Though Stars May Fall - Final Chapter: Soft Comes the Dawn

By CMK 2004

Maintenance Room, Sa'is Da'ar Spaceport
About the same time

"I don't know how you survived earlier," John St.-Varda growled, "but this is the end of the line for you, Samus. Now you'll pay for your sins - for Wraith, and Owen, and everybody else whom you betrayed. Repent in the afterlife!" With those words, John leveled his rifle at Samus' face and aimed directly for the killing shot. For a very brief moment he mused on the irony of the situation. He'd wanted to defeat Samus in a fair duel and take her life, but he simply refused to let this opportunity slip by. He paused only to kick off her helmet to ensure that it was fatal. And when he did, he had the shock of his life.

Gazing back at him was the face of Justine B. Lee.

"Wha -?!" Justine?! What is she doing here, in Samus' armor, no less ...! And with that, his mind broke down. The sudden loss of coherence was too much; his rationality ran wild in a medley of confusion ... confusion, uncertainty ... anger ... anger, fear! ... How is it possible ... confusion ... bewilderment ... FEAR! FURY! ... resolution - no, hesitance ...! - this is impossible ... justice demands satisfaction, she must pay for her crimes ... Justine ...? No, you're crazy, you've lost it ... ... confusion, hesitance ... the surprise, the uncertainty ... Justine ... my best friend ... in the whole galaxy ... SHOCK! TURMOIL! Collapsing hard onto the deck on his knees, bewildered, asking, "How? How?!"

"We meet at last, John St.-Varda," Samus whispered.

It is time. You are the executioner, a part of his mind informed him.

You love her, a different part retorted.

Think this through. Samus Aran is a cold-hearted murderer who would kill you for a nickel. She used you, she used Nathan, she uses people. What have you lived for if not for this moment, John St.-Varda? You are defined by your single-minded quest for revenge, now take it! Justice demands satisfaction and she must have it!

But you love her.

Love? A word used by the weak to exonerate their shortcomings.

Be that as it may, you cannot live without her. John clutched at his head and screamed aloud as his carefully constructed reality seemed to shatter all around him. What have I lived for if not for this moment ...? ... my best friend ... my mortal enemy ...! The one person who truly understands me! Why?! Why must it come to this?!

"You didn't know, did you?" asked Samus - Justine - whoever it was - sadly. She pulled herself to an upright sitting position. "Of course not ... no one knew. It's me, John - Justine, your girlfriend."

"This is a nightmare," John muttered dazedly. Justine B. Lee, the one person whom he cared about above all others in the galaxy ... Samus Aran, the last chance child who was his sworn enemy ... one and the same ... John felt himself losing his hold on coherence once more. Like all idealists whose dreams are cruelly shattered, his reaction was one of instant denial. "It has to be ... this can't be real ..."

"I am real!" she insisted quietly.

"Silence!" John screamed, swinging his rifle around in a wide arc that caught her squarely on the jaw. She tumbled backwards to the hard deck as blood began to trickle from her lips. John jumped up and fixed his rifle sight on her exposed forehead once more. "I don't know who are you anymore, but you're not Justine Lee! You're not the sweet, innocent girl I know! You lied to me!"

"I did not," she answered placidly, ignoring the blood streaming down her chin. "Never once have I masked my feelings for you. I still love you, John, and nothing you do can ever change that."

Breathing hard and losing the battle to control his temper, John rasped out, "But you knew! You know how I felt about Samus! You know that I want her - you! - dead! And yet after all this time you said absolutely nothing?! How long did you expect to deceive me?! How long were you going to hide behind that cursed mask?"

She half-shut her eyes. "People say that time heals all wounds. Were they wrong?"

John raked her with a scathing gaze and shoved the rifle barrel right onto her exposed neck. He pulled the arming mechanism with ice-cold rage, at the same time demanding bitterly, "That's not good enough. Whatever happens, Nathan and Owen are dead. Dead, do you hear me?! And they died because you left them behind! Can time heal that?" There was no pity in his eyes, but John refrained from pulling the trigger just yet, despite the maddening itch in his index finger. Even the condemned should have a chance to say her last words.

"They understood why they died," she returned with the same infuriating calmness. "They died to give us a chance. Would you throw your life away so eagerly in a hopeless and futile gesture? Would they have wanted that?" Her large, liquid eyes seemed to be probing his psyche, and St.-Varda wondered what she saw in him. "Lowering the elevator would have killed both you and Wraith. And likewise with Owen - he knew that we must retreat or else all be overrun. This is the reality of it, John!" Justine insisted, a trace of bitterness seeping into her voice. "People die! Do you think, do you really believe for an instant that I wanted to leave anyone behind? Do you have any idea how many sleepless nights I've spent agonizing over whether maybe, just maybe, I could have saved one more person? Life or death decisions cannot be changed once made, and yet I can't help but wonder if something else I might have done could have been the difference between life and death! I didn't want Wraith and Owen to die - I don't want anyone to die! - but life isn't fair like that!"

"I can't accept that!" John cried, his voice breaking. "I should've been there for Nathan ... for Owen ..."

"Stop it!" she answered hotly. "Dredging up the past won't help them a bit! You know in your heart, even if not in your mind, that what I did was right. If we could have done any more, wouldn't we have done it without a second thought?"

"Oh, spare me your preachings!" John shouted. "You are a cold-blooded murderer who kills for money and nothing will ever change that!"

To St.-Varda's surprise, her face seemed to melt into indescribable sadness. "You know who I am," she said softly. "I can't change the way you see me. You know that I love you, but you must tell me - who am I? Who is the Samus, the Justine, whom you know?"

Who are you ...? John dropped the rifle to the floor with a hollow clunk as he took a despairing half-step back. His friend and nemesis sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. John pressed a hand to his face, entirely uncertain of himself or what he was facing. Samus Aran ... Justine Lee ... one and the same ... who is real and who is the imposter? Or are they both the grim reality of the situation? I see the armor of Samus but the face of Justine ... who is pretending to be who? What can I do ...? How can vengeance and ... and love ... both be satisfied?

John crouched and slowly picked up his rifle. He turned to look at ... Samus? Justine? ... and his expression showed a depth of sorrow that she had never seen before, not even when his best friend Wraith had passed on. A large tear slid down his cheek as he whispered, "I - I love you, Samus ..." He hastily wiped the offending object away.

"Call me Justine."

"Justine ... I love you ..." John murmured.

Tears also began to fill her eyes. "John, I love you too ..."

He closed his eyes even as his right arm rose with unbelievable speed to fix the rifle sight with unerring precision on her head. His finger pulled - just a small motion, insignificant in and of itself - but it unleashed a bullet that moved more swiftly than any human ever could. The shell entered through her head an instant before John heard the soft, mechanical click that confirmed a shot. Eyes still tightly closed, John wondered for a fleeting, transient moment if what he did was right. But this time there was no room for either hesitation or regret. Samus Aran, the enemy who destroyed my life, whom I cannot live with ... Justine B. Lee, the woman who captured my heart, whom I cannot live without ... He opened his eyes. She had fallen to the deck without a sound, her beauty still unmarred save for a few traces of blood on her forehead and her chin. That was how she had been in life: shining visibly in her flawless loveliness and invisibly in spirit. John sank to his knees and reached out to caress her chin, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her face. His eyes showed neither sadness nor regret, nor did tears shine in them. Instead, he went to work with cold, methodical efficiency, propping the rifle barrel so that it pointed straight up at his own chin. She was so very beautiful ...

"We'll be together forever, Justine, whether in heaven or in hell." John St.-Varda pulled the trigger and sealed the pact.

Fin