"Law. Order. Authority." Marshal Hewlett looked up from the latest Kaiju report, leveling a firm stare. "Punching creatures from another dimension is all well and good, but there must be order, Richard, lest we become no better than the monsters we fight."
"Yes, I understand that—"
"Do you?"
"Oh of course I do." Ranger Richard Woodhull threw down his gloves, running a hand over his sweaty brow. He plopped into the chair across from Hewlett, uninvited.
"Look," he said. "We've been friends for how many years? Edmund. I know you're proud of your position here, and heaven knows you should be, but the world needs pilots right now. Neither of us are getting any younger and we both know—" Richard's voice dropped down to a whisper. "We both know we're drift compatible. Abraham is my son, I will always love him, but ever since Selah transferred to the Pennsylvania Shatterdome he's been fixated on Anna and we've been all but useless in a Jaeger together—"
"So you wish me to take his place." Hewlett sighed. "It can't be done, Richard."
"And do you know what they're saying?" He watched as across from him, Hewlett's fingers tightened until they were bright white around his pen.
"The Oyster Marshal," Richard pressed. "Sits behind his desk at Shatterdome Setauket. Ranger, but in name only. No combat experience, no kills to his name…"
"Slander," Hewlett growled. "Idiotic too. As if any of us have eaten anything as fine as oysters in years. Let them talk, Richard. You won't get me in a Jaeger. Someone must manage the pilots or else this war will be for naught! Furthermore," he hissed, leaning right across the desk. "If I am out in the field who do you believe will manage Simcoe?"
Both men fell silent at that. It was indeed true that Earth needed pilots now more than ever. The Shatterdome in Pennsylvania, the one in Setauket… beyond that there was only a small renegade group lead by a Robert Rogers who, rumors said, was building Jaegers of his own out of who only knew what. Beyond that, Humanity had no defense against the monsters invading their world. Simcoe would have never passed the psych exams if they hadn't been desperate and as it was, he'd yet to find a partner. Everything had come to a head the week before when he'd made an unauthorized attempt to drive a Jaeger solo—and failed. He killed two engineers in the process.
"He cannot go unsupervised," Hewlett said, shaking with rage.
"No." Richard admitted. Indeed, he knew that better than most. Simcoe's declaration that he and Anna Strong were drift compatible had been one of the major emotions interfering with his and Abraham's drift.
God. Richard didn't want to know how Simcoe might prove their 'drift compatibility.'
"No," he said again. "I see your point. As always," Richard threw a weary grin. "But something must be done. Ranger Baker's death was a loss to us all. Mary's not ready for battle, far as I'm concerned. Andre could probably win us the war single handedly if he'd take his eyes off that Shippen girl for a moment. And I… well, as said, Abraham and I have gone chasing the rabbit more often than not lately… blast it all. We're nearly as bad as Washington's men."
That drew an equally weary smile from Hewlett. "Not quite that bad I hope. Not yet. Perhaps if he had more than boys to his name…"
"Says the two men nearing their twilight years."
"We should be so lucky to see them."
They both sobered.
"We shouldn't make fun," Richard said softly. "We've had our differences, no doubt, but none of us would be here without Washington. His rangers may be young, but they've loyal. Fierce. No one wants to force back the Kaiju more than Marshal Washington." Richard ducked his head. "Except you, of course," he amended.
"Humf," Hewlett eyed his friend. "Rumor has it," he said slowly. "That Washington can drift with nearly anyone. If the need arises."
"Rumor also says he's thinking of partnering with Benjamin Tallmadge."
Hewlett's head shot up. "Is that so? I thought the boy was with Ranger Brewster."
"He was, but they're putting together a new Jaeger. Top of the line—considering what resources we've still got, you understand. It's called ah, ah…" Richard snapped his fingers. "Culpepper? Culper? Bah, whatever the Jaeger's called. Heaven only knows how Washington came up with that. The point is that the rumors say he'll be piloting with Tallmadge, but that's all they are, rumors."
Richard suddenly launched across the desk, clasping hold of Hewlett's hand.
"This is insane. You do see that?" he said, shaking them both. "I understand if you do not wish to fight. Truly. But things cannot stay as they are. We should be fighting alongside Washington, not bickering over who's going to take down the next Category Three. Damn it all, Edmund, I know you have your reservations but we're on the same side!"
Gently, Hewlett drew his hand out from beneath Richard's. It looked for a moment like he was pulling away, but he simply laid it back over again, squeezing hard.
"Yes," he said softly. "I've been thinking much the same thing."
They sat in silence a moment.
"Come," Richard said. He stood abruptly. "Spar with me in the kwoon for a bit. God knows I can't look at Abraham any more today and you could do with the practice."
"Are your insults meant to entice me?" But Hewlett stood, chuckling and smoothing his shirt.
"Its worked for all these years."
"True enough, my friend."
They traversed the halls together, nodding to others in passing, Richard trying not to think too hard on how few of them were left. Humanity was dwindling, but neither his people nor Washington's had yet to give way.
Nevertheless. All the more reason for change.
"If we did have a Jaeger together," Richard said quietly, ignoring Hewlett's look. "What would we name it?"
"Bucephalus." The name fell from Hewlett's lips with ease. "The powerful steed of Alexander the Great. Nearly untamable. Fearsome. Loyal… What better name for our own mount?"
"You preach your history, Edmund, but all I hear is that you've thought about this before."
"Do stop while you're ahead, Richard."
They entered the kwoon, chose their weapons, and settled across from one another with such ease—grace—that no one would have doubted their compatibility. A good thing then, Richard thought, that soldiers were more interested in their lunch than spying on their superiors.
"Problem?" he asked, watching as Hewlett starred down at his feet. They were bare now, all extraneous clothes folded neatly at the mat's edge.
"Edmund?"
"Did you know," Hewlett said. "That I had hoped to be an astronomer before the war took hold?"
"You may have mentioned it once or a thousand times."
Richard's joke fell flat. When Hewlett looked up his eyes were steely.
"I had always assumed that if life came to Earth it would be by means of the stars. But god, Richard, I never imagined this…" He swallowed. "I cannot decide if I am grateful that they came from the sea or not."
"Be grateful," Richard advised. He fell into a defensive stance, grimly ignoring the creak in his knees. "Be grateful because then the stars will be waiting for you, untainted, on the day that we win."
"When we win," Hewlett agreed and mirrored Richard's pose.