Never in her worst nightmares had she imagined anything like this.

She’d faced dangerous situations before. Stared down the barrel of an alien’s gun, wondering if she’d draw another breath. Staggered through the desert without a drop of water, without knowledge of her destination. Forced to operate under primitive conditions, terrified she’d kill or cripple her patient. Waited helplessly in dread as the Troika or the Yīqún attacked her ship, not knowing if she’d survive. And yet somehow she’d persevered through all of it, and come out the other side.

Blye had always assumed Hell was a realm of fire, but as the Spata pulled her through the water-filled tunnel, she realized that was a lie.

In fact, Hell was a place of pitch-black darkness… and so very, very cold.

It took every bit of mental discipline she’d learned at the hands of the Knight’s Hospitaller not to panic, even as her body trembled with fear and shivered in the frigid water. Pressing her eyelids tightly shut, she prayed in mantra, focusing on those simple words instead of her surroundings:

… Holy Mother Terra, grant me your strength… Holy Mother Terra, grant me your strength… Holy Mother Terra, grant me your strength…

Her shoulder scraped up against the tunnel wall as she fought back the urge to scream. Already she could feel her chest burn as carbon dioxide built up inside her lungs, resisting the impulse to press the oxygen mask against her mouth and breathe deep. It had only been a few seconds since she’d entered the water, and she still had enough presence of mind left to recognize that her fears were tempting her with dangerous options. The mask wasn’t designed to be used as a regulator, and if she attempted it, there was an excellent chance she’d suck in water as well.

A few droplets wouldn’t kill her, but the coughing fit that followed, under these conditions, surely would.

Blye risked opening her eyes, hoping to quell her rising hysteria, but immediately regretted her choice. All she could see was darkness, not even the Ixian warrior beside her, still pulling her along. For the shipborn, the silent dark was a terrifying place, a domain synonymous with death itself. The silent dark meant the ship’s systems had failed, and that the Big Empty, the vacuum of space, was coming for you.

She’d never been afraid of what she could hear, but she’d always feared the silence.

… how could they still be swimming? Why weren’t they at the end? Had the Spata betrayed her? Was he planning on drowning her down here, away from the others?

Once the seed of doubt took hold, her fears did the rest.

Blye suddenly thrashed in terror, her fists raining blows on the alien warrior’s head and torso. He reacted immediately as if he’d been expecting this very thing, shifting his grip to roughly pin her arms against her side. She struggled savagely against his efforts, desperate to escape this madman as her hindbrain took over, its primitive reflexes screaming Danger! Danger! Danger!

… and then suddenly she was pulled free from the water and into sweet, life-giving air, as they reached the other side.

The Ixian hauled her onto land like a bloated fish as her chest heaved with great wracking coughs, sputtering water as she collapsed onto the bank, before finally shivering in the cold night air. He gently wrapped a thick blanket around her shoulders while she fought her way back to sanity’s edge. Blye nodded gratefully at the Spata, as she struggled to sit up.

“... I’m sorry,” she gasped, “I…”

He held up his hand. “It is not necessary,” he said, dismissing her efforts to apologize. “When you warned me of your unease, I expected this.” She pulled the blanket tight as he stood up and offered his hand. “Come. This night is far from over.”

Blye took his hand as he pulled her to her feet, wobbling on unsteady legs. “I hate this,” she grimaced, as he led her away from the clinic.

“As I said, we all have our demons,” he nodded sagely. “Be glad you have identified one of yours.”

She looked at him curiously. “You as well?” she said in surprise. He’d always seemed so unflappable, so composed. Imagining him afraid… she simply couldn’t do it.

“Yes,” he answered.

Blye came to a halt. “What are you afraid of?” she asked curiously.

The Ixian slowly turned to face her. “Dishonor,” he told her, “and dying in my bed, from the ravages of age.”

Something passed between them before he turned and resumed their trek. Blye stumbled as she caught up, trudging along at his side. Sometimes it was easy to forget how truly alien the other races were until reality slapped her across the face with moments like this.

“... then I hope you die well,” she said at last, as they reached a clearing in the trees. Honestly, she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Spata Zhai flashed her a brilliant smile. “As do I, Chevalier Tagata. As do I.”

Stepping into the glade, Blye came to an abrupt halt as she spotted dozens, maybe hundreds, of individuals waiting for her, each holding a quarterstaff of their own. They stood in silence, arranged in a rough semicircle, as the Ixian warrior bowed formally to her.

“Your army awaits, Chevalier,” he told her.

Blye slowly scanned the crowd, reading their faces. There was fear there to be certain, but there was a grim determination as well. All the refugee races were represented, though the Qi-Tam featured prominently amongst the throng. They had by far suffered the worst at the hands of the Aggaaddub, and it pained her to see their hunger for revenge burning in their eyes. Shrugging off the blanket, she stepped forward to face the mob.

“You need to know what you’re volunteering for,” she told them. “If the day ever comes where we’re forced to face the Troika in battle, most of those standing here will not live to see the dawn.”

She paused, waiting to see their reaction. Many of the refugees shifted nervously on their feet, glancing at the others in the crowd, all of them waiting to see who would be the first to lay down their staff and abandon this fool’s crusade. As the seconds ticked away with no one walking away, Blye managed a tight-lipped smile.

“I pray you don’t have cause to regret your decision,” she said, “but I am honored… and humbled… to stand with you.” She reached for her staff, only to remember that circumstances had forced her to leave it behind, in order to make use of the tunnel.

“I need a staff…” she began, but even as the words left her lips, a young Durzix female bounded up to her, shyly presenting a handmade Bō, before scurrying back away. Gazing at the staff with a professional eye, the hard work that had gone into its crafting impressed her. Finding its midpoint with practiced ease, she rested it on her index finger, nodding with approval when it only listed slightly to the right. “If you get a chance, shave the end a bit,” she informed her, before giving it a quick practice spin. Despite its crude origins, it handled well.

“What I am going to teach you is the basics of staff fighting,” Blye explained, as she rested the staff’s butt on the ground. “We don’t have time for anything fancier and being honest… it wouldn’t make a difference against pulse rifles, anyway.”

There was a somber acceptance to that announcement, one that both filled her with pride while simultaneously breaking her heart. Part of her wanted to tell them to just run, to get as far away from this place as they could, but she knew the Aggaaddub would never let that happen. Fate and circumstance had decreed that this would be their battleground, though none standing here had wished for it.

The gods, it seemed, had other ideas. They always did.

“The most important thing I can teach you is footwork,” she continued. “It may not be as flashy as a thrust or parry, but proper footwork is absolutely essential for both of them. So, if your strong side is on your right, place your left foot behind you, angled slightly away from your body. Do it now.”

Blye waited as they sorted themselves out, finding a comfortable stance before she continued. “Now take your other foot and point it forward, roughly shoulder distance apart, and remember to flex at the knees. Keep them loose, not stiff.” Much more quickly this time, they copied her movements, though there were some necessary modifications to the stance depending on their species. “The key here is support and balance. You need to create a stable platform from which you can both defend and attack.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she caught the Ixian’s attention. “Spata Zhai, would you come over here please, and give me a hard shove?”

The blue-skinned warrior obeyed instantly, moving to her side and roughly pushing her at the shoulder. Blye flexed at the waist, wobbling for just a moment, before returning to her original position. Her audience watched the exchange with rapt attention.

“You see how effective it is?” she asked them. “If you lose your footing, then you are done. So don’t. Not ever.” She gave them all a hard look, doing her best to impress upon them just how important this first lesson was. In a better world, she’d have the time to go over it with them, again and again, until their muscle memory could perform the task automatically, without hesitation. Sadly, they didn’t live in that world. Maybe they never had.

“Now we come to movement,” she continued, as she adopted a fighting stance, pointing the end of the staff at the crowd. “You always want to keep your weight on your back leg, otherwise you are leaving yourself vulnerable.” She paused, scanning the group. “How many here saw the demonstration I did a few weeks ago after the Aggaaddub arrived?”

A few tentative hands were raised. “For those of you that were there, the reason I could knock my opponents down so easily is that they all made the classic mistake of placing their weight on the forward foot instead of the rear. Beginners especially see it as an aggressive move, one that will grant them a quick victory, but nothing could be further from the truth. Doing so will make you dangerously vulnerable. Remember, there are no quick victories when using the staff, and killing blows are rare indeed. You are trying to whittle down your opponent, keep them off balance, not take them out with a single strike. Get that out of your heads right now, because it's the quickest way to wind up dead.”

A few in the group blanched at that, but the rest simply nodded, soaking it in. “To move, the key is to never lift your feet from the ground if you can help it. Now watch what I do, as I move in for an attack.” Holding her staff at the ready once more, she slid her rear foot forward a few centimeters, then shifted her forward foot across the grass until she was back in her original stance. “It’s just that simple. Slide… and shift. Slide… and shift, keeping your weight on the rear leg,” she explained, demonstrating the technique again with each description. “Now you try it,” Blye ordered them.

The refugees began copying her efforts as she moved in amongst them, making corrections where needed, while the Spata followed behind her. Their attempts were slow and halting at first, but soon they began gaining confidence in the simple feat. It wasn’t complicated, after all… merely counter-intuitive. Finally, she moved back to the impromptu stage as she waved for their attention.

“All right, that covers moving forward. To move backward, you do the same thing. Like so.” As before, she slid her rear foot back and then dragged her forward foot to arrive at her original form. “Moving left or right works the same way; back foot, then forward foot. Now watch me, as I demonstrate them all.”

Still moving at a snail’s pace, Blye ran through the variations, calling them out as she did. “Always start with your trailing foot to stay centered, and then follow with the lead. It doesn’t matter which way you’re moving… adhere to that simple formula, and you can’t go wrong. Practice those moves whenever you can, until you can do them in your sleep. Any questions?”

A few hands went up, before she said flatly, “Since I’m about to cover attacks and defenses, are you sure your question is important enough to take time from that? Because if it is, then I’ll gladly answer it, but if you’re just looking to satisfy some idle curiosity, we’re kind of on a tight schedule here.”

The hands immediately went back down. “I’m sorry I have to be so brusque about this,” she apologized. “This isn’t how I want to teach… especially when it’s so damn important.” Her voice caught in her throat for a moment, as the reality of what she was doing settled in hard. These refugees, people who had lost everything, were prepared to throw themselves at warriors armed with modern weapons, while they wielded nothing but sticks.

It was suicide, and she was helping them do it.

The ancient words of Hippocrates, the father of medicine, suddenly appeared within her brain, burning like an offering to the gods as she murmured his oath once more… Primum non nocere.

… First, do no harm.

She felt her eyes well up as the cold, hard truth of her actions slammed into her like a meteor. How many times had she violated that sacred pledge? The crew of the Taisen Jit, the Aggaaddub, and now the refugees themselves? And each time she’d rationalized her decision, telling herself it was for the greater good, but how in the name of Mother Terra was she to look at these eager, desperate faces… and send them to their deaths?

They watched her, waiting.

Blye felt Spata Zhai appear at her side. She turned to him, her vision now blurred with tears. “... I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t do this. Please don’t ask me.”

“If you do not,” he answered, “then their lives are forfeit.”

And worst of all?

He was right.

“... I hate this goddamn war,” she swore under her breath, before wiping a damp sleeve across her face and drawing in a deep, cleansing breath. As she took her stance once more, she fought to keep it all buried within.

“Now… to attack…”