Title: Still Bravely Singing 

Author: mimic117

Email: mimic1172@gmail.com

Rating: G

Category: V

Setting: In the universe of the future presented in the story, 
"While Daring Greatly." You should read that first before you 
read this. 

This story was a Memorial Day challenge for the IWTB list, 
issued by David Stoddard-Hunt, who now owes me big-time for 
luring my muse away from what it was already doing.

Summary: When the battles are won and the casualties 
counted, it's important to remember the price of victory.

Keywords: CD in "While Daring Greatly," so if you survived 
that, there's nothing to fear here.

Thanks: To Dan Walker, my co-author on the original story, for 
giving this one his superior fantasy-genre expertise. And to 
Jake for her Beta Bitch seal of approval. I appreciate you both 
all to heck.

Archive: Yah, you betcha. I'll do Gossamer and Ephemeral 
myself, thanks.

Disclaimer: Still not mine, although I'm finding myself less 
ticked off at CC as time goes by. I'm just too forgiving.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Still Bravely Singing
by mimic117


The voice of protest, of warning, of appeal is never more 
needed than when the clamor of fife and drum, echoed by the 
press and too often by the pulpit, is bidding all men fall in 
and keep step and obey in silence the tyrannous word of command. 
Then, more than ever, it is the duty of the good citizen not to 
be silent. 
      Charles Eliot Norton  1898



Cleve Land City
Year: Now Time
Season: First of Sun
Time: Beforedark

Settle down, younglings. I know you are restless, but the 
Remembrance will still be going on when we are done today. 
Settle down, please. Thank you. 

Today will be our last Keeping Session. Shh, shh, younglings. 
I know. I am sorry to see them end as well. It pleasures me 
that you have enjoyed hearing my tales as much as I have 
enjoyed telling them. Sharfic, did you wish to ask something?

"Will you be coming back next year to tell more of the Keeping 
stories, Metax Fox?"

I am afraid not. Each year, I travel to another part of the 
continent to share our Keeping with other younglings like 
yourself. When the Second of Rain begins next year, I will be 
in a different town, looking at new, eager faces. Perhaps 
someday, I will return here to teach *your* younglings, if the 
Great One permits me such a long life. 

"Don't you have a home?"

I do, Melve, but for the weeks of the Keeping Session, I am 
often far from my home. I miss my family and familiar faces, 
but each place I go becomes like a new home before I leave. I 
will be taking my memories of you and your village with me this 
time.

"Why do the Keeping Sessions have to end now? Have you 
run out of stories?"

Forgive me for laughing, Morbo. To answer your second 
question, no, I have not run out of tales. Our Keeping is so 
long, I would need many years to tell you all I know. Even if I 
only told you the tales about the Date Times, it would take me 
many, many Seasons to relate them all. As to why the Session 
is ending today, let me reply with a question of my own. Who 
can tell me what is special about today?

"It's First Day of Remembrance Week, of course."

Thank you, Milo. But please raise your hand next time. 

Milo is correct. Today begins the most sacred week of Now 
Time. I am sure in the past you have participated in the 
Memorial Chants, Reverent Devotions and Honoring Hymns. 
But do you know why we hold these rituals every year at this 
time? Sindac? 

"Ummm...."

It is all right, youngling. I did not expect you to know. With 
our final Keeping Session, I will answer Morbo's question and my 
own. I have already told you many wonderful tales about the 
courageous Alien Resistance and how they vanquished the evil 
Man of Smoke and his minions. But every story of heroism and 
villainy must have an end. That is what we will talk about 
today.

My last Keeping begins five Date time years after Walt Skinner 
and his valiant troops brought down the cruel Alien invaders. It 
was a victory obtained at terrible cost, as we have seen in 
previous Sessions. The loss of life was staggering. The 
destruction had reduced most large cities and towns to debris 
and ashes. But the survivors were grateful the war was over 
and worked tirelessly to rebuild some part of what they had 
before. Ruling Councils were set up to form governments. 
Enforcers were trained to keep order. Healers were sought out 
to cure the sick and ease the suffering of the old and dying. 
Keepers were taught from the few remaining books until they 
fell into dust and could be read no more. In every corner, 
people from all walks of life worked together to restore our 
world.

"Did the Loneguns fix the technology they'd broken?"

No, Scora, unfortunately, they did not. There was nothing they 
could do to fix it. And without the technology, all forms of 
motorized transportation and electronic communication and 
convenience ceased. Over many decades of disuse, the 
numerous parts of all the Karz, Tee Vee's, and Ray Dee Oh's 
crumbled into rust and decay. The world returned to a simpler 
time, when food was cooked over fires, messages were 
delivered by hand and people stayed within walking distance of 
their village. Over the five Years of Restoration, small 
settlements sprang up where pockets of survivors had held 
strong. 

In the third Year of Restoration, the Head Ruling Council in 
Washton Dee Cee began plans to build a monument to 
commemorate those fallen in battle. They sent messengers to 
the larger villages, asking their Ruling Councils to join them in 
overseeing this great undertaking. For two years, they labored 
to complete their splendid vision. A special spot was chosen in 
the place known as The Mall. Rubble from the old, destroyed 
memorials was cleared away to make room for the First 
Monument. When it was finished, a grand Dedication was 
planned. Only one thing was needed to make the ceremony 
perfect. But it was nearly denied to them.

The Head Ruling Council had decreed that Walt Skinner deliver 
the Dedication speech, but it was not to be an easy task: none 
could find him. The trackers followed one rumor after another, 
from town to town, for many, many weeks. Then, when they 
had found where he was living, it took them many more days 
before he agreed to deliver the speech. Our Keeping tells us 
that he refused again and again, insisting that he had no 
interest in bringing attention to himself. He had served his 
people long and honorably, as his scars would attest. Now, he 
wished only to rest until his days ended. 

The Council would not accept his answer. They employed 
every means at their disposal to convince him. They offered 
wealth, prestige, fame and power. They did not understand 
that those things had never appealed to him. The Council 
members were frantic as the day of the ceremony approached 
and Walt Skinner still refused to accede to their demands. 
Finally, it was the designer of the First Monument who broke 
through his resolve. When he was told of the form the statue 
had taken, Walt Skinner immediately agreed to deliver the 
speech and packed his bag to return to Washton Dee Cee. 
The Council was overjoyed.

"Why did he change his mind, Metax Fox? He'd resisted 
everyone else. What did the designer tell him?"

Patience, Milo, patience. You shall know all shortly.

The day of the Dedication ceremony arrived in the First of Sun. 
A cool breeze blew through the massive group of people 
crowded onto The Mall. Thousands of them had journeyed on 
their first Pilgrimage to attend. Some said the scene greatly 
resembled the day the Alien Resistance leaders had been 
exposed and murdered. Many who had been there remarked 
that the enormous, shrouded statue was standing on the very 
spot where Mulder and Scully died. The atmosphere was 
crackling with excitement and speculation, as it had been on 
that dreadful day as well. This time, however, the reason for 
their assembly was joyous and festive. No one would ever 
again be harmed by the dastardly Collaborators or their Alien 
allies. 

A murmur of anticipation washed over the assembled people 
as a tall figure mounted the steps of the Dedication platform. 
His gait was slow and painful. He leaned heavily on the 
walking stick in his hand. Those closest to the platform could 
see the deep scar that furrowed the left side of his face from 
his cheek to his ear and down the side of his neck -- a souvenir 
of his last mighty battle with the black-hearted Man of Smoke. 
It was rumored that his other injuries obtained in that desperate 
combat were numerous and horrific, but he continued to fight until 
the hideous fiend was annihilated. Only then, did Walt Skinner 
accept the life-saving Healing he urgently needed.

As he made his way toward the front of the platform, the 
murmurs of the crowd grew and swelled until it became a 
clarion call of triumph. Walt Skinner watched silently as his 
people saluted him with their shouting voices and clapping 
hands. He waited for many long minutes, patiently holding his 
body as straight and firm as his injuries would allow. At long 
last the noise abated and he opened his mouth to speak. His 
words carried on the wind to the listening people, where they 
were engraved in their hearts for all time.

"I am a man of simple words," proclaimed Walt Skinner. "I 
have never been comfortable with the rhetoric of politicians or 
preachers, writers or poets. But today, we gather to dedicate 
this shrine to the memory of those who gave the last full 
measure of what one human can give to another, and the 
words must be said. Our honored dead deserve no less. Their 
bones are scattered as far as the earth is wide, and so we are 
forced to revere their memories only and not their graves. 
There will be no poppies growing between rows of crosses to 
mark their final resting place. There will be no national or 
global cemetery where they may all lie together in eternal rest, 
as befits heroes. Instead, we dedicate this statue as a symbol 
of the great sacrifice they made to obtain freedom for the entire 
human race. And while this memorial depicts the image of only 
two people, it represents so much more than just these two. It 
stands for the love, determination and raw courage that 
ultimately won back our planet. For it all started with these 
two, but it never would have ended without the countless millions 
who followed their example by standing up to the enemies of 
the Earth's people. We honor them. We thank them. We will 
never forget them. For they did not forget us, even as they laid 
down their lives in a war that had no guarantee of victory."

Then the statue's shroud was removed and a great cry of 
amazement arose from the crowd. The huge monument 
showed two people, a man and a woman, holding hands as 
they stood side by side. They were First Fox and First Dana -- 
Mulder and Scully -- as they had appeared at the Washton Dee 
Cee Mall on the last day of their lives. The faces on the statue 
were calm, but anger blazed from their eyes. Mulder held a 
speaking stick in his hand as he leaned earnestly toward his 
audience, and his mouth was open, caught in the midst of his 
defiant speech. First Dana stood resolutely by his side, as she 
always had, holding her painfully damaged body proudly. This 
was our memorial to our fallen comrades -- a pivotal moment in 
Earth's history, frozen for all time. It was a reminder that 
nothing of great worth comes without great sacrifice, and that 
we should not only cherish the freedom they gave us at so 
much cost, but never forget those who paid the supreme price.

Somewhere, a bell began to toll over the hushed crowd. It 
tolled as Walt Skinner wiped the tears from his eyes, painfully 
climbed down from the platform, and slowly walked away, 
never to be publicly heard from again. It tolled for hours as the 
people who had gathered to hear his speech returned to their 
homes and jobs. It tolled without ceasing for seven days and 
seven nights as the citizens of Washton Dee Cee continued 
with their lives. And still it could not even begin to toll out 
the number of sons and daughters, husbands and wives, lovers 
and friends lost in that great struggle. Some say the Loneguns 
took turns tolling the bell during those seven days, but no one 
knows for certain. It is only known that they were there, before 
they retired into obscurity and died as old men, many years 
later.

So, now you know the story of Remembrance Week and why 
we gather together for seven days every year, no matter where 
we live, to toll the bell and talk about the Before times. This 
is a solemn week of reflection for all the peoples of our planet. 
It is a time to remember the dedication and courage that was 
needed to ensure that there would be a future for our race. We 
must never lose sight of the great sacrifices made so that we 
might be here today. I hope that, someday, each of you will 
choose to make the long Pilgrimage to visit the First Monument 
in Washton Dee Cee and view its magnificence for yourselves.

"That was the best Keeping of all, Metax Fox."

I agree, Morbo. And that is why there are no more tales for me 
to tell. That is why the Keeping Sessions always end on the 
First Day of Remembrance Week -- so you may look upon the 
rest of this Week with new understanding.

Our last Session is over, younglings. It has been my honor to 
impart our Keeping to you. Perhaps I will have the pleasure of 
seeing some of you at a Renaming Day when you are older. 

Enjoy the rest of Remembrance Week and never forget -- 
Mulder and Scully now live in you. Their Keeping is in your 
hands.

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THE END

Author's Note: For those who may be interested, the title of 
this story is from a line in the poem "In Flanders Fields" by 
Captain John D. McCrae. 

Feedback: mimic1172@gmail.com