Terms of Engagement

by veronika_seneca

Summary:

This is a crack fic inspired by a serious fic that I read a long time ago in which Neroon married a human to seal the peace between Earth and Minbar. Read at your own risk. Don't take it serious.

Chapter 1: Matrimonial Protocol

Summary:

Silva gets chosen.

Notes:

Edited 20/08/2025: grammar, typos and structure. Basic story was not changed.

EAS Resolute, Vega IV

The office, with barely enough space for the three of them, was a monument to sterile efficiency. Colonel Brooks sat behind the only desk with the sort of friendly smile Silva had learned to distrust.

"Sergeant, let me start by commending you for your exemplary war record."

"Thank you, Sir."

As she stood at attention, Silva's mind sorted through recent events, trying to guess what had landed her here again. Not the brawl with the centauri sub-minister. They had dropped the charges. Maybe her coffee racket? She had an untraceable supply chain, but nothing was immune to snitching.

The betting scheme, perhaps? She had made quite a profit on the last combat simulation. And General Hague's zero-tolerance of gambling was fleet-wide gospel. A colonel showing up specially to deliver punishment would not be unheard of.

Silva stole a glance at Captain Morrison standing beside the desk. He looked like the one facing charges. Yep, they had found out about the betting.

"Sergeant, today's discussion requires extreme discretion," Brooks finally spoke, interrupting her paranoid musings. "The Minbari have proposed a ceremony as part of the final peace accords. They requested a human representative for an important role."

Not the gambling, then.

"What kind of ceremony, Sir?"

"A traditional bonding ceremony between representatives of our respective species."

"Bonding, Sir?"

"Technically, a matrimonial protocol."

Silva's eyes snapped to the colonel's face. "I'm sorry, Sir, what?"

"A matrimonial protocol. Symbolic, of course."

Her mouth fell open, then closed shut, only to open again, soundlessly. The scent of ozone and the captain's cheap aftershave choked the air, making it hard to breathe. Was he suggesting-

"Sergeant?"

"You want me to marry a Minbari, Sir?"

The words came out strangled, forced through a too-small opening in her throat.

"I want to know if you will take part in a traditional bonding ceremony with one of the Minbari military commanders as a symbolic gesture to formalize the peace accords."

She searched Morrison's face for help, but the captain was transfixed by the regulations tablet mounted on the wall behind her. His inability to make eye contact impressed her.

"Sir, with all due respect... why me? Shouldn't a diplomatic assignment go to a diplomat?"

"The Minbari requested someone with combat experience. Who served with distinction during the war."

"They want someone who shot at them successfully to seal the peace?"

"Yes. Your actions at Proxima III make you a notable candidate."

"But... marriage, Sir? Why not just shake hands?"

The colonel leaned forward on the desk. "Honestly, Sergeant? No one really understands the Minbari and their logic. But it is clear to everyone involved that this... bonding ceremony is a non-negotiable part of their proposed truce. And I am confident that I don't need to express to you the importance of peace."

No, he didn't. She understood. Still...

"Are you sure this isn't some elaborate revenge plot?"

"Sergeant, this is a real diplomatic assignment."

"Colonel, with all due respect, so was our first contact with them, which only set them off on a homicidal rampage. And then they surrendered despite winning. Why? And now they want to marry the people who shot at them for two years."

"The Minbari are... complex."

"Complex enough to disguise revenge as a wedding?"

Brooks took a slow, deep breath, and Silva could almost sense his patience disappearing. Almost.

"Sergeant, we recognize this mission ranks above and beyond the call of duty. So, Command authorized me to offer appropriate compensation."

Colonel Brooks's friendly smile looked more appealing. "Compensation, Sir?"

"Immediate promotion to Sergeant First Class."

She blinked.

"An honorable discharge with full pension benefits."

Silva felt her mouth go dry. Full pension? For only four years of service?

"You will also receive a transport vessel of your choosing. Full ownership."

Even Morrison forgot his commitment to professional invisibility, his eyebrows jumping at the generous offer.

"My own ship, Sir?"

"Yes. Your own ship. No payments. No obligations. Think of it as hazard pay."

"Hazard pay?" Her voice cracked. "You said it was symbolic, Sir."

"It is symbolic. But you'd be representing Earth in an unprecedented diplomatic ceremony. The compensation should reflect the uniqueness of the task."

Her heart raced as she pondered the possibility of finally having everything she'd been working for. Her own ship. Steady income. Freedom.

"What class of ship, Sir?"

"You decide, Sergeant. Within reason, of course."

Her dream, handed to her in exchange for a diplomatic ceremony. It sounded too good, though. And nothing in the army was ever good.

She forced herself to concentrate.

"What about after the ceremony? No recall clauses?"

"Complete discharge. No strings."

"How long would this take?"

"Three months, including preparation."

Silva nodded slowly. "So, I just take part in a symbolic wedding ceremony with a... minbari warrior, smile for some photos, and that's it?"

"One ceremony. Some diplomatic appearances."

She was almost convincing herself to accept when a new thought surfaced. "Does the marriage go on my service record, Sir?"

Took more than a second for Brooks to process the question. "I... hadn't considered-"

"And taxes? Do I file as married? What if I want to get married to a human later? Am I allowed? Sir?"

Morrison made a strange snorting sound, then coughed to cover it. The colonel shot him a look.

"Sergeant," Brooks cleared his throat, "I am sure we can satisfactorily resolve all those important issues at a later time."

Silva wasn't convinced. Her mind spiraled.

What about her pension? Does the minbari warrior get it if she dies? What if she gets injured? Is the Minbari warrior her next of kin now? What if the Minbari warrior dies? What are her responsibilities? Does she need to tell her father? Maybe this was more complicated-

"There is no catch, Sergeant."

Silva refocused. A simple, symbolic ceremony. Three months of her life for a pension, a ship, and a lifetime of freedom.

"Can I count on you, Sergeant?"

Morrison looked straight at her now, probably trying to gauge how crazy she really was. She gave him a small smile.

"Yes, Sir. You can count on me."

Brooks's smile got wider, and he stood up, extending his hand.

"Excellent. Earth Force appreciates your commitment to duty, Sergeant."

Before shaking the colonel's hand, though, Silva remembered one last thing.

"Sir, one question."

"Go ahead, Sergeant."

"For the ceremony, should I wear the full-dress uniform or just the basic? Because some of my ribbons are for killing Minbari. It might send mixed messages, don't you think?"

Chapter 2: Sacred Duty

Summary:

Neroon is informed.

Notes:

Edited 20/08/2025: grammar, typos and structure. Basic story was not changed.

Sharlin Cruiser Ingata, contested space between Earth Alliance and the Minbari Federation

The invitation to tea should have been Neroon's first warning.

Shai'Alyt Branmer did not host meetings in his private quarters. Until today, Neroon had doubted his commander even possessed a complete tea set, let alone one suitable for ceremonial politeness. Yet here they sat, three warriors, teacups in hand, pretending normalcy.

Well, two warriors and Inter-clan Protocol Officer Vaenn, who sat across from Neroon, attempting casual small talk with a forced ease that only highlighted his stupidity.

Whatever was happening, it was not standard Warrior Caste affairs. Those would not require a protocol officer. Especially one such as Vaenn. Branmer's clan matters wouldn't include Neroon. And Neroon's disciplinary issues wouldn't merit the Shai'Alyt's personal chambers. Something worse lurked here. Something he suspected, but he dared not voice. Even in his thoughts.

Vaenn set the delicate teacup down with exaggerated grace.

"Alyt Neroon..." The Protocol Officer hesitated, glancing at Branmer, who offered a small nod of encouragement. "We need to discuss a matter of great importance."

Neroon straightened slightly, preparing himself.

Vaenn cleared his throat. "The Gray Council has reached a decision regarding... a bonding arrangement."

Alright, Neroon's fears proved correct. He took a deep mental breath. He was ready.

"I requested the Shai'Alyt to be present so we might benefit from his wisdom."

Wisdom? How bad was it? He felt his readiness slipping away. "Which clan?"

Vaenn blinked. "Clan?"

"The prospective bond-mate's clan. Surely you know this much."

"Well, technically speaking... The Gray Council has determined that your bonding will serve as a reconciliation ritual."

Neroon turned to Branmer. "I was not aware the Star Riders were feuding with another clan."

"It's not one of our clans," Vaenn said.

Neroon narrowed his eyes at the protocol officer. "Are you bonding me to a priest?"

"No, no - she is a warrior. We made sure."

Branmer set down his own teacup. "We should let Vaenn finish before we assail him with inquiries."

Neroon fixed his commander with a look sharp enough to cut steel but remained silent. Vaenn seized the moment.

"The humans have agreed to the sacred ritual of the Unified Path as part of the peace process. And our people chose you, Alyt Neroon, to represent us."

"Represent how?"

"In the joining with the human representative. To symbolize both peoples' coming together as one clan."

Neroon stared mute at Vaenn for a very, very long time. The words he had just heard refused to make sense. He understood that the Gray Council was ordering him to mate with an alien. A savage whom he had utterly defeated. For peace. But this was impossible. A ridiculous idea.

Vaenn squirmed under his stare, and Branmer tried to dispel the awkwardness. "Perhaps-"

"When you say joining, Protocol Officer Vaenn, what do you mean?"

Vaenn appeared confused by the clarification request. "Joining means joining. Under the bonding rites."

"Bonding rites? With a human?"

"As part of the-"

"A human."

Neroon's voice had dropped into a low register - one usually successful at silencing intelligent people. Predictably, it had no impact on Vaenn.

"Alyt Neroon, the Gray Council decided you are the ideal candidate for a sacred union. This is an honor, not only for yourself but also for the entire clan. And the caste."

Neroon studied Branmer's face, searching for some hint of an elaborate twisted joke. Payback, perhaps. For his behavior at that pointless ceremony last cycle - his comments about Religious Caste peace strategy had been too... direct. But the older warrior's expression revealed nothing. This was real.

After another too-long stretch of tense quiet, Neroon addressed Vaenn once more. "And the humans agreed to this?"

"Yes, of course."

Idiots.

Branmer tried to run interference again. "I believe-"

"How was my selection done, Protocol Officer Vaenn?"

"The Gray Council did not provide specifics. But I assumed they took into account your unwavering duty and notable honor."

Maybe he was hallucinating. Perhaps that blow to the head during the last denn'bok training had done more damage than he thought. He could be dead. Was he in the afterlife? Yes, he was. Enduring a metaphysical punishment constructed by the universe for his lack of piety. To tame his warrior's arrogance by subjecting him to an ultimate, obscene indignity.

Vaenn, his hands now a blur of motion, likely realizing his news was not well-received, attempted reassurance. "I should mention, Alyt Neroon, the sacred union will not affect your duties or impact your personal life long term. You'll represent our people, complete the ritual, and return to your normal activities. Without the human."

Valen! He wasn't even thinking about domestic obligations. The thought of having to share his space, position, and his burdens with a human made him momentarily ill.

"It is important to note, however," Branmer said in a too-quiet voice, "that the bond itself is permanent."

Permanently bonded. To a human. Neroon could not even attempt to understand the reasons or benefits of it. Only the indignity occupied his mind. He stared at the man he had trusted and blindly followed so many times into battle. "And if I have reservations?"

The room fell silent once more, thick with discomfort. It lasted so long Neroon believed he would not receive an answer to his unprecedented challenge. Until Vaenn's voice cut through the quiet.

"The Gray Council has determined the ritual of the Unified Path is essential to lasting peace. And they have chosen you, Alyt Neroon, to carry out the sacred duty. The Star Riders and the caste consider the selection a privilege."

Branmer gave the smallest of nods.

Neroon felt defeated. He considered his options. He could refuse and take the honorable path. It would be clean and uncompromising. He was not afraid. But would it matter? Would he be remembered? Or would he become a footnote in some Religious Caste diplomatic archive? Neroon. Warrior. Pity about the human.

Besides, if he refused, they would undoubtedly bestow this indignity upon another. Unacceptable. No, refusing would change nothing. And it would be too cowardly. He would face this test of his loyalty head-on, endure it, and return to his life.

"I accept."

Vaenn beamed. "Excellent! We can begin preparations. Cultural briefings, protocol training-"

"You already have a protocol for bonding with a human?"

Vaenn nodded enthusiastically. "The Religious Caste has already prepared comprehensive manuals."

Neroon closed his eyes for one brief, tactical breath. "Of course they have." He turned to Branmer, his voice sharpened like ice. "I'm sure they've thought of everything." Traitor.

His commander had the grace to look uncomfortable. Whether it was guilt or shame, Neroon couldn't tell. He didn't care.

Chapter 3: Coffee Smuggler

Summary:

Mira is having a bad couple of years.

Notes:

Edited 20/08/2025: grammar, typos and structure. Basic story was not changed.

Leavitt Station, Beta Comae Berenices system

Mira Patel stared at the datapad in front of her, wondering for the millionth time if the universe was testing her will to live. After everything they had endured: the genocidal war, an incomprehensible surrender, months of painstaking peace talks. Now... this.

"So, ladies and gentlemen," Ambassador Sheridan exhaled slowly, "this is our bride."

Mira looked at him in disbelief. "There were seventeen candidates on that list. How did we end up with the woman who triggered a hull breach warning because she needed better coffee?"

Major Reynolds cleared his throat. "Don't forget her assault on the Centauri sub-minister."

Sheridan waved a hand. "Those charges were dropped."

"She still decked him." Reynolds grinned. "Clean right hook."

"She's completely unsuitable for a diplomatic mission." Mira's voice rose despite her efforts to stay professional. "It is incomprehensible why she was even on the list."

"We have been through this. She meets all the Minbari requirements. Combat experience. Proof of direct engagement with their forces. Proof of courage. Multiple confirmed kills," Reynolds said.

Mira looked around the conference table. "I know I am being repetitive, but do you realize how insane this sounds? They want someone who's proven they can kill Minbari to marry a Minbari."

"According to their cultural liaison, it is supposed to show worthiness." Sheridan's tone suggested he was not buying this explanation either.

"Or it's a humiliation ritual," Mira shot back. "Force us to send someone whom they can look down on as a savage."

Reynolds leaned on the table. "Look, all seventeen people on the list have issues. Silva is just the most problematic of the bunch."

"Which is exactly the problem," Mira said. "They wrote requirements that guaranteed we'd eliminate anyone sensible. And now all the half-sane ones have run away too."

"Well, you need to be crazy to say yes to this," Reynolds looked around. "A marriage to an alien? Come on."

Mira observed Sheridan. He did not take the bait this time. Yesterday's three-hour argument about Minbari motivations had burned out his energy for speculation.

She started scrolling frantically through her datapad. "Maybe we can offer more compensation. What about Major Wang? She had diplomatic interests, cross-cultural training-"

Sheridan's expression soured. "Wang is the one who cited irreconcilable philosophical differences with matrimonial diplomacy. Compensation will not move her."

"Commander Perez?"

"Volunteered for deep space patrol duty the second we briefed her." Reynolds looked amused. "Didn't even wait for lunch."

Mira exhaled hard through her nose. "So, we are really stuck with the woman who thinks cargo bay fireworks are appropriate for morale boosting."

Reynolds let out a short laugh. "I'd forgotten about that."

Mira stared at him. Was he treating this as a joke?

Reynolds must have caught her look because he shifted gears. "Discipline issues aside, she shows up when it counts. We need someone who doesn't panic when things go weird."

"What if she doesn't take it seriously?" Mira's voice was cracking slightly. "What if she mocks the ceremony? What if she decides the ritual cleansing is a waste of time or that meditative fasting is stupid?"

"Twelve days of fasting is stupid." Reynolds shook his head. "That's not a ritual, that's endurance training."

Mira ignored him. "They sent us a respected military commander. We're sending them a coffee smuggler who thinks regulations are a suggestion."

"A coffee smuggler with a Silver Nova and multiple commendations," Reynolds corrected.

"And multiple disciplinary actions!"

Dr. Okafor spoke up at last. "If I may."

Sheridan gestured toward her. "By all means, Doctor."

"Rather than rehash Sergeant Silva's flaws, let us focus on exploring her strengths."

Mira narrowed her eyes. "Such as?"

"Well, she has remarkable cross-species social intuition. Her ability to read non-human behavior is well above average."

It took a moment for Mira to understand. "You mean the gambling ring?"

"She successfully interpreted micro-expressions and behavioral patterns across multiple alien species," Okafor nodded. "That is non-human behavioral intuition most humans don't have."

"She hustled them."

"Successfully. That's called competence."

"Competence at fraud."

"Still competence."

Mira closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She had three degrees and was sitting with a multiple-PhD holder discussing whether card sharking was a good job qualification.

Okafor pressed on despite Mira's objections. "Minbari cultural framework prioritizes honor, duty, and spiritual depth. Silva's combat record accounts well for honor and duty. As for spiritual depth... one could say that her willingness to risk everything for her people is a kind of spiritual commitment."

"Or a death wish," Reynolds said.

Okafor shrugged. "In warrior cultures, those are often considered the same thing."

Mira leaned back, crossing her arms. "And what about her insubordination?"

"The Minbari expect some incompetence from outsiders. What they don't tolerate is cowardice or deceit. Silva has never run away, and she doesn't lie."

Reynolds nodded. "They expect us to be stupid. They don't expect us to be weak."

"To a degree, yes. And they specifically requested a warrior, not a diplomat. Someone who acts from instinct and honor, not someone who calculates every word."

Mira looked around the table, not bothering to hide her disbelief. "We're accepting this, aren't we?"

"Listen," Sheridan's firm voice cut through the discussion. "We can spend the next hour cataloging Silva's shortcomings, or we can accept that sometimes we need to work with what we have, not what we want."

The room fell quiet.

"The Minbari didn't give us a choice of candidates. They gave us requirements. Silva meets them. And she accepted the mission. And she was the only one. So, let's focus on what we can control."

Mira had no more energy to disagree. Sheridan was right. At the end of the day, Silva was the only one who said yes. And now Mira was going to have to sit on an Alliance Committee and explain how their peace accords hung on a coffee-smuggling, low-ranking officer with a rap sheet and a gambling problem. With a straight face.

Chapter 4: Star Alignment

Summary:

Sonoval is not ready for peace.

Notes:

This one got bigger then I expected. Also, I am repeating the minbari names I used for my other stories. Humans repeat names, Minbari can do it too. 😌

Sharlin Cruiser Takari, in orbit around Minbar

With his teacup in hand, Sonoval leaned against the viewport, listening to Kela's daily agenda.

"... the Star Riders' envoy confirmed today's visit."

"Good." He took a sip, letting the warmth spread down his throat.

"And last, the Temple of the Third Accord sent a message."

He felt the familiar tension creeping in.

"They want us to coordinate water retrieval from Ka'ril..." She consulted her tablet. "From a mountain spring untouched by shadow."

Sonoval turned to his young aide, waiting for the reasoning that should follow such an elaborate request. None came.

"What is this water for?"

Kela blinked in surprise. "Oh, they didn't specify. Should they have?"

He held her gaze for a few breaths, then returned his attention to the planet outside. Procurement of water from the former enemy's arms dealer. A great start to the day.

---

Sonoval made his way to the chief engineer's workstation, as was his daily habit. He found Delara hunched over her station, surrounded by swirling blue screens showing orbital mechanics and stellar charts.

"Any updates?"

The worker-caste woman looked up. "No." Her shoulders sagged. "I keep making small tweaks, but the time-window remains a big issue."

She pulled up a calculation on her tablet. "For example, I can make it work with two hours using manual attitude control. But ten is too resource-consuming, and we would require more energy than we can spare."

For nine days, Sonoval had been watching Delara's growing frustration. It had never occurred to him before how a simple task like pointing at a constellation could be so complex.

"I did have one idea last night, but..." She brought up a new schematic. "An external guide drone with a phase-locked mirror. The platform aligns with the drone, which holds its position, reflecting the starfield back."

Sonoval frowned. "Is that the same as pointing at the constellation?"

A swipe of her hand shattered the holographic image. "No. Technically, it's pointing at an image."

"A distinction the Temple will appreciate."

"Perhaps. But if so many requirements are... flexible, why not this one?"

Sonoval held his breath, then let it out slowly. Delara's inappropriate questioning had increased over the last couple of days.

"Is the ten-hour window truly fixed?"

He hadn't asked during the briefing, but why would the Temple insist if it weren't important? "Surely they have a reason for it."

"I do not question the Temple's wisdom. I just think that ten hours for the ritual act sounds... ambitious."

Sonoval did not answer. He didn't disagree with Delara's assessment. But he also wasn't human. Or Alyt Neroon.

---

Alyt'sa Kellen greeted Sonoval in one of the guest quarters.

"The prototype is complete, Alyt."

Sonoval's face brightened. Finally, some good news. "Show me."

They stepped into the cleaning alcove.

"The standing water system," Kellen announced, seeming genuinely pleased with the result.

Pipes ran everywhere. Some overhead, others along the walls, a few disappearing into freshly cut holes in the deck plating. The drainage system dominated one corner like a primitive altar, while the water delivery apparatus hung from reinforced ceiling mounts. A water pressure regulator hid the small viewport's elegant design, and the constant hum of a filtration unit was an unwelcome presence. Every line of sight was obstructed by a new piece of equipment.

The pain in Sonoval's shoulders flared as he surveyed the desecration of the Takari harmony. The ship's spirit was weeping.

Sonoval's displeasure must have shown because Kellen shrugged. "I know it's not aesthetically pleasing, but it works. Power draw is almost nothing. Forty liters of hot water per use. Though I should warn you, Alyt, it causes a bit of vibration in the neighboring quarters when it's running."

Another 20 of these monstrosities would need to be built.

He closed his eyes. After this was over, he would need to reconsecrate every deck. For a moment, just for a moment, he wished the war had never ended.

---

Vaenn moved through the empty chamber, inspecting every inch from floor to ceiling. Sonoval and Delara watched him, listening to his grunts as he took notes on his tablet.

"It will suffice for the ritual," he announced.

Sonoval gave a small nod. "Good."

Delara cleared her throat. "If I may ask a question, Protocol Officer?"

"Yes."

"We've begun work on the Shalinair-"

"Oh, yes. It must point at the Shaal'Vor. Like a compass needle."

"And while that is a simple task on Minbar, space complicates things. The ten-hour window presents a challenge."

"The duration needs to be ten hours. That's... that's what the humans requested."

Sonoval's mind struggled to process such bizarre data about human expectations. Ten hours? He looked at the chief engineer, whose silence mirrored his own.

"Ah, and there's the matter of the hunting party," Vaenn added.

Sonoval blinked. "A hunting party?"

"A Star Rider tradition. We already arranged with the Narn for hunting privileges on Ka'Ril. They are also providing guides and local weapons. And the humans will take part, of course. I can trust you to organize the scheduling?"

Vaenn spoke without hesitation, as if procuring alien wildlife while on a warship was an ordinary logistical task. Sonoval felt a headache coming, the pressure adding to the stiffness in his shoulders.

"I was not aware that we could consume Narn game."

"We can't. We will bring our provisions. The hunting serves a symbolic purpose, and the meat will be offered to the local population."

Sonoval forced himself to smile. "Of course."

"Does Alyt Neroon know about the duration requirements?"

Vaenn looked at the chief engineer in surprise. "What?"

"Does Alyt Neroon know the human requires ten hours for... the ritual act?"

"Yes, well... the protocols were shared with all relevant parties."

"And he has no reservations?"

"I'm sure all practical concerns have been addressed, Chief Engineer. The Religious Caste prepared comprehensive manuals."

Sonoval could not imagine a manual that would make this time-window realistic, but he said nothing. It wasn't his place. His chief engineer, despite her bold questions, seemed to feel the same way.

---

In a quiet corner of the mess hall, Sonoval, Kellen, and Delara shared the evening meal.

"My cousin joined with a Star Rider, and they served no fresh meat at her bonding," she said.

Kellen's head tilted slightly, an expression of confusion on his face.

"We'll have a hunting party for the bonding," Sonoval clarified.

Kellen turned to the chief engineer. "Worker Caste?"

"Yes... but I'm sure she likes meat."

Kellen gave a small, wry smile. "They treat this human as a warrior."

Delara glanced around before leaning forward. "Alyt, I must insist..." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I find it difficult to comprehend how a species that's winded after a few rounds of hand-to-hand combat requires 10 hours for the... ritual act."

Kellen's face broke into a grin. "Perhaps their stamina is specific to the activity." He leaned in as well. "Their communication archives contain... demonstrations. Hours of them."

Yes, Sonoval recalled. The internet. A chaotic and, frankly, bewildering repository of all things human. His crew had explored the signal for days until the Shai'Alyt ordered them to stop.

Kellen whispered once more, "They seem to be very resilient. And unashamed."

For a long moment, only the sound of cutlery could be heard. Sonoval hoped the topic had finally died. At least for the evening.

However, Delara was not finished.

"Even if the humans can, ten hours exceeds the documented physiological limits for a Minbari male."

Sonoval felt his face warm. He had not expected to be included in a biological assessment of interspecies joining at the meal table. Kellen seemed to take no offense, though.

His second laughed, muttering, "And I thought he was the one in danger of killing her."

---

Sonoval was halfway to his quarters when Kela intercepted him in the corridor, her face alight with excitement.

"I received clarification from the Temple about the water, Alyt."

"Good."

"It's for cleaning the ceremonial chamber." She looked down at the screen of her tablet. "Ritual purification of the space before the bonding."

Sonoval frowned. Water for purification? He had never heard of such a thing. Especially alien water.

"Also, it must be collected at dawn. On the day of the ceremony."

"Which dawn? The Takari's or the mountain's?"

The silence stretched between them, and Sonoval knew he would get no answer. Not today anyway.

His shoulders felt better since the evening meal, but the headache had spread underneath his crest, adding pressure. He needed to meditate and rest to regain his balance.

"We will revisit this issue during the morning briefing tomorrow."

Kela excused herself, her smile more subdued than before, but still present.

Sonoval watched her go, wondering whether she grasped the absurdity of all these bizarre details, or if she was simply relieved to have an answer.

---

The words came easily. Quiet settled over him as he sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, a candle burning nearby. He felt the day's troubles wash away, his mind finally at rest-

"Alyt, my apologies for the late hour."

Sonoval sighed, opening his eyes. He had forgotten the communication channel open. "What is it, Chief Engineer?"

"I have the solution! Instead of aligning the entire ship, we can simply rotate the platform. Like a compass needle or a telescope mount. A sort of motorized cradle."

"Sounds simple. What are the engineering requirements?"

"Two days to fabricate, one day to install and calibrate."

"And it will work for the full duration?"

"Ten hours of continuous rotation. The participants won't even notice it. I can make it work very gradually."

"Very well. Proceed."

"Yes, Alyt. And should I include medical protocols for fatigue? Perhaps a communication system to request assistance, or a pause function for an emergency exit?"

"Chief Engineer," Sonoval's voice was edged with command. Her constant breaches of protocol had finally exhausted his patience. "Build the platform. Make it rotate for ten hours. Our concern begins and ends with the fulfillment of what the Temple asked of us."

Delara subsided. "Understood, Alyt."

Sonoval closed the channel. He stared at the half-burned candle and took a long breath, letting himself feel a moment of peace for the problem solved.

The satisfaction would not last, he was sure of it. And the ache in his shoulders was already threatening to return.