Disclaimer: Same as always. I don't own anything, don't sue me, blah, blah, blah

Beta Warning: Yes, I don't know where my pre-readers are when I need them. Sorry for the wait. Also, I took out the numbers at the start of scenes. Mostly because it was too much of a drag to keep up with the numbering. Very Shikamaru-like, I know.


Eureka Seven: Withdrawal Syndrome

By Rommel

Two: "Black Friday Rule."


It was late.

How late precisely Dominic could not tell. At least several hours had passed since Anemone had gone to sleep, her head resting on his shoulder, his arms safely enfolding her. He envied the ease with which she had been able to slip away as he had found it impossible to do so himself. But it was just as well; he was responsible for them, Anemone and Gulliver, who was also sleep next to him. He had to stay awake to protect them.

The other hostages had long ago dozed off around the fire that crackled in the middle of their group, the flames rising and falling in the breeze that sneaked in from the building's huge open gate and whistled around the metal structure.

Aside from having sat cross-legged on the ground by the fire, she guard watching over them had hardly moved. The rifle was still in his hands. He was the same guy whom they had first seen outside the bank the day before.

Several times he had seen other rebels coming and going, picking things from among the supplies kept in the building and returning outside to where the other civilians were encamped.

Besides him, Anemone stirred in her sleep, making a soft mewling noise. He pulled her closer, taking one of her hands in his and squeezing, hoping that even in her dreams she would know that he was there, and looked down at her. She seemed peaceful, but her relaxed features hid just how much trouble they were in.

Dominic had been trying to work things out in his head, but no matter how he tried to analyze it the fact remained that unless he came up with something they weren't likely to make it out alive. As soon as this people found out who they were, Dominic was convinced they would kill Anemone.

And before they could do that they would have to kill him.

Beyond the fire he heard the hubbub of conversation. He recognized the voices, Simon, the leader of this band of renegades, and his bodyguard, Art. They were arguing about something Dominic couldn't make out. It was a heated argument but not enough as to signify true dissent. Perhaps it was a good sign--having served under Dewey for so long had taught him not to question authority and that had almost destroyed the person he loved.

He would not be following anyone blindly again. Never. And he could not sit by any longer doing noting; if they were going to survive he needed to come up with a plan. Looking down at Anemone's sleeping form again he made his decision.

Moving slowly and with great care, he took his arms from around Anemone and reached back, grabbing Gulliver by his chubby collar and pulling him close. He laid Anemone's head gently down on this warm flurry pillow as he moved out from under her. She grumbled sleepily, subconsciously adjusting her arms to the new position so they were tucked in against her chest; Gulliver's round eyes fluttered open. He cooed inquisitively.

Dominic placed his finger over the animal's snout to quiet him. "I'll be right back," he told him in barely audible whisper. "Stay put—I mean it this time."

Gulliver nodded.

Reassured, Dominic got to his feet and walked around the fire towards the sitting guard, his hands extended out in front of him to show he meant no harm. The young man tensed immediately upon seeing him and jumped to his feet, his riffle held up at the ready.

"I want to talk to Simon," Dominic said pleasantly. "I might be able to help."

The man frowned in confusion. "Help with what?"

"Whatever I can. You tell me."

The man looked him over, top to bottom and back up, searching for a ploy. It occurred to Dominic that perhaps he should have come up with one, certainly one better than what he was about to do. No, it wouldn't work. These guys didn't know the meaning of trust; he couldn't expect they would acquiesce to any request he might make. He was wasting—

"What's going on here?"

Both Dominic and the guard turned in unison, to find Simon standing in front of them. In the flicking light of the flames, he looked older than Dominic remembered him in the sunlight. His hair seemed a wavy orange instead of blond; the blue of his eyes was washed out completely.

Before he could answer, the guard said. "He wants to talk to you, sir."

Simon turned his eyes to Dominic, measuring him. "About what?"

"In private, if I may," Dominic said. "I feel that perhaps we can come to an understanding."

He ready for a refusal, so much so that he had already started berating himself for taking such a stupid risk when Simon nodded. "Follow me."

Simon turned and Dominic fell in step behind him. He was led to a small room in the back of the building, which he had not previously noticed located just beyond the crates that lined the near wall, and beyond the bulk of the red canvas-covered KLF. On the way there he noticed several people sleeping covered by worm blankets on the floor, one of whom was the girl he had seen tending to the KLF earlier. The room was filled with supplies, weapons of different calibers and enough ammo to supply a small revolution.

There was another gate at the back, leading down a darkened tunnel that seemed to run into a solid wall of black. The only light came from the open door behind them, and he was thankful for that because it would make him harder to read.

Simon leaned against one of the supply crates. "So then?"

"My name is Dominic Sorel, I told that to your man outside when we met," Dominic started, threading carefully. "My companion—her name doesn't matter right now—and I have been living in the city for just a few weeks, trying to make a life for ourselves now that we are free. She means a lot to me—no, more than that. She means everything. And I know she doesn't look it, but she has been through a lot of pain and suffering, more than I can explain here or hope you to understand."

He paused for a moment, hoping his words would sink in then continued. "What I'm trying to say is that she doesn't deserve this, sir."

Even in the dark he could see Simon's features change. "Most people don't deserve the bad things that happen to them, but that doesn't mean bad things don't happen. That is true for all of us. Why should she be treated any different?"

"Sir, she ... " A dozen things popped in his head, a dozen ways to try to explain how badly Anemone had been forced to live. "She isn't like you or me."

Simon did not appear moved. It was hard to tell.

"Please," Dominic pleaded, now aware that it was a loosing battle, "there is nothing to gain from keeping her here. I have government connections. Not the local authorities but the Federation. I know people. I will help you if you just let her go. I have been a soldier before, but she is blameless."

Simon laughed incredulously.

"As far as most of my men would be concerned," he said, "there is not enough blame in the world to put on that girl's shoulders."

Something cold twisted Dominic's guts, as if a vile invisible hand were trying to make ribbons out of his insides.

He struggled to keep the sudden burst of fear from showing in his voice. "You know who she is?"

Simon nodded grimly.

"And the only reason you are still alive is because I'm the only one here that does," he said. "I'm sorry, but the best thing you can do right now is keep a low profile. Lucky for you with everything that's been happening people's memories are kind of fuzzy. I am the only one that's ever seen her in person before, at a stadium in Bellforest when Dewey Novak introduced his secret weapon against the Coralians." He looked suddenly disgusted. "When everyone chanted in adoration because they thought salvation had arrived."

Suddenly, Dominic remembered that the day before, as they were being herded into the truck, Simon had reached out and grasped Anemone's arm, and she had looked up right into his blue eyes. He had thought it was simply the act of a bully, but now he saw it for what it really was.

Simon had wanted to be sure of who he was taking.

"What are you going to do with us?" Dominic asked point-blank. He felt almost sick with fear now, his eyes dropping in resignation to the floor.

Simon shook his head. "That's the thing, I have no idea. Things have gotten pretty bad since we arrived. I was planning to ransom you back, but I don't think that's an option now."

Dominic frowned questioningly.

"You see," Simon explained, "you would not have been allowed to stay in Ravensbruck without the local administration knowing or getting their consent—since we know what we know. I had assumed that you were working with them. My plan was to trade you for some of my people, but unfortunately my assumption was wrong. That was my logic, and it made sense, but I don't think I was even close," he added.

"What do you mean?" Dominic almost didn't want to know the answer.

"Because I know now the administration doesn't care about your lives—or any of the other hostages for that manner any more than they care about the rest of these people. And I know that because they will be launching a full scale assault in the morning."

Dominic's eyes widened. He lifted his head immediately and stared at Simon as though the man were foaming at the mouth. It couldn't be--

"Assault? What about Anemone?" He managed. And another just as awful thought came to mind. "What about all those civilians outside?"

"Fodder, apparently," Simon said then seeing Dominic's outraged expression even in the dim light, added. "Of course, I'll try to defend them if I can. And the two of you, too."

"Why?"

The question was out before Dominic could help it. He regretted asking it—it didn't really had to be explained to him why this man who had kidnapped them was now bowing to defend them from what, it occurred to him, could be potentially a rescue operation.

Unless everything he'd been told was a lie and Simon would indeed try to use them as pawns. Everything was a possibility.

"You don't know what's been happening here," Simon said. "What we've been trying to accomplish. I think you may have gotten the wrong impression of us."

"Yeah, I don't know how that could happen, with you going around robbing banks and kidnapping innocent people."

Simon didn't seem to mind the sarcasm that slipped into Dominic's voice. "Without money there are no weapons, and without weapons …"

"Your little armed insurrection would be going nowhere," Dominic finished for him.

"True enough." Simon pushed himself away from the crate he'd been leaning against and moved closer to Dominic. "Tell me something, you said you'd been living in the city for a few weeks right?"

Dominic nodded.

"And in all that time, have you hear of people being dissatisfied with their administration in the news? Have you heard about crime? About poverty? There are countless refugees—a city nearby was almost obliterated. What have you hear about them?"

Well, of course he—

"I've tried to keep up with what's going on," Dominic started slowly, as if the pacing would add weight to his argument. "The Second Summer of Love left a lot of people affected—well, the Coralian counter-attack did. But … it's always out of town stuff on the news. It's always somebody else's problem: someone else turning away refugees, hoarding food and energy. Nothing ever happens in Ravensbruck." He felt almost stupidly naïve saying that. "It's supposed to be a good place to live in. That's why I brought her here, so she could be happy."

Even as he spoke the words filled him an overwhelming sense of horror, like pieces of a deadly strategy falling together.

He had brought her here … into a war zone.

Simon seemed to pick up on this. "I would suggest, Dominic Sorel, that you see the world for what it is. After all, the two of you helped create it."

Simon turned away and began walking towards the doorway.

Unable to restrain himself, Dominic called out to him as he was about to disappear into the large space beyond.

"Wait, we didn't … know. We were just following orders. Dewey was always pulling the strings."

"That is why nobody will ever forgive people like you, who were on the wrong side of what happened. Because you aren't sorry. Because you should have known better and still followed. But at least you, Dominic, aren't the face of all that hatred. Your eyes can be forgotten. Not like hers." He shook his head mournfully. "I feel sorry for that girl, I really do. Such a dying hope."

"Like I said before, I am not a murderer. And I will not let anyone be murdered while I can help it, but should my men find out who you are and demand satisfaction, I will have no choice on the matter. Unless that should happen, however, I bow to look after you. And when this is done perhaps you will find out the truth about this city."

Whether Simon was trying to bluff him by playing himself as some kind of hero or outright lying, Dominic couldn't be sure. He didn't say anything more and simply watched as the taller man walked past the hostages, giving a small nod to the guard which was dutifully returned and stepped through the building's open front into the starry night outside.

Morning would not be far in coming, and if he was being told the truth there was a possibility they might not survive.

Simon had seemed to think that the act of launching an assault was implicit proof that the locals cared for neither the hostages nor Dominic and Anemone. And he had admitted that if his men found out who they were they would be killed.

His heart feeling like an lifeless brick, Dominic stood on the spot where Simon had left him for a long time, trying to make sense of it all, his head full of new information and questions, before finally remembering that his place was by Anemone's side.

She needed him; whatever should happen, he would not leave her.


She felt his hands let go of her and, hearing his soft footsteps in the black silence, dared open her eyes just enough to see him walk way. She heard the whisper of his voice as he talked to the guard, but couldn't make out the words. Language didn't seem to make sense anymore—she didn't need it to.

All that she needed to know was that she couldn't feel his warmth against her skin. She remained motionless, feigning the sleep that in reality would not come because it would keep him from worrying.

It would keep him from asking too many uncomfortable questions.

But … she didn't want him to leave her. He was the only thing that kept her alive. He was the only reason she had now—

And he was walking away from her, off into the dark confines to talk to someone that didn't need talking to. He should be with her. He should be holding her.

She gritted her teeth, and realized that it wasn't just abandonment she was feeling. Why did she want to blame him for leaving? What did she have to offer him in their relationship?

Love? She'd given him that. So what else was there?

It was an awful feeling—to know that she needed someone but that he didn't actually need anything from her. Despite his professed affection for her, she was as disposable as she had always been.

Gulliver stirred underneath her head. She drew her legs up against her chest, curling up on her side like a tight ball, the hard concrete making it impossible to become comfortable. The other hostages were all sitting or leaning on something like had been leaning on him before he had gone.

The guard yawned on the other side of the fire, stretching his arms, then sat back on the ground. She watched him, thinking how ridiculous it was that this kid, who could only have been a few years younger than herself, was supposed to guard her.

Somehow, he reminded her of those Ageha brats Dewey had doted upon while ignoring her—far too young to have any clue what they were doing. She had hated them from the first time they forced her into TheEnd. They never realized how they could be replaced because nothing they did would ever matter.

Meaninglessness was not something easily understood by youth, but she had seen too much, felt too much, hurt too much.

She understood despite her age—it enraged her, but it was the reality.

After what seemed like a very long time she heard footsteps coming back through the silence, headed towards her. Not wanting to give herself away, she lay perfectly still and closed her eyes, and pretended.

That was all she ever did.

When she felt his warm gentle touch once again on her bare skin, she found that a deep part of her was repulsed by it—the broken part of herself that was a fake and didn't deserve to be loved.

And most of that part was the girl called Anemone. The rest … she didn't remember anymore.


Holland had needed some fresh air and so had taken an elevator out of the stuffy confine of the hangar that held the Gekko up to the tower's observation platform above the tarmac. As he leaned heavily on the rail and filled his lungs with the cool night air, he looked down at the lines of yellow and white light that made up the runways extending into the dark and then abruptly disappearing into nothingness. There was no traffic, nothing to distract him from thoughts he was not sure he wanted to dwell on.

"You can't sleep either, right?"

Holland heard Hilda's voice behind him. He didn't turn, so she came to lean on the rail next to him, her dark eyes fixed on the distance like his, as if not wanting to let them meet by mutual consensus. "Makes me feel better at least knowing our leader feels the same way before battle."

Holland thought he detected a little resentment in her voice.

"If Talho sent you, then you are wasting your time," he told her.

"Well no, she knows you well enough to know that once you've made up your mind it is nearly impossible to make you change it." She added, "You are so stubborn like that."

She fell silent after that, allowing Holland to sink back into the uncertainty he was feeling. It wasn't fear—he had been through and done worse and always came out on top; it was more like ... like falling from your board while holding something important and not knowing just how exactly to break your fall without destroying that something. He could let go of that something and brace himself, or he could hold on and do himself more harm. There just wasn't a good solution. And it would be worse knowing that if something did happen, that if he died, he would be leaving behind a broken heart and an innocent child who would never meet his father.

"Talho talked to you?" Holland asked suddenly, his voice low. "Did she say I'm a bad father?"

"Of course not."

Holland sighed. "Maybe somebody should."

"Holland!"

He straightened up and looked at her for the first time since she had come up to join him. He found her eyes peering at him with concern; her short black hair hardly moved in the breeze. "Aren't I?" Holland said. "When I chose to go after two people who gave us nothing but trouble instead of being safe?"

Hilda pushed herself upright, then turned and rested the small of her back the rail, folding her well-toned arms across her chest.

"Nobody will ever accuse you of that," Hilda said. "Because you aren't. Trying to take responsibility does not make you a bad person. But it can make you reckless, like you have something to prove. And that doesn't usually end very well."

Holland to admit she was right and was about to say something when a noise from bellow caught his attention. Both of them turned in unison and peered over the rail at the tarmac a hundred feet bellow them.

A square of white light had opened up on the concrete, lined by smaller red lights that ran down into a black shaft—an elevator, like the one the Gekko had used the day before only much smaller. Slowly the lights began to disappear as the elevator rose to the surface.

And from the blackness emerged three armored humanoid figures:

KLFs.

"Well, they mean business alright," Hilda said, her eyes riveted to the KLFs as several technicians appeared to tend to them. The Mon-Soono had never been known for their design—and in fact were some of the ugliest machines Holland had ever seen—but seeing them painted black had a strange effect on him. They looked more menacing somehow.

Another image appeared in his mind: a black thing, spiked and sleek, its black armor glinting in the sunlight, its razor sharp claws drawn, its red eyes coming straight at him.

TheEnd ... and Anemone; the girl that had almost killed him ... had almost made his child fatherless without even breaking a sweat and laughing as she did it ... had almost taken down Renton and Eureka. And if he had met her with the 303 Devilfish he could have almost ...

There was a lot activity going on now. Ammo drums were being rolled out; large heavy assault rifles and--much to Holland's distaste--missiles were readied and equipped on the KLFs, belts feeding round after round into the sides of the weapons; loud voices called out giving or demanding directions.

Standard doctrine frowned on using close combat weapons like knifes, like the Nirvash and Gekkostate had used, and so Holland was not surprised to see none of those—only wastefulness, as a skilled pilot could turn even the simplest blade into a far deadlier weapon.

"They must be anticipating major resistance to bring this much firepower into a fight," from somewhere outside his thoughts he heard Hilda say. "That, or they are not very confident in their own ground forces."

"Or both," said Holland. "But you know what they say, there is no such thing as overkill in battle."

Hilda sighed, leaning back on the rail and hanging her head. "It just had to be on a Friday."


Even with all the sudden activity as the earliest rays of the sun rose in the east, Dominic had managed to scavenge a bowl of dry cereal for Anemone. It hadn't taken much to convinced the captors, Simon in particular, that she needed food. And it had taken even less for one of the civilians, a single mother by the looks of her, to offer him something after having overheard him.

The camp had been in chaos as he rushed outside, people pushing each other as they were being herded inside the large metal building in preparation for the up coming assault. A hundred loud voices joined together so it was impossible to tell what anyone was saying as they crowded together.

Dominic had been allowed free reign, pretty much—the rebels being much to busy digging what looked like trenches in concentric circles and directing people to watch over him as he followed the woman to her small grayish tent, got some cereal from what were clearly very limited supplies intended for her two small children. He had giving her his sincere thanks and headed back through the camp.

There were children running in all directions, sending a strong pang of fear to his gut. Children. And there was whole mess of hostiles coming in. It wouldn't be good for any of them to be caught in the crossfire, but putting children in this situation was just wrong.

Holding on to his precious cargo, Dominic pushed past another group of people, and rushed the final few yards to building's main hangar-like entrance. People were arranged in rows and herded together by the rebels almost like cattle, but though there was a great deal of fear and anxiety, none of it seemed to be related to the armed men around them.

From what he had managed to hear, the plan was to barricade the civilians inside the building while the battle raged outside, a valid strategy except for the fact that Dominic, Anemone, and the other hostages—ostensibly the target of the raid—would be inside also.

A breach of the building would be inevitable, but in the racket and confusion no one seemed to be thinking of the hostages anymore.

The last of the crowd was ushered in before he was allowed to. He waited impatiently, then, picking up a guard again headed back to where Anemone and the hostages were located near the back of the building.

Dominic found her right where he'd left her, and was glad to see she was awake.

Anemone sat at the base of the one of the massive metal crates that dotted the warehouse—several of which at already been open to reveal they were packed with weapons—Gulliver by her side, holding her head in a hand, and rubbing her temples absently. She had her eyes closed, but when he dropped to his knees next to her she opened and looked up at him.

Her face was hard, her surreal purple eyes dull, and she seemed to be in a very bad mood.

"Here, Anemone," Dominic said offering her the bowl of cereal, then adding apologetically, "Sorry it took me so long. I know you are hungry."

Anemone said nothing, and just glared at him for what seemed to Dominic like a whole minute before turning her head away.

He blinked confusedly, not knowing what was wrong with her so suddenly. If she was mad at him—she probably had every right to be considering their situation, but he had tried to help her.

He inched closer, the bowl held up as peace offering. "Please, you have to eat some—"

Anemone sent the bowl and its contents flying with a violent swipe of her hand.

Dominic recoiled out of instinct; Gulliver jumped to his tiny feet, suddenly startled, and looked around rapidly as if expecting to have to defend them from some unknown attacker, then seeing only Dominic looked to Anemone questioningly.

She turned away from both of them without a word.

Completely perplexed, Dominic regarded her with a great deal of concern. "What's the matter, Anemone?"

This time she didn't even turn to look at him; her eyes remained closed. Her face was that of someone who was being annoyed, but she did not have the characteristic snarl of downright anger she had worn many times before.

"Anemone?" Real worry seeped into Dominic's voice. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

"I don't feel very well!" Anemone's face scrunched up. "Can't you see that?"

He was taken aback by her sudden unwarranted harshness, and the obvious vile in her voice. He stared at her again, struggling to decide if he should say something or do as she bid and shut up.

Dominic opened his mouth and was about to speak when the loud noise of dozens of boots on concrete got his attention. He turned to see Simon surrounded by almost every insurgent headed his way. There were a lot of the civilians too, all men. They were loaded head to toe with weapons and armor—rifles, pistols, belts of ammo. The rebels all wore fatigues and body armor, but the civilians wore nothing more than regular clothes.

He didn't understand: had the civies been press-ganged? Had they volunteered, and if so why?

As they walked by the hostages, Simon signaled for the guard watching over to leave his post and join them. Dominic still hadn't picked up the man's name, but it had become clear he was one of the youngest rebels encamped here.

Art, as always, was by his leader's side, and was the first to speak. "Perimeter checks are coming in," he said in his deep voice. "Looks like heavy infantry and some KLFs."

The crowd of insurgents started murmuring worriedly, looking at each other with almost frightened eyes.

Simon, who had his arms folded across his chest, did not appear troubled at all, and as he raised a hand everyone around him fell into a brooding silence. Expectantly, everyone, even Dominic, focused their eyes on him.

"We knew this would happen," Simon said. "They would be stupid not to. Art," he turned towards his bodyguard, "I want you on the roof with a case of stingers. The gorges that feed into his place create natural funnels through which they have to bring in their infantry to get at us. They wouldn't deploy their KLFs on the ground—the danger of creating a roadblock would negate their tactical advantage. They will look for air superiority. Stingers are cheap. Use as many as you need."

The girl, the one Dominic had seen servicing the red KLF the night before, stepped in. She had a small portable computer in her hands. "The new LM penetrators should make short work of their armor. And I kept the receipt so let me know if they don't."

Art laughed. "Magdy, if we are dead don't you think that voids the warranty?"

"Maybe," Simon said. "They should work just fine. Once we have denied them air superiority things will be much easier. What about the civilians?"

Another man stepped forward from the crow, a shaggy-dressed civilian carrying a mean looking assault riffle and dirty black hair that fell down to his shoulders.

"Yeah?" the man said. "We are ready. I have someone outside pulling the last of the pins now. Anti-infantry pattern, as you said. But we are still digging."

Simon nodded. "Unfortunately there hasn't been time for deeper trenches, but the camp outside and the mines should slow them down for our fields of fire. Just keep a low profile. Without KLFs covering them, they'll have to overtake them one by one. Heavy machine guns to the roof with Art. Everyone else to the front and find all the cover you can." He paused, considered carefully his next words. "Shoot to kill. No prisoners. You know what to do if you are about to be overrun."

"What is the last fallback line?" One of the insurgents asked.

"The gate," Simon replied. "The civilians will all be towards the rear of the building, behind the Tomato, for cover, so the gate is the last defensible position. If you think you have a chance of being taken alive, you may do so as long as you remember … it is your choice."

Dominic found that a very strange thing to say. He couldn't understand why any military leader about to go into combat would tell his troops that it was okay to be taken prisoner on the eve of a battle. Such a thing would only encourage desertion, but the solemn nods from the assembled insurgents made it seem as though deserting was the furthest thing from their minds.

Something else was going on here—something going unspoken but that everyone around Simon already knew.

"That's all I've got," Simon finished. "It's been my honor to know you all. I guess I should give a rousing speech now, right?" He cleared his throat rather dramatically.

"Well, what is there to say?" he asked. "You have no homes, and no families to mourn you when you are gone. But the man next to you will mourn you. I will mourn you, and you may have to do the same thing for me. I know this isn't what of you wanted—it isn't what I wanted—but it is what we have been brought to." He paused, and suddenly, what had started as an attempt at being sarcastic had turned very serious. "And if we must die then let us nobly die, so that even our enemies will be constrained to honor us."

Art lifted up his rifle on one hand, pumping it into the air. "Justicia! Tierra! Libertad!"

And then a roar of anger and pride rose from the crowd of insurgents, weapons thrust in the air. Repeating those words over and over.

"Justicia! Tierra! Libertad!"

Dominic had learned that such gestured were often meant to dissipate fear, and he had a hard time believing any of these guys would be willing to lay down their lives for whatever cause—they were criminals after all. But as the roaring reached a fever pitch, the civilians too seemed to get caught up in the moment and joined in with cheering and applause.

"Justicia. Tierra! Libertad!"

Dominic turned his disbelieving gaze to them. Weren't they scared? They had to be. Hell was about to break loosed around them, and they were cheering?

"Dammit," Anemone cursed. She had lifted her head while Dominic wasn't looking and was now staring at Simon. "Why can't they all just shut up?"

Dominic moved closer to her, relieved at least that she was talking.

"Anemone?"

"It's so stupid," Anemone said, seemingly unaware that he was listening. "There is nothing noble about death. When you die all you do is … die."

"Don't worry," Dominic said in his softest, most consoling voice. "We'll be fine. We are unarmed hostages. We won't be harmed."

At those words, Anemone turned her eyes to him.

Eyes that were narrowed into slits and brimming with--

Dominic felt a shiver run down his spine, and almost moved away. He had seen it many times before, back when she lived in pain; when misery and loneliness were the only emotions she could feel and ...

"We'll be fine," Dominic repeated as much for his benefit as for hers, ignorant of how he had managed to find the words. "I ... I'll save you."

"If you really think that, you are even more stupid than they are. Nothing is going to be fine. You can't save anything."

Something hard and hurtful suddenly punctured his heart. As her reply echoed inside his head, he let his hands fall way from her shoulders, and sat back feeling rather useless. "I'm sorry."

On the periphery, the rebels were scattering hurriedly, the noise of boots and dozens of running bodies and the clanging of weapons moved pass them on the way to the building's open main gate, Simon's last line. Art and a few others were headed deeper within the building, however, to where a rickety metal ladder was welded onto the wall headed up to a hatch on the roof.

Their young guard was detained by Simon and quietly spoken to, then returned to watch over them. Dominic could detect a clear resentment that hadn't been there before.

No doubt he would rather be outside with his comrades than inside acting as a heavily armed babysitter.

Knowing what was about to happen, Dominic tried not to look at him—he might be dead along with the rest of his buddies within an hour—but Anemone stared him down.

"And what the hell do you want?" she asked the guard in the same vile-filled voice she had used with Dominic.

"I'm supposed to watch you hostages," he said flatly. "Someone has to keep you safe."

"Ah, the coward of the group."

The guard flinched.

Dominic, still on his knees, quickly placed himself in front of Anemone as a human shield.

But the gun was never raised in anger as he had expected; the safety was never even removed. The guard just stood there regarding this strange girl with a mixture of puzzlement and what looked like admiration.

"Well, if you don't appreciate it," he said, "feel free to go outside and jump in front of a bullet."

Anemone laughed sharply, a familiar laugh that did nothing but fan Dominic's fears. "Bullets are for losers." She grinned wickedly. "Real killers have claws."

Even Gulliver and the other hostages were staring at her now, but their attention was soon drawn away by something else.

A loud echoing explosion.


From almost ten kilometers up, Holland watched through the 808's augmented visual feed one of the black KLFs take a hit by a small AAM projectile and explode into a bright, soundless fireball as the liquid metal penetrator punched through the armor on impact.

Not a good start, but it didn't affect his plan in the slightest.

The Gekko and both of its LFO's, Holland in the 808 and Mathew and Hilda in the 606, had maintained radio silence hovering above the battleground at altitude to keep from being spotted or targeted as the local military police force approached the rebel strong point.

They were in for a fight. A single surveying glance at the rebel position had confirmed Holland's nagging suspicion that these guys weren't stupid. What appeared to be the command post was located inside a large metal building, almost like a hangar, with a branching system of gorges and high cliffs spreading for miles around it like a deadly spiderweb.

The ground approach would be a tedious job, as the infantry wound their way through the maze with only maps or recon information from the airborne KLFs to guide them since Holland knew there were no geo-synchronous GPS satellites on this orbit.

The only easy way in was through the air, but the rebels seemed to have figured that one out already. Just as good; he had no intention of getting them involved in a long fight.

The Gekko was here for only two people after all.

"One-Three is down," came the call over the radio. "Repeat, One-Three is down."

Holland couldn't help the snicker. Woz had managed to hack into the locals tactical frequency without too much trouble. Given the fact that he had very little information on who they are fighting here, Holland was keen on gaining as much as he could, even it the means weren't exactly legal. This was Gekkostate's way of doing things. The 'poor bloody infantry' down there wouldn't mind; they were technically on the same side.

"Looks like these guys are no push-over," Hilda said over the radio.

Holland looked out of the starboard side of his canopy and saw the 606 gliding there, its board leaving a glowing trail of green trapar in its wake. Through the clear canopy he could see Mathew pain close attention to his controls, but Hilda was looking back the 808.

Holland felt an odd sense of guilt; he was piloting her vehicle into combat, after all, leaving her the role of a backseat driver. He shock his head, returning his attention to his instruments.

Guilt would have to wait.

"Do we have a bead on the ground forces?" he called over the encrypted channel that the LFOs and the Gekko were sharing.

"We do, Leader," Woz replied from above him on the Gekko. "About 100 yards from that main building. There seem to be two defensive lines set up, one outer and one inner. Not a lot of com chatter though. Those guys are either scare or very focused."

"As long as they are not focused on us," Mathew said. "I'd hate to become the center of attention."

"What are you talking about," Hilda interrupted, "you love being the center of attention."

"Not in a firefight," he quipped in return.

Holland huffed, "Maybe I should have let her pilot and put Mathew in the back."

Almost simultaneously he heard Mathew's insulted huff and Hilda's sardonic "I told you so" groan. There really wouldn't be a difference in who was piloting. Both of them highly skilled and hardcore, and either made for a great wingman.

"Are you done bickering?" Talho said, and even over the electronic quality of the radio he could hear the annoyance in her voice. "A lot of people are about to start shooting at each other. You think you can be serious for a while?"

"They already started," Holland corrected. "And I am serious."

"Then act like it."

"Yes, Ma'am," Hilda and Mathew called at once from the 606.

Holland looked down at the ring on his right hand, stroking it absently with his thumb. He understood Talho's concern—in a way even blamed himself for it. But he also felt that she too understood him in return. He clicked his microphone.

"Lets do this thing."


In a way, gunfire heard from a distance had the same harmless ethereal quality as music.

Dominic had heard that old veterans could tell what weapons were being fired and from which direction just by listening to the dry tune of violence and death. But being stuck inside a large metal building while bullets--and who knew what else--flew outside, pinging against the outside of the walls, gave him the right to not care about any of that.

The only thing—only one he cared about was sitting on the ground besides him, not speaking to him and not even letting him hold her, a hand pressed to her temple as the battle raged loudly outside.

As Simon had said the frightened hostages and the civilians had been moved to the rear of the building. With the heavy front gates shut they are as safe as it was possible from the incoming gunfire as it was possible.

Most of the rebels were either outside manning the trenches Dominic had seen on the front of the building of on the roof. Simon and the girl named Magdy had set up some kind of CIC at the foot of the red, canvas-covered KLF and were monitoring the situation through a single computer terminal.

Every string of gunfire brought new cries of anguish from the huddled civilians. Fear and anxiety were heavy in the air, and Dominic could feel them as plain as he could fear his own heart beating strongly in his chest.

The din inside the building soon became unbearable as bullets hit and ricocheted off, echoing loudly from the walls and the vibration intensified the noise until nothing else could be hear as more and more rounds found the building a target too large to miss.

The ground shook, shaken by a loud explosion that reverberated in the closed space.

Dominic looked towards Simon. The rebel leader was holding a headset to his ear, listening intently with a concerned frown. Next to him was the girl, a similar expression on her face.

Dominic got to his feet, causing their guard to tense and raise his gun.

"It's okay," Dominic told the guard. "I just want to know what's going on." He nodded towards Simon.

The young guard looked him over briefly then nodded in return, though he didn't seem to be paying much attention.

Outside the battle was raging, the sounds of death growing more furious as Dominic imagined the local law enforcement troopers creeping closer and closer to the hostages through trenches and the hail of ammunition.

Dominic got to his feet and walked over to where Simon and Magdy were kneeling.

The blond man looked up as he approached, his face serious but not hostile. "What?"

"It is not too late," Dominic said, almost having to yell to be heard over the noise despite only being a few feet away. "You can still surrender."

"Funny," Simon said. "I was about to ask them if they wanted to surrender."

There was no levity in the way he said this, prompting Dominic to think that it was not supposed to be funny at all. "Even if you win, then what?"

"We move on," Simon said thoughtfully. "We always just move on. You can't think of battle in terms of absolute. An engagement is just a piece of a puzzle. That way win or loose--" He suddenly stopped and reached up to touch the headpiece. "Art, can you repeat that?"

There was moment of silence. Simon closed his piercing blue eyes, his expression falling.

Magdy stopped what she was doing and moved closer to Simon, her body language indicating she was expecting bad news. She was so close in fact she they could have shared the headset without any need to take it off.

"What?" she asked hurriedly.

"We have a problem," Simon replied, turning his head to the huge KLF behind them. "I need you to fire up the Tomato. As quickly as possible."

The girl's dark eyes shot wide as saucers. "What? Why?"

"Gekkostate is here."

Dominic's heart skipped a beat from sheer joy.

Holland wouldn't let anything happen to Anemone. After all the things Dewey had done to her, as the man's brother, he had promised to protect her just like he had protected Eureka. Dominic had never had a reason to doubt that.

In the short time he'd known Holland he'd realized that far from the terrorist he'd been made out to be, the former SOF ace was a noble man, who didn't hold a grudge for what and Anemone and TheEnd had done.

He was someone Dominic could trust with Anemone's life. He knew that from the way Holland had spoken to them on the Gekko's hangar right before they parted to bring Renton to Eureka. From how he had looked at Anemone with kindness and a flash of regret in his eyes as if to say he was sorry for his brother.

And suddenly Dominic didn't need to be told why Gekkostate was here. He knew as certainly as he knew he loved Anemone.

Holland was coming to fulfill his promise.

A wide smile of relief spread across Magdy's face, a gesture that seemed to wipe away the uncertainty from her face. "That's great!" she pipped up happily. "We should crack open a comm. channel."

Simon shook his head slowly. Something is his eyes was wrong.

"It seems they are fighting with Odilo," he said.

In the split second between hearing the words and what must have been a horrible realization, Magdy's face slipped through the widest rage of human emotion Dominic had seen in a long time. Happiness. Surprise. Shock. Anger.

To the point of tears.

"That ... that ..." Magdy stuttered, her voice a stunned whisper, "... that can't be. Why would they ... why would Holland Novak..."

Simon ripped off his headset and threw it on the ground. For the first time since meeting him, Dominic heard anger in his voice as he turned to Magdy.

"Whatever the reason. I need you to get the Tomato ready. Now."

She pulled her arms fearfully to her chest, her quaking fists pressed against her greasy coveralls. "But ... but you can't fight Holland Novak. You can't!"

"Do you think I want to!" Simon yelled at her. "Even if I win--"

Magdy shrieked, clearly appalled at the idea of shooting down Holland. She fixed her eyes on Simon, biting down on her lips to keep from protesting.

"If Holland Novak has chosen this as his path, then maybe he's no better than Dewey," Simon said, his voice settled back to its normal pensive tone. "Maybe we were wrong."

"You can't know that he's chosen anything!" Finally Magdy did not seem able to control herself. "Odilo could have lied to him for all you know!"

Simon looked at her seriously. "Lie to Holland? The man who saw through Dewey's plans all along? How could be he lied to by a swine like Odilo?"

Another explosion. The whole world seemed to shake.

"Magdy, I'm giving you an order!" Simon bellowed.

For a short moment the girl did nothing and just stared at Simon as if he had lost his mind. Like someone seeing her idol in a new light and realizing that maybe he wasn't all he was cracked up to be.

Realizing this, Simon put an arm gently on her shoulder. "If something should happen to me … I want you and Art to find a quiet place somewhere and keep your heads down for a while. He knows what to do after that."

"I…"

"I'm sorry. Do this for me, please." His eyes flashed a kind of sadness that reflected that in her eyes, sharing a common grief, a common disillusionment.

Magdy nodded. She wriggled out of Simon's grasp and rushed over the red KLF and quickly began pulling it canvas blanket off. As she did Simon turned to Dominic and gave a look that made it clear he wasn't supposed to have heard any of that, before silently joining the struggling girl.

Much bigger and stronger, Simon managed to get the canvas off without much difficulty, giving Dominic his first real look at the KLF. It massive, larger even than the Monsoono, and its tomato-red color was definitely not Federation standard. Definitely very illegal, whatever it was and wherever it came from. It was boxier too, lacking the sleek lines of the TheEnd or even the Nirvash, its head equipped with a single red orb for an eye.

Once the KLF was uncovered, Magdy pulled up a computer terminal which had been tucked in between its legs and furiously began typing in commands. "Working through the safety checks," she said. "Not sure about the limiters. I didn't get a chance to double-check the safety parameters. You might get some bad feedback."

"I'll manage." Simon grabbed a handhold on the machine's sturdy frame and pulled himself up to its torso with ease. "Give me weapons and sensors."

"Weapons are hot. Two hundred and fifty rounds on your main gun. Armor piercing. Technically. They are surplus, you know. Sensors are good too."

Simon nodded at her update, and hit a hidden button along were the KLF's armored breastplates met and moved out of the way as the whole front was lifted up with a loud mechanical hiss, exposing the sealed cockpit within.

Simon swung by his handhold into the cockpit and immediately strapped himself in. "Remember what I said. If anything happens to me …"

"Just go!" Magdy yelled, again on the verge of tears. "I'll open the door for you. Be careful. You know how I worry."

Without bothering to hear his farewell, she turned back to her computer.

A loud reverberating noise filled the building. Dominic looked up to find the roof located just above the KLF was sliding open like giant doors on rails. The clear blue of the morning sky was visibly through the new opening. The warm rays of sunlight created a bright spot on the building floor, surrounding the KLF, Dominic, Anemone and the hostages in a warmth glow.

Heavy servos creaking, the KLF sprang powerfully into the crisp air, reaching around to its broad back to pull a lifting board seemingly out of nothing. It flew out of the building propelled by its ignited booster rockets, flashing emerald green trapar as it lifted spiraling away on its board, red armor glinting brightly, large gun pointed defiantly at the sky.

Dominic stared it as it went. Magdy could not bring herself to look.


"Hey," Talho's voice broke through the comm. with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. "Enemy KLF incoming."

And a second later, Holland heard through the hacked communications, "All units be advised, Forward CP reports airborne units. Possible KLF contact. Specs unknown. Probably black market. Terminate with extreme prejudice."

Holland gave his main tactical display a quick glance. It showed a bulky red KLF had sprung out from the rebel's main building and was swooping around in an ascending spiral, headed for the last remaining black Monsoono. Just by the way it was maneuvering, shifting its heavy on its board and maintaining a steady rate of climb despite the close diameter of its spiral, Holland cold tell this guy knew what he was doing.

It also didn't help that he could see a huge shoulder-mounted cannon with likely enough power to punch through any of their LFOs' armor.

"Talho, can you get me some ID on the KLF?" Holland asked over the radio. "I'd like to know what we are up against."

"Negative," her reply came immediately. "Woz already ran it through the database. Local DJ guy is right. It's probably black market specs. That could be good. Black marketers are not known for their quality."

"Or it could be very, very bad," Holland grumbled. This was just like when he'd gone up against TheEnd. He could only hope this time it would end better and not with him getting shot down in hostile territory.

"Leader," he heard Matthew's call, "are you checking your monitor."

"Affirmative."

"This guy is good," Matthew said unnecessarily.

"Yeah, I see that," Holland replied. "Your ability to spot the obvious is amazing."

"I'm just saying, looks we are in for a fi—"

And just like that, the last Monsoono disappeared in a bright explosion and fiery cloud that filled up Holland's monitor. He had killed enough KLF pilots himself to not feel remorse for another life lost, but the seeming ease with which it had happened was unsettling.

"Give me a guess," he called over the open channel, "what do you think the effective range of that gun is?"

"A kilometer, maybe," that from Talho. "But it's still ballistic by the looks of it, meaning he has to hit you with it on a straight line. A barrel that large indicates an extremely high muzzle velocity, which also means you'll be dead before you know you've been hit. On the other hand, minimum range is probably around 20 meters."

Holland nodded, understanding. "Meaning we have to get in close. Fast." He gripped his control sticks more tightly, cursing that he didn't have the 303 or the Nirvash at his side. "Alright, I'm going in on point. Matthew, I want you to circle above and give me Intel."

Matthew didn't wait to protest. "Leader, there's two of us and one of him. Don't you think we should tag team him?"

"Not with a turning radius like that. The 606 won't be able to keep up. I want you to watch my back."

"Leader, you don't have to prove anything."

"Holland, don't be stupid," Talho said over the comm.

Ignoring the cries of his comrades, his adopted family, and the woman he loved, Holland threw the 808 in a barrel roll and, firing his boosters, dove towards the enemy KLF.

The ground rushed towards him, the acceleration pushing him into his seat with incredible force. Bellow him the enemy was still moving in circles, coming up to meet him.

Holland dropped his gun sight on him, a green circle falling on the red KLF and flashing, then turning red. The KLF immediately moved out of the way, like he knew his life was being threatened. Obviously his sensors were top-notch.

Holland pulled out his dive and into a spiral, the distance between him and his prey having close to a few hundred yards. The KLF swooped a wide arch around him. Holland fired his boosters again, trying to get in behind him.

The enemy pilot turned hard left, exiting the loop and heading the other way. Holland followed.

Two streaks of green, like lines of paint on a canvas, flowed across the sky and a hundred bright flashes of gunfire dotted the landscape bellow them as the battled raged on the air and on the ground.

"Those are definitely more than black market specs," Talho said in his ears. "Be careful."

Deep black gorges streaked underneath him as he made a wide circle a hundred yards behind his prey. Holland fired the 808's dual laser cannon with a high-pitched whine as the air around the short twin muzzles became superheated. The red KLF jerked left, then right, avoiding his lock, the zoomed back.

Holland pulled hard on his controls, almost turning his board sideways as he turned. As soon as Holland realized that he was over flying the building that was at the center of the assault, his console, which normally displayed communication, targeting, and navigation information began screeching a warning.

The 808 was being targeted.

Before he could react, the intermittent beeping that indicated a possibly enemy lock turned in a single, solid beep. A target lock warning.

Holland cursed, looking up through his canopy to see the enemy KLF was now spiraling above him, lining him up as he tried to break away from the ground lock. A long stream of glowing fire, poured out of the KLF's gun, dozens of rounds in a few short seconds, stubby cylindrical shell casing expelled from the things shoulders just as fast.

Evading quickly, the incoming shells streaked past to Holland's right, carving out a path on the battlefield bellow him, kicking up dust and debris.

"Leader!"

Matthew's warning came as soon the 808's console went red, indicating a missile had been launched in his direction. Holland did a barrel roll and looked bellowing him, spotting the smoking trail of the AAM headed his way. He ignited his boosters, but the missile turned impossibly sharp and followed him, painting a white line across the sky.

Above him the KLF lined him up again. Holland cursed.

And then the looming shape of the 606 eclipsed the morning sun. Holland saw it from less a split second as it just seemed to hang there, then came to a screeching halt, performed a rattling cut-back drop and dove straight down.

Right between the incoming AAM and the 808's rear quarters.

The missile lock warning vanished as the small radar on the tip of the AAM picked up the closer 606 as it interrupted its trajectory and veered off into Matthew's tail, away from Holland.

"Dammit," Holland yelled into him microphone. "I told you—"

"You'd have to be really stupid if you really thought we'd obey such an order," Hilda replied, as Matthew was obviously too busy maneuvering the 606 to do so himself. "This is not up to you alone. We won't let you kill yourself because you feel responsible."

Holland grimaced in anger. "That's not it! I can't—"

"We'll keep the AA fire away from you," Hilda cut him off. "Now go get the bastard."

"Fine," Holland growled. "Don't blame me if you get hurt."

Realizing the pointlessness of making an argument in this dangerous situation Holland simply nodded and fired up his boosters, rising to meet the heavy rapid fire of the enemy KLF's big gun, dodging left and right, cutting the air with his board, leaving exited glowing-green trapars in his wake and firing his own cannons in return.

Bellow him, the 606 fired its counter-measures and juked out of the way.


Children were crying, their voices rising over the hushed crowd of civilians. The battle outside had been raging furiously for what seemed like hours though it had probably only been minutes. Dominic was sitting by Anemone's side, gently stroking Gulliver's fur. He tried not to pay attention to the fearful faces of their fellow hostages as they huddled together nearby.

It would be other soon. Holland would see to that. Dominic had to admit that he wasn't quite as worried as he had been before.

Anemone didn't seem to care when he told her. Even the battle didn't seem to have any effect on her. She had not moved from her spot.

She must have gotten used to it, Dominic thought, going into combat all those times and being in danger.

However, as true as that was, something was definitely wrong with her. Dominic didn't want to question her on what was wrong, but he wished she would just tell him. Anemone had a right to be mad at him, he realized. He had failed to get them out of this as he'd promised.

Magdy was now dutifully minding the radio, though she wasn't issuing orders or doing anything, just listening, her expression glum, hands pressing the bulky earphones firmly against her head. Their guard was looking up concerned at the blue sky through the open ceiling, watching the streaks of white and green and blossoming explosions above.

"If you really want to die that much, why don't you go join them?"

Anemone's voice was sharp as always, chastising almost.

The guard turned his eyes towards her at the same time as Dominic, as well as several of the hostages.

"Orders," the young man replied. "Not that I expect that means anything to a brat like you."

Anemone scoffed. For the first time that morning she got up, the ruffled skirt of her white sundress falling down around her knees. She stepped over to the guard before Dominic could prevent her from doing so, not afraid of his weapon.

Dominic scooped up Gulliver and went to stand by her side.

"I don't think your orders are the problem," Anemone said, ignoring Dominic's warning look. "Why would you be the only one felt behind while all your comrades go out to fight?"

"Simon thinks I'm too young," the man replied to Dominic's surprised.

"Please," Anemone laughed shortly. "He thinks you are a coward."

The man frowned gravely. "Don't call me that."

"I called you that before. It didn't seem to bother you then." Anemone clasped her hands behind her back then started twisting the toes of her right foot the ground like she was amused and not at all interested by his protest.

"It's different now … my friends are dying outside." The man seemed about to raise his rifle but thought better of it. Anemone was barely half his weight at best, and as far as he knew just a spoiled young girl in a bad mood. No threat at all.

"Then why don't you join them?" She insisted. "Why don't you help them? It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission, right?"

"I need to obey my orders," the man said with slight hesitation. "It's not about permission. It's about trust. Simon trusts me enough to guard you. So that's my job."

Anemone grinned broadly. "Or maybe you are a coward," she said coldly. "Maybe you know I'm right, and would rather be safe here than out there. Maybe the reason you haven't gone outside is because you know that."

"Shut up!" The man gritted his teeth. "This has nothing to do with bravery! Simon knows I'm brave. He told me to stay because I'm too young."

"You're an idiot." Anemone stepped forward, sticking out her nose at him in a gesture of condescension, her posture teasing. "Simon thinks you are coward too. That is obvious. You know it. I know it. All your comrades know it."

Dominic sighed. He couldn't see what could Anemone possibly want by taunting the man like this. She was just looking for trouble, or perhaps sensing his nervousness at the uncertain fate of his comrades fighting on his behalf. But there was nothing to be gained with this. He reached out and grasped her arm.

"Come on, Anemone," Dominic said.

As soon as he'd uttered the name a flash of recognition crossed the guard's clear eyes as he turned them to meet his. "What did you call her?"

Before Dominic could even think of how badly he'd just screwed up in revealing Anemone's name, the lithe pink-haired girl wriggled out of his grasp.

In a blur of lightning fast movement, she placed one hand around the barrel of the distracted man's rifle and another where the stock met the rest of the frame and using his grip as a fulcrum point swung the weapon up in a violent arc.

The riffle butt smashed into the man's lower jaw with a sickening crunch. His head snapped back. He toppled to the ground in a heap.

"ANEMONE!" Dominic screamed.

She was grinning widely as she towered over the fallen young man, who was now clutching his broken jaw, her eyes narrowed, purple eyes aflame with anger and barely suppressed vile. "Pathetic," she sneered. "Just pathetic."

And she lifted her foot, and still smiling, stomped on the man's head hard, viciously, again and again.

Dominic stood there in shock, sickened by the sound of Anemone's heel impacting flesh and bone as she kicked and stomped as if she had gone completely out of her mind with rage. Gulliver slipped out of his arms unnoticed.

Blood covered the man's face, pouring into the ground. He wasn't moving anymore.

Anemone didn't care. She kept kicking. She kept smiling.

Dominic couldn't take it anymore. Stepping up, he once again grasped her arm. "Anemone, stop."

She whirled around as soon as his fingers closed around her upper arm, and punched him in the face.

Dominic stumbled backwards and fell, holding his bleeding nose, staring disbelieving at the love of his life. And she stared back, her beautiful eyes bristling and shaking as if struggling to understand what she had just done.

Her mouth twisted.

She started to laugh.

That laugh … Dominic had heard it before. When she was strapped to TheEnd, high on the drugs that made her a remorseless killing machine. When she tore through whatever was on her path exactly as she had been intended to do. When she became anything except for a human being.

"A … Anemone …" he stuttered, a tight clamp of fear squeezing his heart.

Anemone just laughed … and then she clutched her head in her hands and fell to her knees, and the laughter became screaming.

Dominic sprang to her side at once, placing his hands soothingly on her bare shoulders, not caring in the slightest if she would punch him again. All his pain had been forgotten.

"Anemone, please," he begged urgently, "tell me what's wrong."

But she didn't even seem to realize he was there. She just screamed, shaking her head violently, tears running down her face.

"Anemone!" Dominic shook her desperately.

"HELP ME!" Anemone screamed, her voice hoarse. "DOMINIC!"

"How?" Dominic asked, barely able to keep his own tears at bay. "HOW? What's wrong? What can I do? Please!"

"I … I …" Anemone raised her head, her incredible eyes staring at him fearfully. Her face twisted into a snarl, shoulders now shaking as if his very touch was causing her pain. She held his gaze as long as she could. A thin line of blood ran from her nose. "I'm sorry, Dominic."

Her eyes rolling back, she went limp in his arms. Her screaming stopped and there was only the echoing noise on battle and the cries of children.

"ANEMONE!" Dominic shook her again to no avail.

A cold chill ran up his spine, a spike of fear and uncertainty. He didn't know what to do—he didn't know what to think. Even worse, he didn't know what he could possibly do to her Anemone, and that left a hurtful emptiness inside he hadn't felt since Warsaw.

Dominic wrapped his arms tightly around her and pulled her towards him. He held her head against his chest, his shirt becoming stained with her blood, Gulliver looking worriedly at them.

"Hey!"

Dominic looked up to find several of the hostages had approached them, angry looks on their faces.

"She's Dewey's brat," one of them declared. "I knew I recognized her from somewhere."

Not thinking about anything besides Anemone's safety, Dominic threw out a hand and picked up the guard's assault rifle, pointing towards his fellow hostages. Like Anemone and him, he knew they were innocents simply caught up in the events of the last day.

Under normal circumstances he wouldn't have thought himself capable of shooting them. But now, with Anemone unconscious on his lap …

Even if it made him a murderer, he would protect her.

"Stay back!" he shouted. "I will shoot you! Trust me, I would do worse to protect this girl!"

They stepped closer.

"Are you kidding?" another hostage asked disbelievingly. "Don't you know who she is? She has to pay for what she did!"

"I lost my wife because of her!" said another.

Sadness and regret were heaving things to bear, but Dominic's concern for Anemone gave him strength. He checked the rifle quickly—the safety was off. "Don't make me kill—"

And then, with the groaning roar of collapsing metal, the roof came crashing down. The screaming--this time from dozens of voices--resumed.


Holland shook his head to clear it, looking out of the 808's shattered canopy, groaning in pain. He removed his headset, fighting the dull sense of vertigo that made everything around him spin suddenly. It wasn't as bad as he had expected, but not as smooth as he had hoped for either.

Once the red KLF had managed to get a hold of him, he had made his decision. There was nothing for it. This was what he'd planned from the beginning--sort of. He hadn't counted having to smash his way through another KLF.

The 808 was now laying crumpled on top of the enemy, pinning it down among collapsed beams of metal, concrete and other debris. Only when he looked did he realized just how badly he'd missed the building's open roof, his intended entry point.

"Shit," he cursed.

A quick look at his control panel told him the 808 was still operational. However, in the confided interior space he was more likely to harm the hostages and Dominic and Anemone than help them. Hopefully, his entry would cause enough chaos to allow him the element of surprise.

He opened a side compartment and retrieved a small SMG and several clips of spare ammo. Loading it and checking the safety, Holland kicked the lever to the canopy and it popped open with a hiss.

Expecting an attack to come from anywhere, he climbed carefully out of the cockpit, scanning his surroundings with the machine gun. No attack came. He didn't even see any hostiles aside from the red KLF pinned under his 808.

There was only twisted rubble and …

Frightened people.

"What the hell?"

Nobody had said anything about civilians. There were only supposed to a few hostages, but not these many people. Not women and children and old men.

"Holland!"

Holland turned, recognizing the voice. "Dominic, who are these people? What's been—" he stopped suddenly.

Dominic was holding an unconscious Anemone in his arms, his face and shirt covered in blood, the girl's distinctive pink hair falling straight and curling at the tips just like he remembered.

"Anemone is hurt!" Dominic yelled urgently at the top of his lungs. "Help us!"


"She's sleeping now." Mischa moved back and rose to her feet, removing the needle from the syringe she'd used to inject the receptacle on Anemone's neck and turning to Dominic. "I won't know more until I've run a full set of tests. And even then … I hate to say it but I'd have to know more about her physiology."

Dominic nodded. He was sitting besides Anemone's peacefully sleeping form beneath the entrance to the building, his knees drawn up to his chest. Mischa had given the girl a sedative to keep her from waking up violently as she tried to do her best to evaluate her condition.

Around them the battlefield was covered in smoke and the stench of spent gunpowder and death. More than half of the rebels had been killed, but after Simon's KLF had been taken down behind their lines the battle had become useless and a good part of them had retreated into the nearby gorges. Holland's intervention had created general chaos all around. Even the local authorities had a hard time believing they'd won.

There was spent ammunition and materiel all over the place; the ground was gauged out by explosions and mines. The locals had lined up their dead and tended to their wounded while small detachments went around securing the field and pursuing the rebels.

The locals, clad in black body armor and helmets, were also rounding up the civilians and were in the process of taking them away, hopefully to take care of them. Dominic was much too worried about Anemone to be too concerned with their fate. They would be safer wherever they went, he was sure.

Dominic turned his tired gaze back to Anemone. Her face was relaxed, peaceful—the way she always looked when she slept, even if she was in pain. He had failed her … despite everything she had ended up getting hurt.

"Lieutenant?"

Dominic lifted his head, finding Mischa's concerned expression. "Yeah?"

"I'm going to need to know what happened to her before she passed out," she said. "Physically she's fine, as far as I can tell. But there's something else here. Is she on some kind of medication?"

"Not since before Dewey died." Dominic shook his head. "She doesn't even take aspirin. She hates needles."

Mischa nodded, looking again at Anemone. "If you don't mind, I'd like to take her on board the Gekko."

"That's a good idea," said Holland's voice from behind him.

Dominic, already knowing who it was, didn't turn.

Holland came to stand with Mischa; Hilda stood on the doctor's other side. Both of them had the same sullen look. "We'll use the 606 to fly her on board," Holland said. "It's a smooth ride. She'll be comfortable."

"It's my fault," Dominic said, not really listening in his guilt. "I was supposed to protect her."

Holland, Hilda, and Mischa looked at each other, none of them really sure of what to say. Finally, Holland sighed deeply, and said, "No … it's not your fault. No more that it's mine anyway."

"You don't understand …"

"I know how you feel," Holland said somberly. "I know you feel you let her down. But there's really nothing you could have done. Dominic, Mischa can take better care of her on the Gekko than in any hospital. She took care of Eureka. She can take care of Anemone, too."

Dominic sighed. "You don't understand … I was supposed to take care of her. I was supposed to be there for her. Whatever was wrong with her … she couldn't even bring herself to tell me. I would've done anything …"

"So you are just going to sit there and feel sorry for yourself?" Holland interrupted. "You are the one who doesn't understand." He looked around to Mischa and then to Hilda.

Hilda stepped forward. "Dominic, every one of us—every member of Gekkostate—is ready to become Anemone's family. Your family." She offered him a hand. "Lets go. Matthew is waiting for you."

Despite his reluctance, Dominic could not deny the honesty in her voice. He looked questioningly at Holland.

The shaggy haired Ace shook his head. "I'm not good with emotional stuff, but she's right. We all feel that way."

Dominic nodded, fully understanding what they were offering. Rolling onto his knees on the harsh ground, he leaned over Anemone and kissed her gently on the forehead, conscious that they were all watching him, and whispered, "I'll be with you all the way. Forever."

Then he took Hilda's offered hand. Within a minute, Gekkostate had brought a stretcher out of the 606 and carefully laid Anemone lithe, limp form on it, paying special attention to her lolling head. Working as a team, Hilda and Holland carried the stretcher to the waiting LFO parked besides the battered and beat-up 808.

As they walked Dominic noticed the locals were using a crane to lift Simon's downed KLF. "What's going to happen to Simon?"

Holland shrugged gently. "They'll question him," he said. "After that, who knows? Jail if he's lucky. He's a terrorist, so they say. That means they'll probably execute him."

"In other words," Hilda said grimly, "he's just like we used to be. Somehow it doesn't seem fair."

Dominic looked quietly at Anemone on the stretcher, guilt threatening to get the better of him as her peaceful breathing caused her chest to rise and fall lightly, her hands clutched into fists, her lips parted almost like she wanted him to kiss her again in her sleep.

"It's never fair."


To be continued…

Notes and references: Um, "Black Friday Rule" is from a song by Flogging Molly. I ended this a little before I originally intended to because it's just been long between updates and I realize I have responsibility to publish this as soon as I can. I also thought it would be more suspenseful this way without knowing what exactly is happened to Anemone and such. I hope not to take so long with chapter 3.

Oh, and in case you haven't figured it out, Ravensbruck was a concentration camp during WW2. Foreboding, I know.