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Marcus followed Neroon into Sheridan's office deep in the ISA headquarters in Tuzan'oore. The president was not going to be happy with them. The mission they'd been on for the Rangers should have been fairly simple, an attempt to help some of the outlying colony worlds along the Narn/Centauri border rebuild in the aftermath of the latest round of hostilities between their governments.
"I sense I'm not going to enjoy your report, gentlemen," Sheridan opened the discussion, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers in front of his face.
"No, Sir," Marcus admitted. "You aren't."
"We acted with honour," Neroon interjected. "That others did not is no fault of ours, and no reflection on us."
Marcus shook his head, and turned his face away from both the president and his husband of three years. Technically, Neroon's honour couldn't have been stained anyway; he had come with Marcus as a favour, nothing more. Only Marcus had been duty-bound to carry out the mission when things began to go pear shaped. Only Marcus was responsible.
"Did you get the supplies distributed?" Sheridan asked.
"Yes," Marcus acknowledged. "We did. And medical aid, where we could administer it. But you're going to have to rethink your strategies, sir."
"What went wrong?" Sheridan asked, obviously prepared for the worst as only a man who'd fought in four wars could be.
"They know you're aiding civilians on both sides," Neroon continued for Marcus when it became obvious that the Ranger would not - or could not - speak. "And as in any conflict, there are fanatics who would deprive their own people of aid, if only to be sure that the enemy also gets nothing."
"Chad didn't make it," Marcus' voice cut in quietly, naming one of the younger Rangers, a young man Marcus himself had helped train. Marcus had never figured out what brought someone like Chad, so well-adjusted and cheerful, into the Rangers; he'd never know, now. But the other man had been a friend as well as a co-worker, and his death was a cause for great sorrow. Especially on such a stupid, easy mission; they were supposed to have been safe! No one had expected the homemade bombs along the road, which had taken out not only the young Ranger and two of the Narn militia but a convoy of medical supplies and personnel as well. Marcus could still see the smoking wreckage; they couldn't have had any warning before the explosives went off. No time to try to escape.
Sheridan sighed heavily, collapsing farther back into the chair. "What do you want me to do?" He asked. "I'm open to suggestions."
Marcus shook his head. "There's nothing you can do. If we stop helping them, they'll cry foul on the lofty ideals of your still-fragile alliance. If we continue, they'll cry foul for our helping their enemies as well. The fanatics are a small number compared to the people who only want to survive, who are more concerned with food for their children than they are with intergalactic politics."
"There's no way to win, then," Sheridan said softly.
"No," Marcus agreed, "There isn't. It just is, Mr. President. All we can do is work with it."
"Even if we die," Neroon cut in again, "We die doing some good. Perhaps they will remember, when their anger cools a little, that a Ranger died bringing them aid. Death is only one of two possible outcomes, neither better nor worse than life. All Warriors know this."
Marcus whirled on him angrily. "He was barely twenty-two years old! I'll go from here to return his Isil'zha to his mother, and then to help bear his coffin through the streets of his hometown on earth while children watch! Children! Who are young enough that the last time they all gathered together, they were graduating high school! Children, who thanks to my orders now know a little bit more about the evil in the universe!"
"Children," Neroon defended, "Who now know that one of their own died a hero, giving what aid he knew how to give to a foreign people. Children, who now have proof that however much evil there is in the universe, there are good people who stand up to it, and who give others hope. This is not a thing to discount."
Marcus made a small sound in his throat, but nodded, looking away again. What he saw on the floor of the office, the other two men couldn't guess. "Maybe, in time, that will help," he said finally. "But right now, a young man is dead, whatever cause he died for. And nothing in the universe can undo that."