake up." Victory, too weak to resist, settled back onto the bed. "It'll still be here when you're ready."

Victory opened her pale eyes again, only a little. "Aye," she murmured, sleep sneaking up on her again. "But ... donnae forget to look in on West'rman ..."

When the ruff was sleeping again, Chastity looked up at Moira's anguished face. "Where can I find Westerman's room, Moira?"

Moira blinked, and then looked at Chastity in shock. "Nobody told you?"

Chastity had fastidiously never lain hands on anyone in the past ten years, after a single horrible incident that still bothered her. This was somewhat well-known, and so it came as a total shock to Rourke when, upon entering her office aboard the Arondight, he found Chastity grabbing hold of his collar with both her hands and violently pulling his head down to a level with hers.

"What the Hell were you doing?" she almost shouted at him. Truth be told, it had been a long war, and Chastity's temper was, bit by bit, getting shorter with each passing season.

Rourke struggled to keep his balance, confusion etched on his face as he spluttered, "Er... s-s-sir? What do you... mean...?"

"I mean the battle with the Xurians! How long have you been district spaceguard chief?"

Rourke glanced around him. The office door had closed, and her voice was loud and ringing against the almost bare bulkheads. There was some warmth to the room in the way of some wood-like paneling, a couple of Denebian germaniums in zee-gee planters, and the Cygnus and CSA flag behind her small, simple desk. The office, in the rotational section of the Arondight, had some gravity, and was kept at a decent if power-conservingly cool temperature. A temperature that came nowhere close to that of the fury in Chastity's eyes. From here the difference in color between her real eye and her glass one was extremely pronounced, probably because of her rage.

"Er... sir, I respectfully request that you let go--"

"How long?!"

The gunshot-like bark of the question almost made him stagger. "Uh... two years, sir...."

"Two years." Her voice dropped and began to drip with irony. "Two years. And in all that time you didn't bother to learn that Despayre has no shields? When were you going to figure that out? Sometime after you were going to launch shieldsplitters and order the disruptor cannons armed?"

"Sir!"

"Don't 'sir,' me, dammit! You spent two years as District Spaceguard Chief, Despayre, and you had to be reminded by Private Hhnthzk that the primary space station in your district has no shields!"

She let go of him, and he almost fell over. Slowly, he straightened, rubbing his neck, a closed expression on his face and unable to say anything.

She began to pace in front of him, her limp a little more pronounced. "As you are a former independant ship captain unfamiliar with Cygnian technology when you first signed on five years ago, I could forgive you that little slip. Particularly since there was no loss of life from it at first glance." She stopped in front of him and glared up at him. "But there's one thing I can't forgive you for, Colonel, and I want to hear your answers right now before I go past the point of no return with this."

Rourke could feel a faint surliness rising up inside him, and he fought to keep it out of his voice. He didn't like his actions being called into question so violently by Commander Ward, and he certainly didn't appreciate being foxhandled by her in this fashion. "Commander, I must respectfully insist on ..."

When she spoke to interrupt him, her voice was much, much quieter than before, and stopped his talking cold. "When were you going to tell me what happened to Sa Kallahan-Galand?"

Is that what this is about? "Er, sir, Victory went to help the DC crews when the shooting started." When she didn't interrupt him again, only folding her arms patiently, he plunged on: "After our armor belt was breached and the pressure hull ruptured, she handed off control of the defenses to myself, and went to repair the breaches. I believe that she was one of ... one of the people to bring the power back online."

"Enabling your turret crews to take out the Xur troopcraft."

"Yes, ma'am ... er, sir. The entire DC crews, including herself, are to be commended ..."

"The entire crew of Despayre is to be commended, Colonel." She began to pace slowly again, at least this time much calmer. Something about her poise, however, made Rourke wish she was shouting again. "In fact, for the past eight hundred days, all of Cygnus, uniformed and civilian and noncombatant, are to be commended. We're going through Hell and there's no end in sight."

She stopped, and sat against the front of her desk, studying him. "I am not one to discourage the recommendation of decorations and awards. In fact, you yourself have been recommended for a badge of honor from your command staff."

That actually surprised Rourke. "Sir, I, I don't know what to--"

"That makes a total of fifteen badges for this battle. Plus the Cygnus Cross, posthumous, for the crews of the Paladin, Alexandria, and Maria. Along with a number of Legion of Merit awards for the marines who faced death commandoes; too many of them are posthumous, as well."

Rourke nodded his head. "It was a rough battle, sir, it's almost impossible to nail down details ..."

"Details... such as Westerman getting killed while physically realigning high-voltage power couplers, or Vikky pushing herself into a space even a ferret would have trouble getting into, nearly breaking every rib in her body in the process, to keep that power line connected?"

Rourke seemed honestly speechless, and after studying his face for a long minute, Chastity sighed in desperation.

"Your inability to remember even the most basic defensive fact of Despayre Station is only a symptom of this, Colonel. Your record is mostly spotless for the time you have been with us, but the overlooking of Despayre's lack of shields is excaberated by your neglect in reporting the disposition of the twenty damage control specialists who were wounded in action, in particular the sacrifice of Ser Westerman and the drive of Sa Kallahan-Galand. Everyone in Cygnus is important, Colonel, and everyone, not just the crews on the front lines, are crucial to our survival and effectiveness as a fighting force. This includes even the lowliest private striking for a rate, or a shopkeeper in New Bergen, or a subcontracted asteroid miner out in the Smuggler's Belt."

"Sir, about Ser Westerman and Sa Kallahan-Galand, I didn't know. Everyone on Despayre gave all they could in the battle."

"So why didn't you recommend them for badges?"

He hesitated. He had a feeling that if he said what he was going to say she's get even more angry.

She nodded, however, seeming to read his thoughts. "You didn't because technically, she wasn't facing an enemy."

"Well ... not exactly, Commander, but--"

"Close enough?"

Hell. "Uh, yes, sir."

She shook her head. "Unacceptable. She was as much facing the enemy as your sensor operators."

He finally saw her logic, and lowered his head. "Ma'am, I don't know what to say."

"Well. That makes two of us. How many times have I tried to pound it into the officers' heads, that every positon is important? That, especially in Cygnus and especially in space, the lowest-ranked maintenance private is just as much in the line of fire as the skipper. Only the marines have a better view of Death staring them in the face, and for that reason we make especial mention of them and make the Legion of Merit for members of the Assault Forces only. And even then it's not enough. But everyone in Cygnus may at any time face the enemy. And all personnel aboasrd a ship or station face that enemy equally."

Rourke straightened, then, and took a deep breath. "I ... do not feel I have engendered your trust, Commander. I request reassignment ..."

"Colonel, I cannot afford to move a combat officer away from his post at this time. And make no muistake, yours is a combat command position. I cannot afford to assign a nursemaid to you, either. You will remain District Spaceguard Chief for the time being. You will, however, remain subordinate to Victory Kallahan-Galand. She is not a temporary station manager, she is the Despayre District Marshal and in this sector second only to myself and the Soviet!"

She let that sink in for a moment. "Your request for reassignment is declined. Like I said, I cannot afford to have you anywhere else, despite this incident. Besides, until Sa Kallahan-Galand has recovered you are in charge."

"I see.... Well, then, I must decline the award of the badge of honor ..."

"Oh, yes, the badge of honor ... You will recieve the badge of honor, along with your command staff and the turret crews, as you requested. But know this, Colonel: the badge you will recieve will be very special. It will be made from deflector plating scrap from this past battle. It will be a little heavier than other badges of honor, and I hope that you will remember, every time you wear it, that weight." Her voice dropped an octave. "And I expect you to wear it with pride, Colonel, like others who have earned it will. Always. Over the heart."

He frowned as she turned away and walked to her desk. "But ... that's more of a punishment than an award, sir."

She walked to behind her desk, and sat down. "Yes. It could be considered punishment. But you also deserve it. You displayed coolness under fire and were instrumental in keeping the command crew calm during the battle. You coordinated the fleet action well, providing support to the fleet as needed, anticipating their needs as perfectly as mortally possible."

"Then why ...?"

"Why am I doing this?" She leaned back slightly, looking up at him. "Because you needed this. As much as others need to be shown that you did an exemplary job, you need to be shown what your shortcomings during this incident were."

"I ... I understand that, sir, but ... I mean ..."

"Colonel," and she sounded more than a little tired. "According to regulations, I cannot recommend anyone for the badge of honor who is not my immediate subordinate or immediate superior. Since this ... incident took place while you were in command of Despaye, I can do nothing about the awards that have already cleared my desk. I don't know how much more of a hint you want me to give."

Chastity looked up from her desk, and her expression softened a little. "You're a good officer, Rourke. You wouldn't have made Colonel if you weren't. But we may all die tomorrow, all of us, and we cannot afford to not pay attention to every person under our command.

"Yes. It is hard. That's leadership, though. And you are a leader, not a manager." She looked back down at her desk, scrolling through an engineering databoard. "Dismissed."