Bacara

Bacara would not voluntarily seek out Milliways right after firstmeal, on a morning when a hard battle is all but guaranteed. But the door captures him, and thus he is slightly less tired than usual, when he is plunged into a festival he has never heard of, costume changes and all.

Commander Bacara is tired.

Meeting Kote went much better than he expected. Meeting the Littles who were prematurely decanted, and who are now thriving, was...good. The flight back to the Front was astonishingly enjoyable, thanks to Rex's and Fisto's determinedly playful company. He's grateful. He really is.

But.

Now, he's back at the Front, behind the Blockade. He can't simply be Bacara—he's the Marshal Commander, The Marine. And he has to try harder than ever to keep as many as possible of his Novas alive—and to keep them as well as battlefield conditions permit, which isn't very.

Preparations for Oya Vode are likely to take several more months. Bacara wants every Nova trooper and officer to make it to that day: to the promised freedom, to the new Home that the Vode are determined to claim. But he knows that more losses are inevitable, between now and then. All he can do is try to make them as few as possible.

He can bear that knowledge. He can.

He can bear whatever he must, because he was was made and molded to endure.

But he hates that he can't keep them all safe. And he wonders if continuing to endure might have been a little easier if he hadn't left the Front, hadn't met Kote or the Littles, hadn't lain skin-to-skin with Rex and Fisto, hadn't been given hope.



Well.

Given that he's already in this state of mind, maybe the distraction of some time in Milliways would make it easier, eventually, to sleep?

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