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She was a child. Long ago, she herself had been very small. The only memory that came back to her when she thought back on that time was of a sky and a presence, very close to her—a father or a mother.
She was a mother. The suffering was over, and she was a mom, holding in her arms that tiny being who was both her and the man she loved. A wonderful, brand-new life.
She was old. She was getting ready to leave. There was no sadness in it. She would join those who had gone before her, and those around her—her family still living—would join her sooner or later. At the time, she hadn't yet suspected the trap.
She didn't even remember if she was the same woman in all three memories. She just knew that when she had emerged, she had lived a long time and had been dead even longer.
She was dead...
and suddenly she was there, remade
repaired
resurfaced
spat out from the bowels of Iscandar, under a sun that seemed so different to her, in a body that was foreign to her, when there was no one left.
Hadn't she been supposed to have escaped suffering? What was she doing there?
It had taken her years to relearn how to live, as best she could. To understand this world. To reconcile all her memories—those of the little girl,
the mother,
the old woman—into those of a single person.
She was the only person still in charge of Iscandar. She was a mistake,
a marvel,
a monster,
a goddess.
Sasha returned a moment later, just as she herself was finding that eternity unbearable. How much time had passed? A second,
a year,
a century,
a millennium? Sasha was livelier, more impetuous; she arrived with rough drafts of projects she never finished and brand-new ideas that disrupted her older sister's well-established daily routine—for that is what they were, it seemed, both tall and blonde like the goddesses painted on temple walls, the same blood flowing through their veins. More than once, she found herself appreciating all these changes. They were good for her. Sasha came and turned everything upside down, but for the better. Sometimes, she even felt as though she and Sasha were coming back to life.
She had been dead for a very long time when they reestablished contact with Gamilas. Their subjects. Their creation. Their hope, from now on. She had been dead for a very long time when she met Erik Dessler, victorious from the War of Unification, with his nephew Abelt by his side. She had been dead for a very long time when she saw, to her great surprise, a child among all those men. She could have ignored him. She could have… she doesn't know, to tell them the truth. But she had stood up, stepped forward, her gaze fixed on him. She had leaned down and whispered a few words in his ear, the first thing that had come to mind. She would realize later that he could have interpreted it in so many different ways. She, for her part, was just eager to see what kind of man he would become.
She had been dead for a very long time when Iscandar created Yurisha. Another sister, just as blonde, but even more different than Sasha. Yurisha had an adult body but spoke like a child, clinging to Sasha and her as the mothers she needed. Sometimes, while talking to her, the older ot the three sisters found herself thinking back to the child she had had, long ago. Was it possible?
She had been dead for a very long time when, having been alone again for months, she retrieved Mamoru from the wreckage of the ship that had brought him here. It was the very first time she had been so close to someone who was so acutely aware of death. With him, this stranger—precisely, she would later realize, because he was a stranger—she rediscovered warmth. Pleasure, too. With him, she rediscovered the present moment. She wanted more and more of him, more of his novelty, more moments lost in his arms. With him, time began to move again.
She had been dead for a very long time when she lost Mamoru for good. It was the right thing to do.
She had been dead for a very long time when, to her horror, she learned that Gamilas had rediscovered the technology Iscandar had given them long ago, and that, worse still, Terron was using it too. Abelt told her. He had changed so much—the little boy and the proud young man she had known—and not for the better, not yet. He was arrogant. Convinced he was doing the right thing. Just like them, just like her, back then.
"Stop this," she asked him simply. "Please!"
She realized only too late what he was thinking. How he was looking at her. Could she have intervened sooner? Surely. He valued her
respected her
loved her enough to listen to her. She had always thought of herself as the wisest of her sisters, but at that moment, when she was alone again in the twilight dimly lit by the pale light of Gamilas, she saw nothing but cowardice in her recent actions. But how could she have done otherwise, with that horrible past she carried with her, always standing between her and him?
Could she have tried, nonetheless? Would he have forgiven her if she had been honest much sooner? Would they have had a chance?
She had been dead for a very long time when she learned from the Terrons on the Yamato that Sasha would not be returning. She could have done things differently. Sasha's memories… most of Sasha's memories lay dormant within Iscandar. But this Sasha would never be the same, and leaving had been her wish. Sasha deserved her rest. Sasha, like Mamoru, deserved more than to be reborn. They deserved better.
She had been dead for a very long time when she realized she was pregnant. It was unbelievable! She had tried many times, but none of them had ever worked, and she had almost come to believe, despite all the tests she had undergone, that she simply couldn't. But the proof was right before her eyes: this body she inhabited, this hollow facade of a blonde goddess, was more than just an empty shell. Over the months, she watched with delight as the child grew inside her. A brand-new life. The first in so very long.
Her daughter, her little half-Terron girl, came into the world perfect.
She had been dead for a very long time when Abelt and his staff "purely by chance" rediscovered Galman. She did not claim her role in this story. No one needed to know. It didn't excuse anything, and, with a little luck, the past would remain the past.
She had been dead for a very long time when Dezarium destroyed Gamilas. It wasn't her fault, and yet it was.
She had been dead for a very long time when the last survivors of Gamilas took refuge on Iscandar. When Yurisha urged her to perform the ritual. To open Sanktel once more.
"But at this rate, everything will be lost! Sister, that's not for you to decide!"
Yes. It was her decision. And those people… those people might die, or they might not. No matter what happened, it wouldn't be her responsibility. Yurisha's reaction was painful to watch. Little Yurisha, her sister, her child, too young at her first death to remember the horror
of death
of waiting
of the origin of the gilded cage in which she had lived, too young to have witnessed the horror. At least Sasha was truly an adult and had lived for many decades. Yurisha, on the other hand, was just a little girl.
She had been dead for a very long time when she finally agreed to explain the truth, face to face with Abelt and Kodai. The ritual. Iscandar. Gamilas, too—that truth that had always stood between them in every interaction. Her responsibility for Gamilas's downfall, and the truth about their origin.
"Knowing all that, do you still want to save me?"
He didn't answer, too enraged to do so, still searching for confirmation.
"That was… a long time ago."
It still wasn't an excuse. But Iscandar had stopped destroying; she had appeared and tried to do things differently. Too late, perhaps. Surely. But she had tried.
"But you sought a planet to replace the dying Gamilas and began an intergalactic invasion. It was the same path Iscandar went down… which is why…"
Terron, he had realized immediately. In one way or another, he had also guessed as much regarding the discovery of Galman. But he hadn't lowered his weapon. Recalling their very first meeting, he had asked her what she really wanted.
"None of my actions are for redemption," she had retorted, as he turned his back on her with a look of disgust. "The reason why I tried to save Terron… and told you about Galman was simply to save myself."
She wasn't responsible for that story. It was long before she became this woman. But she was still from Iscandar, and all those years she had watched over Sanktel. She knew, from the very beginning, from the moment she started speaking, that he would never forgive her. But that wasn't necessary. He didn't have to.
"I tried to ease my pain, as I'm destined to live forever. Aren't you the same? You're trying to save me to ease the pain and suffering of losing Gamilas. You can't atone for anything by doing so. We… we only needed each other to console ourselves."
Not once had he turned back.
"To live means to continually change," she had said to Kodai shortly afterward. "I learned that from your brother. These collected memories," she continued, pointing to Sanktel, "indulge themselves in happiness, and they refuse change. They're no different from being dead."
Dezarium wanted them; she already knew that. And there was only one way to stop him.
"No matter what it takes," she had told Kodai.
She had already made her decision. Pretended to offer Iscandar to the Dezarium. Offer the last Gamilons a chance to leave, since every rescue attempt so far had failed.
"I'm sorry, Yurisha."
Her little sister was still standing by her side. She had never known exactly how old she was, but she would never have guessed Yurisha was more than ten, even though she looked twenty. She was too young to understand.
"No," Yurisha replied, in tears, throwing herself into her arms.
Starsha embraced her for what might be the last time. Ten years old. Still just a little girl.
They were on the Yamato and it was too late to turn back; Iscandar no longer existed, and Sanktel had vanished along with it. They should have died there, but Yurisha had refused to let that happen.
"I want to live," Yurisha had pleaded, and Starsha had had to hold back her tears, because someone had to survive, and that someone was Yurisha. "Whether it's for a minute, or even a second, it's of no consequence. If I can live just one genuine, fulfilled life…then I want to live it!"
At that moment, Yurisha was calm, holding Sasha in her arms—Starsha hadn't been able to help but call her Sasha—and Abelt was there, tense but in a much calmer state of mind than the last time. He said nothing. Just her name, in a whisper. Starsha took a step forward.
"Those eyes," she whispered. "They've always been fixed on me. I'll never forget it…"
He wasn't crying. Not yet. She wrapped her arms around his waist. There was nothing more to say. She could have died without ever seeing him again, but thanks to the Yamato, they had one more moment, just one moment. She stayed in his arms until she felt lighter. She clung to him. She didn't look at Yurisha, not even at Sasha—her little girl who, thanks to the Yamato, would live. He, too, would live. Perhaps this moment would be enough for him; at any rate, she hoped so. Perhaps he would see Sasha grow up; perhaps that would even ease his sadness a little…
"Thank you," she whispered in his ear.