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2231
Hong Kong is humid in summer, a sweltering morass intolerable to a little girl used to Alaska. Catherine Sakai is thrilled when her aunt Akiho suggests visiting their relatives in Hokkaidō to celebrate Bon. The far north of Japan is a relief; the air is clear and the heat tolerable, and those two things almost make up for all the history Mom made her study before they headed to the shuttle port to catch the transport to Sapporo.
The real Japan is everything and nothing like in vids. The moldy scrolls and funny buildings of her imagination transform into noisy crowds of Chinese and Korean tourists wandering through a temple complex with wooden doors and tiled sloping roofs. Ancient trees stand tall in the courtyard, living record of years gone by.
Catherine roams the lively open-air Nijo market with her jovial grandpa Ryuji. They stop at a street vendor and she practices her Japanese, ordering sea urchin and salmon eggs on rice. Grandpa says it's the best breakfast, and when they sit a little out of the way to enjoy it, she decides he's right. She gulps down the ocean and listens to his unbelievable tales of the last century, understanding only every third word; even fragmented stories speak to her. At eight and a half (and the half's important, she explains to anyone who'll listen), Catherine wants to learn everything.
On the day of the ancestral festival, Catherine helps cook the rice for the household altar. The plaques with the names include Yamazaki Naoko, and she places the bowl of rice before this esteemed ancestor, the second Japanese woman to travel off-world.
"Naoko-san grew up to follow in the path of Mukai Chiaki," Akiho says quietly. "An honorable calling, and a modern one. Traditions are strongest when carried forward."
Folk music echoes from the street, and Catherine hears in it the tendrils of time, history resonating into the future. The stars her destination; the past her solid ground.
When she comes in from dancing, her mom and aunt are watching ISN on the English feed. It's empty space and bulky ships, women and men in crisp blue uniforms. After a few minutes of unconfirmed this and casualty that, Catherine's pretty sure there's a war on. "Who are the Dilgar? Dilgar ha nani?"
2246
Finishing flight school just as a war begins means shuttle duty and lots of it. Catherine would like to be out where the fighting is, where Jeff and the 361st have been deployed, but her unit's too green, so they're on the home front. The way the war's going, she's likely to see action, but at that point it will be far too close to Earth for comfort.
The Dilgar War inspired a generation to join EarthForce; everyone in her squadron seems to think this conflict with the Minbari will have the same glorious ending. Catherine's worried, though. There's not much from the front, and no news definitely isn't good news.
Moon-Mars is a quiet run, and from the cockpit of her transport there's plenty of time to watch the stars. They wink with ancient secrets, and she longs to journey past the oldest of them. For now, she stays in-system and dreams.
2259
Universal Terraform's contract won't wait for time, tide, or wedding plans; these surveys will take months. Anyhow, Jeff and Catherine haven't set a date yet, what with all the chaos following Santiago's death on New Year's Eve. In the three weeks since she left Babylon 5, they haven't even talked more than in store-and-forward; too many jumps for a clear channel.
She wakes up on a routine sweep of some moribund planets halfway to the Rim. Her alarm is set for 0600 Earth Standard, and ISN's remote service is droning in the background about the new ambassador to Minbar. Catherine can't bring herself to be surprised that it's Jeff. Whether he's running away from her or towards his future, he's gone. Again.
"At least I'm not the one who left this time," she says to her empty bunk, knowing it's not entirely true, given all the jumpgates that lie between them.
"Message from Jeffrey Sinclair," replies her ship's computer in a dispassionate tone. "Display?"
Catherine pauses for a long moment. She knows what it's got to say. They've danced this dance one too many times. "Negative. Delete message."
They outlasted the Minbari War, only to have peacetime finally do them in. She can't stay planetside, and she suspects he's looking forward to it. "Nothing's the same anymore," he'd said. She could just as easily counter with "everything's the same."
Catherine exercises to clear her mind, then showers in her small vibe unit. Inside its walls she had names etched on the metal. She traces those of her parents, grandparents, all the way back to the esteemed Yamazaki Naoko, venerating their memory. It's not exactly an altar, but this isn't exactly a household.
After, she combs out her sleek, straight hair, then braids it. Meanwhile the vibe has cleaned her jumpsuit; she pulls it on and zips it up before climbing back into the pilot's seat. She can silence her thoughts if she concentrates on the latest scan results. Enough kilos of mineral samples, she thinks, can bury any number of regrets.
2260
After the remote isolation of space, the crush of people in the Babylon 5 customs bay is almost too much for Catherine to bear. The smell of fear and clamor of unhappy voices jar her senses. She's hoping to make it through without being noticed, given all the confusion, but no such luck.
"Gracing us with your presence, Ms. Sakai?" asks Michael Garibaldi. Jeff definitely kept custody of the EarthForce friends in their final split, and there's an icy-polite edge to Michael's voice as he scans her identicard. "Long time out of circulation. Were you out on the Rim?"
The question of why she wasn't on Minbar in the last year and a half hangs in the air between them, unspoken and unanswered. A Drazi pushes between them, breaking the tension.
"I changed course when I heard they'd shut down the transfer point at Io. Word from the Hub was that every ship was going to be commandeered."
"Even a converted shuttle like yours," Michael confirms. "Last week, we might have claimed it ourselves. Today, we'd ask nicely."
"What uniform is that, anyhow?" Catherine asks. "It's been over a year, but I didn't realize fashion had changed quite this much." Michael's stark black trimmed with geometric silver stands out, the jacket ill-fitting and the collar tight; other scattered security personnel are in standard grey.
"This isn't EarthForce anymore, Toto," Michael says, before turning to the next traveler.
Catherine decides it's not worth asking him who Toto is, instead heading for a BabCom screen to register for a short-term berth.
Fresh Air is more marketing ploy than reality, despite the real trees, but at least the food's decent. And she'll give station staff a little credit; a dinner invitation from Commander Ivanova is a nice gesture, even if it's clearly not one they make for every passing surveyor.
Susan Ivanova is off-duty and more relaxed than Catherine remembers her. Catherine bets there's one of those new uniforms back in her quarters, but Susan's looking quite fetching in a green satin blouse and a black skirt, making Catherine glad she changed out of her jumpsuit. Maybe this isn't an official welcome after all.
"So, it's probably become obvious I won't be needing that maid of honor I asked for, last time we dined here." Catherine tries on a smile; it holds for a minute, before wobbling into something less happy.
Susan nods. "I'm so sorry. We don't hear much from Jeff."
The question is more subtle than Michael's, which makes Catherine more inclined to answer it. "We've never been able to make it work. And I definitely can't stay planetside and host ambassadorial tea ceremonies."
"Driving a desk is no picnic either," Susan says. "Sometimes I desperately need to get off-station and feel space under me."
There's more in that statement than Catherine can decipher; she wonders what else has changed here. But the civil war isn't for public discussion when there's a waiter hovering. Catherine speaks up, affecting a cheery tone.
"Glad to see Babylon 5's working out well for you. Congrats on losing that Lieutenant!" Catherine nibbles her spoo; it's aged, Centauri-style, and reminds her of nattō. Delicious.
"It's an honor," Susan says, as the waiter moves out of earshot. They share a smile, and then Susan continues in a more intimate tone, "So, what have you been up to?"
"Just finished a sweep of some planetoids holding fewer usable minerals than I'd been hoping. I was heading back to Earth to see my aunt."
Pouring more wine for them both, Susan asks, "You still have family there?"
"Lost my mother when I was young, and my father shortly after the Minbari war. I spent years with my aunt Akiho, though. She's in the terraforming business in Hong Kong. Got me this gig, actually." Catherine pauses for a sip, then assesses Susan's wistful look. "You?"
"It's been almost two years since I sat shiva for my father. My mother, like yours... many years back."
Catherine sets a hand on Susan's, an almost imperceptible squeeze speaking more than her silence does. Back to business; that's safer.
"I was EarthForce once. Left after the war... the previous war, I should say, given last week." Catherine gauges Susan's reaction. "I wasn't cut out to be career military. The last dozen years have just confirmed that."
Susan tips her glass. "Thirteen years in, here. We're like ships in the night."
"And I spent most of those looking for jumpgate building blocks," Catherine continues. "The thing about war is that once all the shouting's over, they're going to need to rebuild those gates, and business will be better than ever."
Susan chews her bottom lip thoughtfully. Nobody's close to their table, and that's probably why she says, "If the Clark administration ever turns its eyes away from Earth."
"All this talk of alien influences." Catherine shakes her head in dismay. "Japan tried that. Sakoku was how the shoguns held Japan apart from the world."
"The czars wanted Russia to be nothing aside from Russian — and even with the advent of Earthgov, it is."
"With Japan and the Russian Consortium as founding members, no less." Catherine laughs at the irony, and Susan raises a glass.
"To our nations and peoples!"
Catherine completes the toast, "Long may they be their own!"
Serious talk for serious times; Catherine finds it easier to talk about nations writ large in history. Better than the messy reality of her own life.
The corridor outside Fresh Air feels cramped and institutional compared to the plant-filled restaurant. Catherine takes a breath and re-orients herself, then turns to bid Susan good night.
"I'm off to the far reaches of Red sector—" she begins, but Susan shakes her head and lifts the bottle she coaxed out of the waiter.
"Too early to end the evening by far," she says, an inviting smile playing over her face. "Come back to my place for a nightcap?"
Catherine hesitates, but only for a moment. Her assigned berth is no larger than her shuttle, and feels much less like home. "I'd like that," she says, and wonders what she's agreeing to, then decides she doesn't much care.
Susan's spacious quarters remind Catherine of that last night in Jeff's, when he wouldn't come to bed. She must show it on her face, because Susan sets down the wine and pulls out a bottle with a faded label and a few inches of liquid sloshing in the bottom.
"Honest Russian vodka. Good for what ails ya."
They settle on the couch, Susan slipping out of her shoes and drawing her feet up as she faces Catherine. The gesture makes her look vulnerable, and emboldens Catherine to ask. "I think I'm not the only one. Who left you?"
A shadow crosses Susan's face. "She didn't leave me, exactly. More like... changed. But she's gone and not coming back."
Catherine sips the sharp vodka, then raises her glass, suffused by warmth. "To staying behind."
The bottle of wine they brought back to Susan's quarters is nothing but green glass curling up inside itself to reduce the volume, the deception obvious now that it's empty.
They've both had far too much to drink. They have more in common than Catherine would have guessed; confidences about lost telepaths and ambassadors flow along with the wine and vodka and not nearly enough water. And if Catherine will admit it to herself, she's been alone too long. Before Jeff, she has to reach back years to Tessa on Mars, and before her, Jeff and Jeff again, but no more: that's past. The future is now. Talking, laughter, a touch here and there, all ebbs and flows into what comes next.
Leaning in, Catherine risks a fleeting kiss, lips dancing over Susan's. She's not wrong; Susan reciprocates in kind, lips parting for a closer connection, tongues exploring tentatively and then with passion. Her dress slides up her leg at Susan's touch, while she loosens the ties of Susan's blouse. Susan's gruff exterior peels off with her clothing, soft layers of yes underneath.
Unexpected, the delightful expanse of this strong woman in her arms, this salty tang on her tongue, but not unwelcome. There's no obligation here; without words, Catherine knows Susan is asking for nothing more than what's between them right now. No forever. History adds depth, but makes no demands except onward.
Tonight, together. Tomorrow, the stars, dotted like Japan's islands out into the deep.