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There was only one aura -- a knight -- in the vicinity. Quartz didn't particularly have any desire to engage one of his former brethren in combat (not that he generally had any desire to engage anyone in combat) . . . but if he could sense the knight, the knight could sense him, and this one wasn't moving fast. If they'd wanted to, a knight could overtake a lieutenant with ease -- and mop the floor with him, if they had any sort of combat training to speak of.

The fact that this one wasn't trying was interesting. Interesting enough to investigate, anyway: bringing back information was fast proving the most painless way to keep himself useful to his keepers.

Many knights and senshi are merciful, he remembered learning. Not all of them will engage us in combat unprovoked.

He still crept up slowly and carefully, circling in on the aura in a tightening spiral till he'd gotten its position exactly. Quartz was mindful of any sudden adjustments in pressure from the feel of the knight's aura, anything that would indicate it was coming toward him . . . but it remained seemingly unperturbed by his slow encroachment, allowing him closer.

Friendly? Or lying in wait, holding onto a tactically advantageous position?

He kept on guard.

It didn't seem to be necessary, though -- or, at least, Quartz thought it might not be. Their information on Valhalla -- a young man he'd met personally, however briefly -- generally indicated he was non-aggressive, sympathetic toward Negaverse agents if not their cause.

And he was carrying a body.

Whose?

Quartz stopped where he was, at the mouth of the alley. There was no need to come closer -- that might spook either of them. "Are you alright, brother?" he asked, just loudly enough to carry the distance.

Not that he generally put on a cheerful face for most anything, of course -- but as it was, Quartz couldn't help but frown. A dead lieutenant . . . it could've easily been him. Schörl saw to it that he had first-rate training, and learned valuable survival skills, but a well-trained lieutenant was still a very weak, vulnerable fighter. It was better and easier not to court death in the first place than to evade it.

One dead lieutenant was every dead lieutenant.

It was what he and Galena had discussed -- captaincy was the best option for survival.

He listened to what Valhalla was saying, careful for any information embedded in his statements. You saw him enough to know you don't recognize him, but you haven't seen him as a civilian. You were there before he died, then. You saw him die.

"We can make sure he's returned to his family," Quartz agreed, taking only a few slow steps closer. "Set him down there, against that wall. Valhalla," he said, trying to get the knight to focus his thoughts on what Quartz was saying, "Are you injured?"

Quartz kept his voice even and steady. Valhalla was having a breakdown . . . but he'd respond better to something straightforward and measured. That was fine, that was . . . doable. And Quartz wasn't without a sense of pity for his circumstance.

He could feel the remembered weight of Dunn's nametag, pinned to the front of his shirt, the horrible rush of power when he'd crushed the starseed between his teeth.

Quartz didn't recommend panic -- but he understood it.

"I won't pick him up while you're still here," he said, calm and slow. "Because it's not safe for me not to have my hands free. I need you to set his body down." He held out a hand and slowly gestured toward the ground, with the exaggerated patience of a police officer demonstrating that he was putting down his gun.

"He attacked you," Quartz summarized, sifting through the semi-hysterics to try and come up with the simplest possible narrative. "Someone's safety was compromised. One of you felt you had to kill him." He kept his voice soft, very gentle. Understanding -- or so he hoped. "Is that right?"

He kept his palms out and open at his sides. "Listen to me, Valhalla. I need you to focus, okay? I need to know if you're injured."

Even though Valhalla had done as Quartz had asked, he couldn't help the rush of nerves once the knight set down the body. Valhalla was upset, emotionally fragile -- and had always been gentle-mannered, as far as anyone knew -- and wasn't doing anything hostile -- but it didn't matter. He was a proper knight, and Quartz was a mere lieutenant, and the body in Valhalla's arms had been the biggest obstacle in his ability to cause substantial damage to Quartz's person.

There was probably no danger here. Probably. The odds of this all being a big set-up -- Valhalla's peaceful words all being an elaborate ruse, and this being the opportunity to spring that trap, on a single, crappy lieutenant -- were low. But blind trust was for idiots, and Quartz was determined not to be one of them anymore. So he'd be a little cautious, still.

Even with Valhalla standing there with his head in his hands, practically in tears.

Be cautious. Pay attention. Miss nothing. Anything could be a sign of danger. Anything could be a clue.

"I'm sure you'll be a good father," Quartz said soothingly, wanting to cool the situation down. People that were emotionally keyed up were useful if you wanted to start a fight, to goad them into errors -- but they weren't very useful if you wanted to avoid a fight. Cooler heads prevailed where that was concerned.

'I take responsibility for his death' was not usually what people said when they had actually, literally killed someone -- not as far as he knew. That was usually, probably, something more like 'I killed him.' If Quartz had to guess, he'd say it had probably been Ganymede who'd done it, then . . . but how did that add up?

Quartz remembered how weak he'd felt after he'd had his starseed out. If that had been Ganymede -- and especially if she was pregnant -- would she even be capable of . . . ?

No, there was an error there, too. Something missed.

General-Queen Laurelite herself hadn't been able to remove Sailor Ganymede's starseed. That was what that whole inquisition had been about, after all -- the senshi with the glowing marks, with starseeds that couldn't be broached. Like Ganymede -- like Camlann. Either someone had found a way to remove her starseed in spite of that protection, or at least one other person had been there.

Occam's razor suggested the latter.

"There are no easy decisions," he said softly. "I'm sorry it came to this. You should consider leaving the city, if you can -- if you're planning to have a family."

Quartz shook his head, which was a lie. Of course he was afraid of Valhalla. Why shouldn't he be? The knight was faster, stronger, more powerful and more experienced than he was -- and he wasn't thinking straight. None of that exactly made Quartz feel safe. But saying so wouldn't de-escalate the situation. So he lied, for both their sakes.

"If you were planning on killing me, you could've done it by now," he said, which was information masquerading as proof, but didn't matter. "There are things I'm more afraid of than you."

He stayed where he was, watching impassively as Valhalla cried. He saw himself in those tears, months and months ago -- and wondered where all that depth of feeling had gone lately. More and more often, he felt spent. Blank. There weren't always tears left.

"Why do armies march?" he asked back. "Why do men go off to die, whistling? Why are there lines on maps -- why are there countries, governments? Who is it that makes empires?" He pushed a stray lock of hair out of his face, back behind his ear. "You won't find any answers with me, Valhalla," Quartz said softly. "I was press-ganged into Metallia's service. Don't ask me to tell you what fuels a war machine. Don't ask me to explain to you why men aren't noble -- what matters is that you know they aren't."

He shook his head, disapproving. "Give up your dream of a family. It's foolish. Do you think those men playing their violins as the Titanic sank thought it would make the water rise any slower? Do you imagine the ocean was intimidated by the thought of destroying such beauty? Your happiness means nothing to Metallia. You'll bring more children into this city, and what for? How many people will you kill to protect your one child? How many lives is that one life worth to you? How long until you understand that your reasons for killing over and over and over -- just to save one life -- are the same as mine?"

Quartz gestured at the body, laid out so carefully against the wall. Everyone was someone's child -- he didn't need to point it out. Valhalla knew that. "This isn't where it ends, Valhalla," he said. "This is where it begins. I'm trying to help you. This city is no place to raise a child."

Quartz shook his head. He felt tired, talking to these people. It all just made him feel exhausted with the pointlessness of it all. No one ever listened until it was too late. No one ever wanted to change the way they thought of the world.

It made him feel sad, in a distant way, and he didn't have the strength to feel sad for other people -- so that just made him feel exhausted. He gave up.

"Determination is a virtue," Quartz told Valhalla. "Stubbornness is not. Stubbornness is selfish. You're dreaming if you think you can have it all just because you want to. Wake up -- and hope that lesson doesn't cost you more than what you can live without. Good night, Valhalla."