Our Solemn Duties

My name is Vander Williams. I am not qualified to oversee this operation.

Audrey Chambers. She grew up on The Forger's Church on Jedhora. She left as an adult. She requested one from the True Chuch to oversee her body.

I am the person, even if I do not wish to be for I am the only certified one by the True Church to carry out this operation in Chasm Grove.

 I have never been squeamish when dealing with death yet I find myself irresolute. My hands may be still but my spirit is restless. I close my eyes and inhale as my mind relays the instructions meticulously handed down to me. Clean the room with the thurible. Examine the body thoroughly for other wounds and injuries. Heal if necessary. Restore the cause of death. Embalm the body with the oils. Chant the hymns. Say the prayer. Insert the hammer. 

I exhale and I am less hesitant than before. I squeeze the bag's handle and when I am ready, I enter the room. The room is illuminated via a dingy light. The body lies still on the table. Coveted by a white cloth. Where there should be machines to handle this operation for me, there is nothing for they cannot afford it. I am alone.

Where my feet falter my spirit triumphs and reminds me that The Forger is with me in this endeavor and for that I am grateful. My feet are heavy as they approach the table and I set the bag down. It takes me little effort to assemble the orb like thurible and less so to insert the proper vials of holy water, incense, and specialized oils prepared specifically for the thurible. I then use a lighter to ignite it and smoke and an eathly herbal scent fills the room. 

I perform eight laps around the room with the thurible in my right hand. Rocking it like a babe as the smoke filters the room. When my rounds are complete, I set the thurible on a table not too far from the table the woman lies on and allow it to continue burning. Next is the hardest part.

I grab onto the white cloth with both hands and softly pull it off of her. She is an older Aldrum and she has Corvidae's feet around her eyes. Her hair is long and aged, her face as well but still contains traces of youth. Her body follows the same motif. Her body has not begun the process of decomposition. She looks at peace with her eyes closed. I doubt that would be the case if they were open. I chose not to entertain such an idea. My mind wonders if this is how my mother looked. Looks. I do not know. I must focus on the embalmment.

My reservations from earlier swell within me. I do not wish to defile her body, and the bodies they had me practice upon were all men. They did not have me or my male peers practice on the female dummies should they grow perverted and drawn to sin. Despite how egregious my reservations might be, I, as an acolyte of The Forger, must do what is asked of me. What He asks of me. I swallow my reservations, bury them as deep as possible, and begin examining her body.

I keep it as brief as possible. Seeking to gain neither pleasure nor arousal in the ordeal. I start with the head. There is a blaster shot wound seared into the side of her skull. I take a mental note of it and continue down her neck. Then her chest and underneath her breasts. There is a lump in her right breast. A tumor. I take another mental note. Then I move down to her stomach, then her nether region including her posterior, then her knees, then her calves, and end with her feet and check each of her toes.

With the examination finished, I let out a sigh of relief and take a momentary rest to recuperate my mental state. My fear is relieved and I know I can finish the operation. Two of the eight tasks are complete. I know not how to remove a tumor so I elect not to remove it. My resolve is strengthened, and I made my way in front of the woman's head. I feel for the blaster shot wound, fingers combing through her grain-like hair, and find it once again. I rest my hand flat against the wounded and chant a hymn. My hand emits a golden aura as it restores the woman's wound. The process takes all of fifteen seconds and when the task is complete, I remove my hand and fix her hair proper.

I am halfway finished. I reach out into the bag, take out the specialized embalming oil, and thoroughly coat my hands with it. Then I repeat the same examination as before. My mind focused on scripture, my tongue on hymns, and my hands coated every nook and crevice of her body until the task is complete. With her body coated in the embaling, I move on to the last stages. I produuce a long, velvet red colored box with the insignia of a hammer striking an anvil on it from the bag. I open the box and remove the hammer. It fits in my hand and looks average. It contains a wooden finish and carvings of moments within the Mandrel carved into its stem.

The hammer is then placed onto her chest and I wrap her left hand around the handle for love and strength everlasting, then the right hand around the grip to represent stability. Finally, I pray.

I try to keep it short, but my mind falters and wanders. It thinks - I think of the family she has and how they will react to her passing. How her children should she have any will wonder where they will find unconditional love. Why I do not have such a - no. Not now. How her partner, should she have one, will find the will to muster enough strength to wrestle themself out of bed. How her siblings, should she have any, will react to the death of their sister. How their mother was a supportive figure in their lives unlike my own who left me and became a mons-

I catch my mind slipping and end the prayer prematurely. It is not my best work. I take one last look at the woman before covering her body with the sheet. I then make my way to the sink and rinse my hands clean of the oils then cut out the fire in the thurible. I pack the equipment and take the tag left for me by the town's mortician. It has a name on it.

Audrey Chambers. I attach it to her big toe and bag in hand, I leave Audrey to her slumber.

As I leave the room, I am greeted with a familiar sight. A man my junior who looked as if he would blend into any crowd. In both hands are water bottles. He smiles and hands me one of them. I graciously accept it. He guides me to a bench and I sit next to him and thank him for the gift and open the bottle and drink from it. Today has not been easy.

He looks over at me, talking, yet I do not register his words. I take another swing and his murky words become clear to me.

"How'd it go?" Jayce asked.

I look at him, unsure of how to answer. So I answer normally. "Fine, it went fine enough," I respond. His gaze doesn't leave mine and I can tell he is trying to read me. I shake my head as if to reassure him. "Honest." I smile in the hope that it will dissuade him from further questions. 

It does not.

"You alright?" Jayce asks me. I nod my head but he shakes his. "Don't mean physically. Meant to say up there." He taps his forehead and I get what he is asking.

I shake my head no and take another swig of the refreshingly cool water. He nods and does the same. We sit in silence, taking in the scenery of a dull and lifeless hallway where bodies are unceremoniously taken to be disposed of. Every couple of minutes he glances over at me then looks away. My stomach growls and Jayce chuckles and stands.

"That sounds like as good of an excuse as any to go eat. Come on. I'll buy." Jayce proposed.

"And what of the food on the ship?" I retorted.

"Not like we had time to eat cause of the mission. Sides, we can eat something light."

"I am afraid I am not hungry. Go on without me," I say to him. He rolls his eyes.

"Do I gotta drag you?"

"No."

"Good. You're a lot stronger than me anyhow. Come on, even if you don't eat, it's better than hanging out with the dead."

As much as my mind would claim I need this time alone, my soul knows that being by myself after such an undertaking is not the best course of action. Not when she has found a way to resurface in my mind. "Jayce?" I ask dryly. He gives me his undivided attention. "When we leave this place, I would discuss my mother. If that is acceptable.

Jayce looked at me, understanding the pain and resentment I share for the woman that I should call mother and not Empress Spiora. That damnable monster. I cannot and will not entertain her in my mind, and yet I seek her. I do not know why she has returned. Perhaps because of Mrs. Chambers. Her death, and the reminder of her mortality. Oh my mother's mortality.

If she is even alive.

Jayce motioned for me to follow him as we made our way up the stairs and outside of the precinct. The lights up here were blinding compared to the downstairs. Yet we made it outside and I was greeted with a most beautiful sight. The vermillion-blue sky blanketed Chasm Grove with its beauty. I take a moment to register its beauty and I am thankful that The Forger has allotted me this opportunity to bask in this natural beauty after such an event. My mind is clear again, and I wish nothing more than to bask in His artistry. 

Truly, He is wonderful.

It had taken her the better half of a day to find the house, not because she couldn't, but rather she didn't want to. Not entirely. She knew the ensuing conversation wasn't going to be easy, but she knew it was something she had to do. Technically didn't have to go do this, but she felt morally responsible.She rationalized it through her actions, however good-intentioned, lead to the death of an innocent. And now she had to face the consequences of trying to be altruistic.

Of trying to be like Melka. 

That's what the one part of her mind said. The part that doubted every decision she ever made. The one that doubted her back on the train during the hostage situation. The one that gloated at her failure as its beliefs were reaffirmed by her failure. The part that claimed that she was never meant to be Melka's successor. 

She often ignored it, but today she let it ramble as long as it pleased.

 As she walked along the faux concrete sidewalk, the houses looked ripped straight out of an issue of Humans N You home catalogue that focused on early two thousands middle American home architecture. Thee houses looked uniform, basic and uninspired. Their simplicity gave her a temporary headache and given that every house looked the same, it had been a rather annoying ordeal to find the right house.

Her feet wanted to stop their pace as they grew closer to their aforementioned destination, yet her will pushed her forward towards the house until she was in front of it. Guarded by an "authentic" picket white fence, said fence was what stood between her and ruining an entire family's life.

She grabbed the latch and opened the picket fence. As she slipped behind the gate, she took notice of how fresh the lawn looked. It's beauty enhanced by a selection of flowers whose vibrant colors brought the house to life. She wondered if the woman who had died on the train was the one who responsible for the spread of flora. As she made her way up the stairs and to the front door, the voice's vicious mockery grew louder as she approached the front door. If things went bad, or she even ended up dead, she could, at the very least, live with the fact that she had tried to do the right thing and knocked.

No response. 

She knocked again and buried her hands in her jacket pockets. Again, no response. She thought of knocking a third time on the door until she heard the creaking sound of a door opening.

"Excuse me," the voice exclaimed, "Can I help you?"

Shane looked back and saw an elderly woman in the next yard looking at her. She looked as if she was ready to attend to her garden. Seeing no harm in talking to the woman and a chance to steel her nerves, she descended down the stairs that lead to the font door and leaned on the picket fence.

"Oh um, I'm looking for the home owners." Shane managed to mutter.

"What for?" The older woman said.

"Great. Now I get to play twenty-one questions with her." Shane thought to herself.

"Do you know them?"

"I might."

Shane glared at the woman, clearly annoyed at her antics and stopped leaning on the fence. She made her way back to the front door and barged on it to no avail.

"They're not home. Victor doesn't arrive for another thirty minutes and Audrey's still off at her conference. Eldest and middle kid are at college. Youngest's a senior."

"Audrey? That's her name?"

"What's her name?" The older woman said.

"Audrey. What's her last name? Miss? Ma'am?"

The elderly woman stared at Shane, unsure of what to make of her just yet. Shane returned the glare in a nonthreatening manner. 

"Why the sudden interest?"

"I need to speak to someone of the house. Preferably Victor from the sound of it."

"What for?"

"Reasons."

"Being?"

"Being of matters relate to him."

"Has something happened?"

"I'm not at liberty to disclose that information with someone that isn't related to him."

"Does it involve the train crash? Rumor has it a body was recovered. From Chasm Grove no less."

"Aside from Skav bodies, no other bodies to my knowelege were accounted for."

"She's dead isn't she?"

To that, Shane didn't answer. The woman must have saw the guilt in Shane's posture as she stopped the hounding. 

"That's why you're here aren't you? Looking all doom and gloom with those sunken eyes of yours. Have you even eaten today?"

Shane stared at the woman, her shoulders and eyes growing heavy. The transition time from their last mission to this one was all of five hours and she hand't had time to properly recover from either mission or the injuries sustained. As much as she wanted to do the right thing or what she thought was the right thing, she was exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. She din't have it in her as her injuries and fatique were quickly catching up to her.

"Well, I suppose I should um… I should probably get going. The Unifiers will send someone to their house later." Shane turned to leave as her purpose of coming her was folly.

"Hold on a second dear. If you're going to leave, might I get your name?"

"My name?" Shane muttered as she stopped right as she was about to exit. "Right um, Shane/Shabina. No last name. You?"

"Velen. Velen Cartwright."

"Ain't that swell." Shane said as she hid her sarcasm under her tongue. "Well Miss or Mrs. Cartwright," she exclaimed as she made her way back over to Velen, "I'm sorry for bothering you and I hope you have a wonderful day/evening. However long the days are here." Shane offered out her hand to which the woman gladly shook. It felt cold and she could see the almost microscopic feathers that gave Velen her beige, albeit aged appearance.

"Before you leave, if you don't mind me asking, how did she die?"

"She um, she died because of me. I - I wanted to save these people The Skav. They were-"

"Those fiends?!" Velen exclaimed with shock and awe. "Why would anybody ever want to save those monsters!"

"Becasue my mentor would," Shane responded. She knew that the answer wasn't satisfactory judging by Velen's look of unease towards her. "My mentor she - she valued life. All life. Even the lives of the Skav."

"No offense dear, but your mentor sounds as if she's three screws missing from making a table collapse."

Despite the disrespect towards her mentor, she found herself chuckling at the remark. "Yeah, and I'd have plenty more screws missing to have followed her. Still did it. She died."

"Was it worth it?"

For that, Shane couldn't respond. She didn't know how to respond. Had everything she had learned from Melka, experienced with Melka, lived and fought alongside her really been worth it? She felt as if most of the lessons Melka tried teaching her went out one ear and out the other. She could never do anything of the things Tahel could, she wasn't chosen to wield Melekana's Guidance, she wasn't even chosen to lead the team. Turok practically hated her even if he never said it. Yet every once in a while, something stuck in one of Melka's lessons. She'd have a success that Tahel couldn't replicate and even Turok would give her her due diligence every once and a while. She wasn't sure how to feel about anything at the moment, but the nagging part of her mind and the voice were quiet.

"I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything." Shane said and that was the first time she had been truthful with herself all day.

"Indecision will get you nowhere dear." Velen teased.

"What you call indecision, I call still gathering evidence. I wasn't a good student, but I try to live up to her ideals. As silly as this sounds, if I can help one person a day, even making them smile through some random act of dumbassery, then I think I did good."

"Why?"

"Because it's good."

"Why?"

 "Because the galaxy can't be unified and helped in a day and I don't know how to do it even if I knew how so… might as well take it day by day."

"Why?"

"Because I need to."

"Need to?"

Shane wanted to strangle the woman in her own yard yet held off from doing so. "Need to be better. Need to be like Melka and live up to her ideals."

"Why?"

 "Because her method worked. She fixed things. She saved the galaxy. Her method has to work."

"Why?"

"I don't know, it just does!"

"May I show you something dear?" Velen asked her. Shane nodded her head yes and Velen motioned for her to hop the fence which Shane did with little effort. She brought the woman behind her house and revealed a wide selection of various flora life taken from across the galaxy.

Shane whistled impressed. "Nice garden."

"Why thank you." Velen pointed at a large flower, one that looked like a bird showing off its Ménage à trois of colorful feathers. "Do you know what kind of flower this is?"

Shane shrugged, confused at what the woman was trying to show her. "Can't say I do."

"It's a Trios of Victory. It's a rare plant found on Faron. Each year these plants fight a grueling battle between an invasive plant species that covers other plants to the point they never reach sunlight. The Trios of Victory gets its name from the three times the plant blooms and must fight the invasive species for sunlight. When it succeeds, it looks like how it looks now. It is a defiant cry of victory. It's path towards victory is forged with hardship but it succeeds none the less."

"Huh. Who knew plants had lore."

"You see that small plant next to it? The one with the orange bulbs that look like peppers? That's a Habanero Splay. It's found on warmer planets like Cyspus and Crese. Take a guess how it survives?"

"Um - it has to fight off an invasive species or hunters?" Shane said with no confidence in her answer.

"It doesn't have to. Its path to success is pathed with next to no hardships as it's free to grow as it pleases. Each flower here has a different path it has or will take to success. They don't have time to second guess themselves or their decisions. Nor do they seek to emulate the successful path of other plants. They must take their own." Velen then turned her focus to Shane who in turn, gave her full attention to Velen.

"Why are you seeking to emulate this Melka's path?"

As much as she wanted to respond, she found she could't. Why was she dead set on following behind Melka? She clearly wasn't her and didn't prefer being like her. She had her own style yet in the last four months since her death, she had tried immitating Melka to no avial.

"To honor her memory I guess. Follow her example, live like her I guess?"

"And how did she live?"

"Doing the impossible and performing miracles like pulling planets back into orbit or restoring dead planets back to life."

"Can you do that?"

"I wish."

"Then why are you focused on being like her? Do you know what the strongest plants are made out of?"

"Nah, I don't."

"One would think they're legacy plants, but no. The strongest plants are grafted from different plants to make a stronger one. That's how we must be. We take different parts from others and become more. It's how we walk our own paths while honoring the ideals of others, no? I believe your Melka would agree with me."

Yeah," Shane huffed, "yeah she probably would. Thanks granny." 

Shane smiled sincerely at Velen and gave the older woman a hug which she returned the favor. She reached into her inner jacket pocket and produced a damaged card and gave it to Velen. 

"Just in case you ever need to reach me. Don't be a stranger ma'am."

"You likewise."

Shane waved at Velen as she made her exit, her mind no longer consumed with negativity. She pondered on Velen's words and recognized that her words were likely ones Melka had shared with her sometime in the past. She hadn't been in the right headspace to listen. She didn't know what tomorrow or the next day would hold, but she would embrace it with open arms. 

It took her thirty minutes to return to the ship and when she entered, she could hear the others were in the middle of a debriefing in the meeting room. And from the sound of it, Turok was tearing into them. She felt bad, and as she made her way into the kitchen, she was greeted with the sight of yesterday's meal. She cleaned it up then took out ingredients from the fridge and made dinner comprised of mostly vegetables and set the tables for them for when they were done with the meeting.

Once she was done cleaning the dishes, she went to her room and stepped over the dirty laundry she hadn't had time to finish. She would get it done after she rested. As she glared out her window, she gazed at the captivating vermillion blue sky one last time as she drifted off to sleep.