Stella, My Star

Epilogue

His arm curled around her as they lay on the bed. It was just the comfort she needed tonight. Tomorrow would not be easy for anyone.

It was always going to be bittersweet. The current circumstances made it no easier for her. The rain fell down on the tilted heads of the late afternoon crowd and Stella dodged the intrusive umbrellas and ducked and weaved hurriedly through the throng. There was no way she could be late. It had been two strung out months since she received the official invitation, and her stomach was knotting at the thought of this moment. It was exciting, but it finalised a lot too. She was confused as to her feelings about that.

When she was forced to stop at a processing point with swarms of others, she pulled out her I.S.F. commscreen and checked her messages.

We are waiting for you, front row, seats 5-8, on the left.

"Dammit!"

As she stayed stationary, she looked around for what might be a quick route through to the front. Who was going to be the slower pedestrian and give her the opportunity to make headway? She noticed a man staring at her two lines away. He glanced away quickly when their eyes met. She watched the gatekeepers checking identities. Their least favoured time of day; no smiles, beady eyes. She looked back to the stranger, and observed him nodding her out to the woman, presumably his wife, beside him. There had obviously been a connection somewhere to her past, the time in which she was an assassin most likely. Even her short androgynous hairstyle did not hide her former identity. He definitely had not served on the Destructor. Maybe he had been on the Berserker? Maybe he had been one of Schilling's rebels six years ago, and had been recently released from incarceration?

When she reached the gate, two manicured fingers pushed her collar down as she revealed the small rank tattoo on her neck. Two more subtle ink additions had been made since Schilling had been eliminated. She was now stationed at Command central in the role of an advisor, no longer assigned to a ship. She missed those days. The tattoo immediately allowed her a pathway to the plaza. She pushed forward straightaway, passing more tired Concordia citizens as they mundanely trudged their way home for the evening.

The rain eased up, and she accessed the commscreen again. A speedy retinal scan, and she sent her voice message through.

Almost there. Tell them not to start without me. Haha.

When she stepped onto the travelator, she allowed herself time to catch her breath. The commscreen then doubled as a mirror, as she carefully reapplied her lipstick and straightened her fringe with her fingers. She tucked all the items away in her shoulderbag (an item she had never had cause to use in her past life), smoothed the stiff fabric of her dress out, and walked on to increase the speed.

At the entrance to the small open-air arena, she met Lynch. He hugged her in a patriarchal manner.

"Stella, how are you?" She pulled from his grasp and allowed him to stare into her eyes for want of an answer. She did not return eye contact.

"I'm fine," She acknowledged, her head nodding repeatedly. "Fine."

This was going to be one of those few times when her happiness would not be manufactured. It would be real. She just had to make it through the other formalities first.

Tedious music played on a speaker. Really? She thought. Couldn't they have sorted something out that was more suitable?

It was the shadow above her that drew her attention next before anything else. Her mouth fell open as she focussed on the hovering craft. The Destructor was positioned as a tribute above the small arena. It appeared massive, consuming, in this context. God, it's a beautiful craft. Her heart skipped a beat, and she took a deep breath before the clearest memories returned.