1995

The days slid by unnoticed as I lay in the dark, with mud packed around my torn limb, the corpse of the dead gibbler still strewn across my middle.

It was a solitary figure who appeared out of the dark, tall, lean body outlined by the dim light of his Styx lantern. I whispered my brother's name.

The figure dragged the gibbler carcass away and knelt down to check my pulse. I caught sight of an older face, the jagged S-shaped scar glowing white in the light of his lantern. It most certainly was not my brother.

No, I thought. Anyone but him!

But I couldn't move, and I couldn't resist as he held his canteen to my lips. I coughed as the water flowed over my cracked lips, and I held it in my mouth for several moments before swallowing and taking another sip. The General quickly moved on to my ruined arm and, after unearthing it, began cleaning the wound and dressing it with field bandages. Then he slipped his arms under me and very capably lifted me from the mud. With both of our guns and packs borne on his shoulders, he started the long trek back through the Deeps to the nearest Limiter outpost.

Because of the nearly perfect correspondence of my cells to the General's, they were able to greatly reduce the scars by grafting his flesh (grown in the Laboratories from cloned cells) over the top of my torn arm. I winced in disgust as my brother sat beside my recovery bed and talked me through the details. I didn't want to hear that I had just become that much more like him.

"You're lucky it happened a mere few days before your scheduled check-in," He murmured.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, how very lucky."

"After a week had passed, he started to get worried. Like it or not, he saved your life."

"He was protecting his insurance policy," I growled. "Nothing more."

I noticed my brother's expression, and I sat up.

"You want me to prove it?" I demanded. "He hasn't shown his face, has he? Not since he marched out of the Deeps, a bloody hero, with my mangled body in his arms. He doesn't care, not so long as I'm still breathing!"

"That's not true-"

"And yet you're the one in here dabbing towels on my feverish face," I interrupted him.

He looked down at his hands, then he finally glanced back up at me and slipped his hand under my chin. "Of course I am, darling." He leaned forward and gently touched his lips to mine. "You should know, pet, that I'll always be here. The first one in, and the last one out."

"I'm not going to implicate someone else for an incident that happened on my watch. It was my fault," I insisted. "First thing we learn in the Citadel, as commander, everything that happens under your command is your fault. I learned that lesson."

My brother grimaced, and for a moment he bowed his head and I could tell we were both thinking of our late Limiter guardian. Finally, he shook his head. "I know you. He knows you. And he isn't going to believe that story."

I knew fully well 'he' was on the other side of the blackened glass on the wall, listening to our conversation.

"So why don't you tell me the truth?"

I took a deep breath. "It was the young one who'd only received his billet in recent months. I saw the gibbler coming a mile off, didn't want to spook it for risk of inciting a pack frenzy. It got a little too curious, and the young one got touchy. Fired off a shot, and the beast came hurtling into our patrol like a ghost from hell. It shredded *#$^*," I said, and I trailed off as I thought of my veteran friend. "I tried to regain control when the young one panicked and let out another shot. Hit me in the gut. I was on the ground, listening as the other three were torn to pieces. Then the gibbler turned back to me. My one arm was useless, but I managed to get my knife from my belt. Stabbed it in the bundle on its forehead, and it fell across me and died. I was trapped for days."