There was someone at the door.

Her bare feet moved fast on the floor, her old woman's pace mild as she reached the door. The knocking came again. She unlocked the door, mumbling about the need for patience with old folks.

Her breath died in her throat, her small scream frozen in her lips as her hands fell, like stones, to her sides. The light from her house ran outside into the steps and into the porch, watching over the old man that now stood there, his long jacket conceiling his face, and the small boy he carried in his arms.

"He's not dead."

The old man walked into her small living room, closing the door with his foot as he came in. He removed his shoes hastily, tossing them to a corner and walked past her as if he lived there too. The old woman frowned at such an invasion. She turned to face him, angered, but with eyes full of worry. She wrung her old hands together, her eyes becoming tearful. The old man turned around to face her.

"How dare you, sir." The old lady drew closer, her fear residing, as angered replaced it. The old man smiled, his slanted eyes worried as well, his legs about to give way beneath him, the child heavy in his arms.

"Wu Fei has spoken of no other home but this one, so I brought him here."

The old woman frowned, her eyes narrowing. She cursed her stars, but Wu Fei moaned in the old man's arms. She gasped, her heart aching. She wanted to kill the old man, wanted to slap his strange looking face for all he had done to the boy. How dare him come to her house like that. She felt her eyes glaze as she looked at her grandson's face, twisted in pain, caked blood temple on his temples.

"I hate you," she said.

the wooden floor and white paper walls echoed darkly, her voice croaking. The old man blinked in silence.

He felt his body fall to one side, his left leg giving in under his heavy frame and the child's weight. The old lady clenched her fists tighter, her grief twisting her face.

The old man turned, leaving her staring at his back as he headed for the only room with a bed; hers. She followed him, her steps hurried. He closed his eyes, pain engulfing his whole leg and moaned as he put Wu Fei's body in her bed. The child moaned as he was laid on the silky covers. The old man let his body collapse on the bed, his face twisted in pain, and reached down to rub his leg, grimacing.

The old woman walked in, starring hotly at the old man, her teeth gritted. He let his hurt body lie back on her matress, his head falling wearily on her pillow. She'd break her his skull for this, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Were was her courage now that she wanted to make that evil man pay ? She drew closer to Wu Fei's still body, her hands reaching maternaly for him. The old man's closed eyes opened slightly, looking at her as he pretended to sleep.

She was murmuring an old Budhist prayer, her lips moving fast and feverishly, her eyes wet with sorrow. She had known, he concluded, what the boy had been up to. She, no doubt, never expected to open her door one night to find him and her grandson in the shape they were in. His smile wearily. The old woman had reasons to feel this way, not to trust him, to grief like this. She bent down over the boy's body, her hands caressing his forehead, her nose redened as tears fell down her cheeks.

"He's a courageous child," he said. She didn't look at him, but he could tell she was listening. "There is a force in him that I cannot understand...I wish I were a bit more like him: ready to die."

The old woman turned to look at him, her eyes hard and angry. "This little boy should never have been in that place getting killed--" He stared at her, his temples begining to throb.

"It's always someone else, Obasama," he said "someone else suffers. someone else dies. Someone else fight."

"Monster," she said. He drew up from her bed. "He's too young, too fragile."

"No"

Both of them let the word fall heavy on the floor. The bamboo outside hit the paper windows as the wind picked up once more. The paper lampterns danced madly, the chimes loud like brass bells. She clenched her hands, noticing that he now leaned on the walls, his eyes narrowed, his free hand absentmindedly rubbing his leg. He raised his head, his old eyes like mirrors to a world. A world that she had always believed too far away to touch her. She gasped silently, refusing to fall out of control, to pity the scientist, to care.

"Obasama, onegai," he said. "Please. Federation soldiers came to our lab and killed all of the other scientists and engineer. They destroyed the lab, and we were the only survivors. We and the machine--"

She cursed under her breath. "I wish they'd killed you."

The old man's eyes begged silently. "Obasama, we are dying."

The wind storm had picked up outside, beating strongly against the house. The rafters were making terrible noise, and the chimes seemed insane. It had begun to rain, the night air cold and hostile.

She closed the windows, drawing the curtains over it. The child lay just as she had put him, after giving him a bath, on her bed, his eyes closed. She dimmed the red light on the night table.

"Why, Wu shao ?" She turned around to look at the old man, who had come in limping with his cane. She lowered her eyes, resting her hands on the bed. He smiled, looking at the boy.

The scientist had been right. Both men would have died if she had not cared for them in time. She had bitten her tongue as she had cared for him, her face devoid of feelings, her eyes darkened. She had worked mechanicaly, the ancient heeling knowledge she possesed helping her. She cleaned the old man's wounds, sown them, and washed in iyodine. He had been quiet, looking at her as she worked in silence, respectful. She had stripped herself of her pride as she cleaned his blood.

She had fought hard not to loose her control over her emotions as she undressed Wu Fei and had discovered the huge bloody gap on his chest. She had cursed her ill fate as she cleaned him, aware that the old man was looking at her from the chair were he lay. She had bathed him on her tub, her heart liek a solid rock on her chest, her hands scrubbing away the fylth that covered his body. He fought hard to keep his head up as she washed him, but he had lost so much blood that he felt too weak. His small arms sagged in her arms, almost liek a dead man, but his dark eyes were concious of her work. She silenced him as he had tried to talk, barely a mumble.

The old man had stood by the door to the bathroom, watching her as she battled to clean the boy who fell limply on her arms. He had come closer to her, reaching down into the tub to grasp the boy's naked chest as held him up. Wu Fei's head had fallen thankful into the old man's tender grip. She had been about to complain, but she noticed her grandson's new found strengh, teh old man's hands, and she had fallen silent.

The scientist had lifted the boy's body from the tub, taking him up on his arms while she fished a towel and wrapped him. She had taken her grandson from him, almost roughly, but he had only smiled and handed her a towel for her face.

Then, he had left her alone in the room, walking off to a couch by the statue shrine. He had stared silently at the old photograph of the woman's son on the shrine. She had been grateful that he had left her alone with her grandson. She had brushed back the hair on his face, listening to the garbled things he was saying, half talking in dreams.

He had taken her hand, speaking nonsense, still shoked by the pain, his voice barely a whisper, then he had fallen asleep. Watching his small lips pressed tightly, she had let her tears fall, her anguish over whelming her.

She shook her head now, brought back from the memory. The old man was talking to her, his old drooling speech echoing in the room. It was almost midnight.

"Use this," he said.

She looked at him as he produced a small bottle from one of the pockets in his jacket. She wondered how long, and why, the old man would carry such a beautifuly decorated bottle in his jacket. She took the small thing quietly.

"It's florid alcohol water," he explained. "Rub his body with it."

The old man sat on a small wooden chair by the door, looking at the boy's breathing and taking in with his scientific mind the condition the boy was in. The old woman was looking down at him, wondering whether she should trust the bottle to be safe.

"It's to drive away bad spirits, " he said. Those that threaten to take his soul." He was looking at Wu Fei like only a father would do, his small dark eyes proud of everything the small boy had endured for the Operation, feeling in his heart a sense of pride that he'd been able to meet the young boy. The old lady brushed some of the white hair from her face, her mouth drawn tight. He was smiling at her, sharing a paternal joy she would never understand.

Obasan ran a hand down Wu Fei's body, covered by the bed sheets. Too long. She has lived too long to forget that it can be painful to die. She sat down and drew the sheets from the boy's chest, removing his shirt. She saw the boy's eyes open slightly, a soft smile on them. Obasan bit her lip, chanting so that Death's look would leave her grandson's face and opened the bottle. She rubbed the water over his bare chest, its soft aroma filling her nostrils and the room. She saw Wu Fei's skin recuperate some color, his lips smiling wider as the smell went into his lungs. She rubbed him stronger, her old hands forcing Death away from the child's body.

The Old man was looking at her silently, mumbling absentmindedly to himself, watching her as her able hands worked on the boy. He coughed, the silence broken by his coarse throaty whimpers. Obasan turned to look at him, but there was something in the way she now looked at him. She was searching for a reason, a reason for the old man to care for Wu Fei, other than because he had trained him.

"You don't trust me," he said, lowering his eyes. "Still, thank you for your cares, Obasama." She nodded, her gray hair falling into her face again. He stood up from the chair, arranging the folds on his jacket taking care to close all teh pockets one by one. He softened all the wrinkles the jacket had so carefully that the old lady began to wonder whether that was the old man's secret madness. He wasn't paying attention to her now, only to his task. He was a very weird old man, she though. She was old enough to recognize insanity. When he looked at Wu Fei, his eyes shone with a strange light, one that revealed other worlds, other feelings. Death and Life. She was fearfull, because she had seen the same light on her grandson's eyes, as he fell asleep.

The smell of the florid water filled the whole room, drawing the evil away. Crushed flowers on an ancient tomb's water. Obasan looked up at the old man as he leaned back on one of the walls, staring at her again. People like her, he though, would get in the Operation's way. He nodded to himself. She was the boy's grandmother, it was only logical that she'd act as she was. He remembered teh many times Wu Fei and him had discused the day when he'd leave for earth. He'd wanted to say goodbye to his grandmother, that ha'd been his only wish. Ths professor had admired the boy's honor and had valued his promise. Looking at the old woman's wrinkled face, so much like her son's and her grandson's, there came a strange, dark glow to his old eyes. This was the last goodbye.

Obasan covered the bottle and drew the covers over the boy, taking his small white hands and placing them over the sheets. Her tired, hurting back ached as she got up from the bed. She turned around to face the old man, her face blank, her eyes tired. She startled as he lay a hand on her shoulder, holding in a gasp. Such a bold cat from him made her angry, but in her eyes, he saw, there was no longer the same hatred. She remained silent, grateful, in a way, that she was not alone.

"There are times for brave people," he said. She gave him back the bottle, wich he placed on his pockets again, closing three buttoms over it.

"Thank you, kind Obasama."

"He took that bullet for you, didn't he?"

He laughed softly, tapping the cane on the wooden floor. She raised an eyebrow, as he stopped and looked at her again.

"Yes he did," he said. "He's more of a man than I was his age. His mind is so much older tahn his body betrays. No matter how many times the soldier fired, or much I begged for him to stop, he wouldn't. He kept going."

Obasan lowered her eyes, ashamed at the foolish way she had acted towards the old man, at her own insecurities. She was a shamed woman, not to see what the spirits and fate had chosen for her grandson.

She walked out from the room, him following her slowly. Her head bowed she walked over to the small shrine she had always kept for the dead, for her son and his wife. She stood silently before it, not apying attention to the old man as he sat on one of the rocking chairs behind her. The small shrine was full of both dead and living flowers, darkened except for a small yellow candle, and filled with bean rosaries.

Obasan looked at the yellow photagraph in the middle and reached to touch the small chu xue leaves next to it, feeling her eyes well with tears. The young man on the photo, his dark slanted eyes silent, reverent, so much like Wu Fei's, his mouth set tight, his long hair tied in a small, thin braid over his chinese dress, seemed to look back at her. She wanted to cry out to him, but could only whisper.

"Fate calls strong to yoru son, erzi," she said, runing her fingers on the photo. She stared at the young chinese woman on the phot next to his, her lovely dark eyes smiling, her small face so much like Wu Fei's when the child smiled. The old woman brushed her tears, truning to face the old man, who had been looking at her silently.

"Like his father, Wu Fei is a strong young man," she said, her voice deep in the room. The old man nodded, and smiled, her dark eyes grateful that she had released the boy from his grief. Her soul became free from her body as she smiled back at him, her mind at ease at last. She bowed at both her son and his wife, her soul finding a peace. She saw the professor admire her as she displayed such reverance and turned, no longer ashamed to belive in the dream. The colony, he though, still had hope.

She sat in the rocking chair next to the one he was on, both remaining silent, as the wind began to blow harder, the storm harsh against the walls. Against their souls.

The child had woken up at midnight, reaching out to the old woman, who had come to lay next to him, guarding his body while he slept, short after the old man had fallen asleep in the small room she prepared for him. His small hands gropped for the sleeping robe she wore, drawing her near. She woke up, a small gasp escaping her.

"Shao, what is it?"

The boy had said nothing, his mind still lost in the dreams he was having. He buried himself to her chest, closing his eyes, holding her. She frowned, her soul aching and reached down to embrase him. He buried himself deeper into her breasts, her skin, falling into his dream again, feeling her arms enfold him. She ran a hand over his hot face, over his eyes, his hair. The child was speaking, his voice barely a whisper, his mind lost in the dream.

"Obasan..."

She narrowed her eyes, trying to understand what the boy was saying, but she couldn't. He was talking waht seemed gibberish, running his small hands over her tenderly, like when he was a small child. She closed her eyes, melancholy taking her, as he ran his small lips over her breasts, his old sweet childish gesture. She ran her gray hand over his shoulders, over his free long hair, combing it.

"Rest, Wu shao, rest..." she whispered. The wind howled outside. "The dawn is almost here."

Wu Fei hugged her tighter, his white hands holding her feverishly. He was speaking again, mumbling louder, talking to someone in his dream.

"Obasan...goodbye...Obasan..."

She closed her tighter, listening to him, her soul crying. The rain changed dirrections outside, teh lightning rolling down like waves. The smell of teh florid water filled her nostrils, the storm ringed outside. She felt her tears well again.

"Goodbye..Oba...san.."

She felt her sould die as the boy pressed himself to her, shouting in his dream.

"No..Obasan...no..."

"Wu Fei," she spoke, her voice a tired drone in the darkness, her tears falling freely to the bed sheets, on the boy's hair. She gasped, her lungs unable to breath. The smell was too strong. Her mouth gasped for air, begging. She drew in air, wanting to live atleast a bit longer. She smiled, her eyes sadly looking down at her grandson. She wanted to live, but felt her soul already departing. The harsh wind banged loudly at her window. She gasped. It was difficult to breath again, her mind realed in pain, but she looke down at the boy, holding him near.

"Wu Fei," she said. "Listen to fate...it can hold nothing but honor for you, shao...I belive...Wu Fei." She closed her eyes tighter, feeling the boy's fingers on her face. "I couldn't see you grow up, child...become a father, a s-strong m-man, and marry." The child moaned, his hands grasping her white braid, curling it on his fingers.

"Such was not o-our..f-fa..te."

It was harder to breath now, her lungs buried in the smell of the strange, florid water. She could hardly see, her eyes full of tears. She looked down at him. The boy would never be able to finish the childish duel with Shuan Ho, such were petty things compared to what waited for him, thsi she knew, and fully understood now. He would have greater dules against fate. She ran her fingers through his long, dark hair, over his small lips, his cheeks, his eyes and thick brows. Making a memory photograph of his sweet face, of his lovely, innocent, childish face. Still free of death and blood, shame and murder. She gasped as she noticed that he was doing the same thing.

He traced her old, wrinkled skin, her eye lashes, her small thin brows and forehead. His small hands drew a picture across her chest, her breasts, her thin, strong arms, her maternal figure. He was talking in his sleep as he did this, his soft voice calling her. She smiled, feeling her throat ache. She wouldn't be here when he would wake. She felt his fingers on her nose, but she couldn't stand the pain anymoer. The pain came harder and harder on her chest. Like a knife. And he was talking to her.

"Muquin...mama...goodbye..."

"Goodbye...Wu..." Her voice died on her lips, her eyes rolling out of control, her breasts ceasing to fall and rise rithmycally, her heart slowing down. She reached to hold the boy, locking him to her in one last embrase, her lips fixed on a beautiful smile even in death.

Wu Fei buried his face into her arms, eyes closed, smiling. The nightmare had finally ended. Obasan's soft arms had brushed all the pain away, keeping Death away. He fell back to a placid sleep, smiling as he nuzzled his face agaisnt the old woman's tender body.