"Main targets are moving toward the northern border. Do not, repeat, do not, pursue. Armoured support is approaching from the south. Hold until their arrival. Orders are to capture if possible, but only if there's a clear opportunity," shouted a woman's voice. Distinguishing her words was next to impossible through the sound of gunfire.
The soldiers surrounding Gail, a mix of heavily armoured TRAT professionals and regular city guards pulled in for support, had surrounded a group of militants responsible for assaulting an industrial train line a mere hour before. The majority of their force had pulled out after using explosives to damage the station beyond any hope of repair, but a significant minority had been trapped inside by the flames and smoke long enough for the military to arrive. It was the second major attack on military infrastructure in the last day and every available soldier had been brought in to, if not to directly respond to the attacks, than to aid in a futile attempt to maintain order throughout the rest of the city.
Within a month the unrest in the city had ignited into an internal conflict too widespread to track. Worse, as General Hereson had privately said before asking Gail to deal with it, the various groups responsible for this damage were uniting. Anton Royce's rebels were the largest and most well-equipped group, but the Borginian funded militants that had caused so much public anger had switched tactics entirely within the last week, cooperating fully with Kesler and her men. Similar, if less severe, situations were erupting through several major cities.
Gail's private opinion was that the city was all but lost. Despite Royce's treachery being an official secret, it was all but open knowledge among the public; worse, he was quickly gaining support. His attempts to track down Regina and her new allies had been ruined by Kesler's emergence. All their intelligence had shown that their targets were isolated and alone, but Gail knew they'd simply been outwitted by Royce yet again. Was Regina with Kesler? He hoped not, but couldn't ignore the possibility.
"Backup's here. It's time to move," the woman on his right said, pointing at a convoy of armoured vehicles approaching from the south. It was a mistake, he knew, and one that would only further agitate the populace.
The TRAT squad approached first using a tank as cover while Gail waited at the rear, his team prepared to gun down any insurgents who attempted to flee. The one advantage they did have was overwhelming force, as the men hidden in the train station quickly realised. The tank's heavy machine gun cut down half the enemy troops in moments, and the soldiers moved in and captured the remainder with little difficulty.
A cursory inspection from the exterior was enough to know the city's weapon manufacturers would be short on materials, right when they were most in demand. The corpses were gathered and lined up on the road for inspection, and the stench of burnt flesh and gore filled his nostrils. It made no difference. None of them were on his list, and they would be quickly replaced when word of Kesler's success spread around the city.
Looking at the sky he judged it to be late morning. He turned to the woman leading the TRAT forces, intending to put her in command and join the force hunting Kesler in the north. "Lieutenant, you're in charge. Have the corpses identified and report to western command tonight; I'll handle the rest then."
She nodded and removed her helmet, but a heavy earth tremor silenced them both. The distant sounds of yet another explosion followed, this one far larger than the first two, emerged from the western coastal districts.
"Never ends, does it?" she said with a grimace. Finally something he could agree with. She left his side and began shouting at the men to prepare a defensive position while they waited for new orders.
It came as a surprise, considering the situation, when it was his personal phone and not his wrist communicator that they used, though he was sure he'd be wanted elsewhere. He responded with a curt "Yes," and heard a melancholic young woman's voice. "Morrent's busy, he wants you back at the command centre. Like, now. Half the coast is in flames. We're not at war, are we?"
After their initial meeting he'd done what he could to improve Miranda Pretsin's life. It was, to Gail's mind, his fault for training the woman who'd ruined her life and failing to see her betrayal; the least he could do to atone was to take responsibility for her welfare. "Calm down. Tell him I'll be there in fifteen minutes," he replied, ignoring her question. Half the coast in flames, he wondered? Surely that was hyperbole. With a nod to the TRAT commander he returned to the convoy and began the journey to the command centre through the heavily guarded city streets.
The scale of the disaster on the coast only became apparent during the ascent to western command. The western sky was choked with thick black smoke pouring from an enormous fire. It was a target he'd believed safe, one of those critical pieces of infrastructure needed by any force that hoped to hold the city. The car slowed and he was greeted by two of General Hereson's guards at a rear entrance.
Reaching the general's office on the eighth floor took far too long for Gail's liking. The offices on the ground floor were busier than he'd ever seen them; every way to ascend the upper floors was busy, and every important door had been turned into a makeshift checkpoint.
He finally made it to the much quieter hall directly outside Hereson's office and heard someone running up behind him. He turned around and saw the general's personal assistant, Richard Morrent, make an abrupt stop a metre from him.
"Something wrong?" Gail asked, assuming the answer was yes. Morrent usually found himself extraordinarily busy during times of crisis.
"Before you go in you need to know," he started, "The train yard was just a diversion. The real target was the port fuel depot."
"I'm aware," he replied, slightly exasperated at hearing such underwhelming news.
"That's not the point," Richard replied, and now it was his turn to be frustrated. "Kesler escaped. She wasn't even there to begin with. It was all a setup, you realise? And we confirmed that Kosra's group bombed the northern barracks early this morning, so half the industrial area's burning and we don't even know who to blame. Rumour is a third group's responsible, and we do not need that right now."
"Do we have any leads at all?" Gail began, but Richard shook his head. "Sorry, but I'm not the one to ask. I need to head back to the sixth floor; they're filming an announcement. I sent Miranda to your old SORT team's rooms again. Considering her history I don't want her on the streets right now." He spun around and ran the other away as quickly as he arrived. Although Gail initially disliked the man for his relaxed approach to work, he was coming to appreciate that his dedication simply came in a different form. He was, after all, not a soldier.
A frowning receptionist waved him through without a word while she listened to someone else through an earpiece, scrawling notes furiously on a notepad. Gail paused in front of the door for a brief moment and pressed a hand into his shoulder. He recovered from the injury on Ibis Island quickly despite its severity, but it seemed there would always be a dull ache to remind him of that night. He welcomed the pain. It was a constant reminder of his failure and the work he'd left unfinished.
He found the general standing at his desk arguing with someone through the phone. Seeing Gail close the door behind him and approach he put the phone down without another word.
"This is not going to plan," Hereson said. His jaw was visibly clenched in frustration, but it wasn't as if Gail needed to be told that they were in trouble.
"We could publicly denounce Royce," Gail suggested.
"Oh, he'd love that, I'm sure. If you can't see how that would backfire then I need a new advisor."
Gail wasn't convinced. "Even if he managed to take the city he wouldn't have the strength to hold it. You both know that. If you let this continue we won't just look autocratic: we'll look incompetent."
"Speaking of incompetence, you've had a remarkable lack of success. Kesler escaped today, and I distinctly remember telling you what would happen if she wasn't killed. I suppose you're not to blame. They're far more organised than they should be. This is what happens when the traitor is the head of intelligence. Although, I used to be in that position, so I really ought to have seen it coming and had Anton sent off to the other side of the country years ago. Or I could've blown up his fleet instead of sending him into exile. Perhaps falsified crimes, something so foul nobody could defend him." Hereson continued in this fashion for some time.
And it was true. Though excusable, his limited success was a source of shame. He could only imagine how much harder that was to handle for Hereson as their leader. Was there a better way to approach the situation? He didn't know, and it was a worrying thought. It was easy to see the right path in hindsight.
"You did make an interesting observation, I'll admit," Hereson continued, falling back into his chair with little of the poise expected of men in his position. "He can agitate all he likes, he can even capture a city or two if he likes; all I need to do is fall back and assemble the entirety of the western armies and he's finished. Nobody wins." He threw his hands up as if to emphasise the futility of the plan.
"No, I refuse to believe a word of this revolutionary zeal. I've known the man for too long. He'll be willing to make a deal. Power, influence, command of the south or eastern districts: he can have it. Perhaps a leadership position in the civilian government? Or I'll cut a decade or two off the slow rise to general and that'll be the end of it."
"You can offer so much, sir?" Gail asked, genuinely surprised.
Hereson laughed. "Our only military threats are to the west after the success of our northern campaign. I may not command the entirety of our army, but certainly the majority of it. As for the rest, none of it is out of reach. We can both come out of this as winners. Another manufactured threat should serve to relieve this tension once it's done. Borginia is a likely target, given recent revelations. I'll need to pay them back for this insurrectionist rubbish. Not in my city, that'll be the message, and they'll remember this time."
He turned his head sharply and glared at the intelligence officer turned advisor. "You know central command is demanding answers? They might be figureheads, but without them to hold this country together it'd split apart, each man taking his share. So I played along with their suggestion, and you'll have to do the same."
Gail listened, observed, and was very careful not to make any personal judgments. That wasn't his place, and people failing to do exactly that was why he could look out the general's window and see an inferno devouring a once prosperous industrial district. It reinforced his certainty that anyone who could order such a thing in their own nation could not be allowed to escape unpunished.
"You. You will make the offer," the general said, a thoughtful stare overtaking his irritated air.
"Sir?"
"I'm sending you back to that island. You're going to meet with my old adversary Anton and you're going to work out an arrangement that satisfies both parties. Actually I've already arranged the meeting, but I hadn't considered sending you until now. He respected you, I remember."
Not enough to ever tell me what he was planning, Gail thought with some bitterness. He knew he'd go without complaint even if he privately would have preferred any assignment but that.
"When do I leave?"
"Let's see," he said thoughtfully. 'Well, you leave in three hours. There's not much you can do about the rebels now, even if I do appreciate that report you made. I've had to move my entire operation to this city because of this, you know. There's a ship waiting in the southern port. I had arranged a western exit, but…" he pointed out the window and shrugged.
"Detailed instructions are already in the ship. Anton has already agreed to this, but you can't give them the slightest excuse to think you're hostile. Oh, and if he's not responsive try to get Lieutenant Colonel Anders alone and offer her the exact same deal. If neither of them are even slightly interested we can assume they think they can win by force despite our superior numbers. This is your operation. I don't care what you need to say, but we need a ceasefire or we need more time. We're not the only sector dealing with this, but I was Royce's commander and they expect me to fix it. That'll be all for now."
He gave a stiff nod. Despite his best efforts the displeasure must have showed in his face, because Hereson frowned and had him stay a moment longer.
"There really is nobody else I could entrust this to, and you're not the one who has to explain today to the rest of the nation. Times like these, for all their misery and misfortunate, see men like yourself rise through the ranks faster in a month than you otherwise would have in a decade. We'll speak again when you return."
The descent from the general's office to the pristine parade ground facing the main stairway to the city passed in a blur. Gail's mind was fixed on the idea of returning to the place and confronting Anton Royce and his collection of traitors. Worse, he knew Rick was there. He knew they would meet. It was inevitable. He didn't know how he would react to seeing the man he'd trained and fought with for half a decade under those circumstances. His team, his training, his choices, and it'd come to this. Two dead, and the other two worse than dead. A failure rate of a hundred percent didn't say much for his ability.
"Is something wrong?" a quiet voice asked, and he realised his legs had taken him to the SORT rooms out of habit. Gail looked up and saw the door to his team's rooms was half open and a pale face was staring at him from the darkened room.
He shook his head. "I forgot these aren't my rooms anymore. Old habit."
She opened the door fully. "They're more yours than mine."
He muttered his thanks and entered. The small, shabby room was a complete mess. Filthy dishes filled the sink, the blinds were almost fully drawn, but he ignored that and collapsed onto the tattered old leather couch. The last memory he had of the place was barking orders at Rick and Regina on the day they'd first met Anton Royce. All she'd cared about, he remembered, was whether he was recovering from his injury or not. Had his inability to open up with them, even for a moment, contributed to their desertion? He tried to focus on the present. There was no use dwelling on painful memories.
"I know I already asked, but are you sure there's nothing wrong?" the young woman standing in the doorway asked, a look of mild concern on her face.
His instinct was to ignore her entirely. Unwanted memories of their last meeting here returned and he realised he was doing it again. Someone, for whatever reason, cared enough to ask how he was with good reason, and he treated it as an insult.
"I've been better," he managed to say against all instinct, his voice straining with the effort.
He was a failure. All evidence pointed to this. His SORT team was finished, half killed and half deserted. The most important mission of his life was left unfinished because he couldn't bring himself to tell Regina that Kirk wasn't the only objective. He'd failed to see Royce's betrayal despite knowing the man for over a decade. He'd failed Rick by leaving him to deal with his internal torments alone, blaming him for daring to hope that Royce's talk of revolution was true. He'd failed James Hereson by not finding a single one of the targets; the general's willingness to share the culpability was a source of even more shame. He'd failed the miserable young woman in front of him before they'd even met.
Worst of all, he'd completely and utterly failed Regina. He'd relied on her extraordinary talent for years. He took everything she had to give and more, and what did he give her in return? Nothing. Even knowing she was to be arrested, the most he could do was petition the general for a pardon, which he generously granted.
And even then he knew on some level it wasn't enough. That day at the funeral ceremony he'd found her alone and uncomfortable at an outdoor café. Even before he arrived it was obvious she desperately wanted to leave and all he could do was engage in the worst kind of small talk before leaving her to be arrested. He'd wanted to tell her. What he needed to say was obvious, but he was too weak to do it. All he had to do was say it. You're going to be taken in for questioning, but I've handled it. You don't need to worry, just cooperate and you won't be charged. But of course he didn't. What reason did she have to believe him? None. And yet she'd believed whichever opportunist confronted her at that hotel. Harper. That was the name, he was sure.
"You really don't look so good. Do I need to call the medics?" Miranda Pretsin asked, leaning in to look at his face. She seemed genuinely concerned and he hated it.
He shook his head again. "This place brings up its share of bad memories. I'll be leaving soon anyway." Slightly easier the second time. "Why's it so dark?"
"Sorry. I was asleep," she replied, a hint of discomfort catching his attention. The blinds opened slightly and the room filled with a dim light.
If how he felt was bad, she simply radiated misery. Her clothes hung loosely off her emaciated frame, she looked as if standing were difficult, and her expression showed a disturbing mix of lethargy and restlessness.
Yet another failure to add to the list, he thought, but that was pathetic. This was the present. "That question. What's your answer?"
She stared at him. "I'm no better or worse than ever."
He knew that answer all too well. "Do you need the medics?" he asked, though he found it difficult to say why that seemed appropriate.
"No," she said, jumping back to the far end of the room.
"Stand in the light," Gail said, restraining himself from making it an order. With a task to complete his muscles began to work once more and he rose to his feet. He pulled the blinds fully open; she looked absolutely terrible.
"There's nothing you can do, so just drop it. My father got himself killed trying to fix me, so don't think anything you've got to say's going to do it." The hatred in her voice was enough to force his own problems out of his mind. Even so, he knew enough to guess at her meaning. Her symptoms were consistent with psychological illness. Her father, despite a respectable career, died in poverty chasing a future free of financial concerns and a home on the coast for his family. Specialist care in Alvernia was extraordinarily expensive. He looked at the window and then back at her. Was this why?
"Look, I'm grateful for the help, but I want you to forget you saw me like this. I'm not going back to a hospital. Not this time."
Well, there was the way out he always wanted. It'd served him so well with Rick and Regina. They'd likely despised him for years. "No."
Miranda was saved from answering by the room's phone. "Yes, he's here," she said, masking every hint of emotion. "Right. I'll tell him."
She delicately set the receiver down. "You've got a boat to catch, apparently."
Ibis Island filled his thoughts and brought the taste of bile to the back of his throat. If he and Regina were to blame for this then how could Royce avoid judgement? All of this was caused by him and his ambition. How much suffering would it take before he was satisfied?
"Come with me," he said, and it emerged in a harsh whisper.
"Where?"
"I'm going to confront Anton Royce. You saw what happened today, and yesterday, and how many days before. This comes down to him."
"Why would you possibly think I could convince a revolutionary leader to stop murdering people?" The sheer absurdity of his request had distracted her, at the very least.
"I know him. What happened to your family is everything he despises about Alvernia, and look at what his methods achieved. Your father was on his staff for a decade. He needs to answer for what he's done. He needs to see what he's done." There was another reason, of course. If he left now it would admitting that he was too weak to change the parts of himself he was coming to despise. And if she killed herself, as was surely possible for anyone in her position…
She stared at his, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You know what? I don't see how that could be any worse than staying here."
Still, the decision was no easier. Not when they reached the port. Not when Alvernia's western shore vanished in the distance, and not when the scout ship arrived to inspect them well before they reached Ibis Island. He'd nearly called a medical team, but his life had been an unending series of poor decisions. What right did he have to ignore her own choices?
They were escorted to an exterior port on the eastern side of Ibis Island. Royce's fleet, which had grown to more than twice the size of the one he'd watched leave Merestan, was concentrated around the northern coast, but Gail remembered a cargo port on the south side that emerged in the lowest level of the facility. Signs of a brief but violent fight could be seen in several places. The research facility's second floor had been all but destroyed; the heliport and hangar were burned out, and large sections of the forest had been cleared.
"He's going to kill us," Miranda muttered, her eyes fixed on the heavily armed soldiers waiting at the port.
"He'll hear what I've got to say. After that I doubt we'll come to any harm. It's not how he works."
After a second, even more thorough, inspection of their transportation, Gail was greeted by a young man wearing a TRAT officer's uniform. "Well, we can't find anything that shouldn't be there. "Welcome to Ibis Island. I'm First Lieutenant Morton, tasked with escorting you during your short stay."
"No need. I've been here before."
The younger man smiled, clearly unconcerned. "Then I think we have a mutual friend." He glanced over at Miranda. "Nobody mentioned you were bringing a guest, but the Colonel said she's fine to enter." His charms were utterly wasted on her; to his credit he quickly realised the truth of this.
Despite the changing seasons Ibis Island remained warm and sunny, to the point where his thick clothes began to feel uncomfortable no sooner than they'd reached the main entrance. Walking past soldier after soldier, men and women who'd been his allies only a few short months ago, was difficult for Gail, but even worse for the woman he'd brought with him. Not for the first time he wondered if he was condemned to unending interpersonal failure.
"So, where first? I don't mean to be forward, but you know Rick, right? I can take you to see him first, if you'd-"Morton began to say, clearly imagining he was doing Gail a favour. He wasn't, and the older man cut him off to say so.
"I have nothing to say to him."
"He said you'd say that. Was worth a try, anyway," Morton replied with a shrug. "Thing is, the Colonel's waiting for you down below. We don't use floor B3 for much. Structural problems, lack of utility, you can guess, but we'll get to the meeting place, a security office on the generator floor, through that level. Should be nice and private."
His chatter was beginning to irritate them both. It was strange for him to see the facility in such different circumstances, though its new occupants were responding to the intrusion with a mix of curiosity and veiled hostility.
They used one of the two elevators, both now working, he observed, to descend to the lowest floor of the research facility.
"I've never seen anything like this," Miranda murmured as they entered a cavernous corridor. Borginian construction techniques were truly impressive, he had to admit.
"I said the same thing, you know," Morton said, a slight smirk showing on his face. "Compared to home, Borginia must be quite a place."
"We've been enemies with them for decades," Gail stated.
"Yeah, you're not wrong, but we're trying to change that. We've even got a Borginian Ambassador now. She was a prisoner captured in a raid, and now's she's an ally and a friend. Nice story, huh?"
He didn't dignify that with a response, and they remained silent until they reached the stairway to floor B2. Miranda stared curiously at their escort after that, though even Gail found his claim of alliance with Borginia difficult to ignore. They took a longer route than was necessary, likely to keep him away from the generator.
The thick steel plates acting as doors unsealed, sliding into the floor to give them access to the security station separating the Third Energy research laboratories from the rest of the facility. His eyes adjusted to the dim blue lighting. It did little to soothe his nerves.
"What is this?" Royce was absent, but he recognised the woman sitting on a row of consoles at the back.
"I told him you wouldn't want to speak to your old friend, but he just didn't listen," she said, looking at nobody in particular.
Was this deliberate? Royce had used Anders' cold indifference as a shield for years, and she was always just one step below him in rank. If she was here he would have to be close.
Morton waited at the door, evidently tasked with observing. Miranda stood at his side, one glance from the lieutenant colonel enough to keep her as far away as she could get.
"That you're here means James is worried," she stated, leaving no room for argument. "And it was a complete waste of time. Nothing he can offer will suffice."
"How arrogant. What is it you really want? He's willing to compromise but you'll tear your own nation in half because it's just not enough." Gail replied, not bothering to hide his disgust.
Anders nearly smiled. Not quite, but it was closer than usual. "Our nation deserves to be torn apart. The people agree with us, as I'm sure you must know by now. What do you offer? Nothing but poverty and an endless series of pointless wars. I never liked you, I'm afraid. So much stubbornness, and all for nothing of worth."
"And what have you achieved? You'll take a city, maybe two, maybe more. You'll kill thousands. And even if you survive the counterattack, which you won't, then what? You'll have turned a puppet state into a military dictatorship, and I don't care how benevolent you think you are."
"Legitimate concerns, no doubt. There will be a period of transition, but before that we'll maintain control for long enough to sweep the current leadership away." She leaned in, eyes shining with excitement. "That includes our pathetic shell of a civilian government."
"And you think you're the one to make it happen? We both know what you've done. How many people have you had killed, and how many of them deserved it? We both know what you've done."
"None of them deserved it. You think Borginia ever actually threatened us? What about the independent states to our north that just wouldn't cooperate? You were fortunate enough to avoid that one, I recall. The things we did to those people were indescribable. Remember, Gail, the government you're protecting is responsible for all of it, even if I was the one to make it happen. Oh, but how could we dare protest? That was the government's view, wasn't it? Just stay quiet and pretend it's not happening. It must be so easy to live without a spine."
The spite in her soft voice was one thing, but to be called spineless for making decisions that isolated him from everything he'd ever wanted? He rose to his feet, jaw clenched, tired of looking at her face and listening to her insults. Morton's hand edged toward the pistol on his hip, slowly and carefully, but he wasn't going to attack her.
"Enough," a much calmer voice said at the door, accompanied by a sharp gasp from the woman hiding behind Morton's armour.
Gail looked over his shoulder, but there was no need. He recognised the voice all too well. Anton Royce was standing in the doorway, obviously having listened to the entire conversation. He stepped into the room. Taller even than Gail, Royce's imposing figure had grown more gaunt since their last meeting. His pale eyes fixed themselves on Anders, who nodded a response to the message that stare was supposed to communicate.
"You'll have to forgive me for that, but she has a way of getting to people's true feelings, don't you think?" he said.
He didn't respond.
The Colonel stopped and looked in the shadows behind Dylan. "They said there was a woman with you, but I never thought," he said, voice trailing off at the sight of a stone-faced Miranda Pretsin. "I'm surprised you're here," he finally said. An obvious statement, perhaps, but if Royce knew what Gail suspected, that could easily have another meaning.
"I doubt it, but what difference does it make?" she replied. Her lack of fear or subservience attracted Anders' interest, which was rarely a good thing in his experience.
"You see?" she asked, addressing Gail. "The girl looks like a corpse and she's still got a spine. It's not so hard."
"Enough," Royce snapped, and his drastic change in tone silenced them all. So she'd finally crossed a line, and even Morton's jaw was clenched in anger. Was it so obvious?
"I know why you're here, but I can do nothing for you. Your father was not murdered on my orders." He turned back to Gail. "After all this time, do you actually believe I could order what happened to this girl's family? Father executed from behind, her mother's throat cut on the street, and for what?"
"No,' he said, "but you need to understand. You think she's alone? That you of all people would claim this moral high ground is absurd. Have you seen what you've done to your own country in the last month alone? Of course you haven't." He sneered at Anders. 'You think I'm spineless? You're the one masking your own ambitions because you can't bear to admit that you might just want more power than you've got. Everywhere you go, everything you do, you leave hundreds like her behind. Lives ruined, families shattered. You think being able to kill without remorse is enough to prove you're not a coward?"
And now it was her turn to restrain anger. He knew they could kill him, and he knew they wouldn't. Anton Royce stared, clearly debating something with himself.
"Sir," a quiet voice asked from the entrance, breaking the spell of silence. Morton was standing with Miranda, an uncomfortable look overtaking his professional blank stare. Gail saw why immediately. She was shaking lightly, eyes fixed on the wall behind both senior officers.
"Take her outside and call a doctor. Tell them to look in our personnel files under Pretsin; her father's file should be of use," Royce said, visibly troubled. Morton paused, glancing over at Gail. "Go on," he continued. "Gail is a personal friend of mine and our guest."
"This is why he betrayed me, isn't it?" Royce asked when they'd left, his authoritative air vanishing. "I knew, of course, much like I knew the backgrounds of all my staff. Still, such an oversight... it may have been a mistake to bring her here."
Gail nodded. "He did it for his family. Good intentions ruined by poor methods."
"Don't you see this is what we're fighting for? A world in which a man doesn't have to betray his friends and colleagues to pay for his daughter's medical care?"
"As I said. Good intentions ruined by poor methods."
"Then tell me something else. Who did kill her parents? Hereson was my guess until they told me his secretary had been executed too. But they're blaming it on your friend, the one I made a lieutenant? Why would she have done that?"
Gail knew, or thought he knew, enough to answer. Would it be a betrayal? He was too tired to care, and he knew Royce was more likely to solve this mystery than he was.
"I investigated this for the general. We came to the conclusion, based on evidence left behind by John Pretsin, that Edward Kirk survived the foundry demolition. He connected several officers to the man. You were one, as was your personal assistant. Regina was another. Kesler was another. None of those names were unusual. The last, Frank Harper, was sent here with the first wave. That name is my only lead."
Anders ran a hand over her face. "And here I thought he'd simply deserted, as he always threatened he would."
Royce sighed. "I warned you. Efficiency, capability, intelligence: it all means nothing if a man is unstable."
"You know nothing about it," she shot back. "Still, that puts Kesler's news in a different light." She looked directly at Gail. "Your friend Regina was with him. This week."
He understood her implication. "So the fuel depot was their work?" It pained him to even think it.
Anders nodded and stood up, head turned to conceal her amusement.
"When he contacted my forces I offered him the chance to prove his commitment. His choice of the depot sent a clear message: whoever holds the city will find their occupation much more difficult without it. Hereson, us, anyone."
"Leave this to me," Anders stated, turning back to face them. "I'm to blame for not having him dealt with a long time ago."
"You understand what this means?" Gail said, realising this problem affected them both even if they were enemies. "We went to all the trouble of finding Kirk only to lose him to… to what?"
"Warning: fuel leak detected on floor B3. Evacuate immediately. Repeat, fuel leak detected on floor B3. Evacuate immediately" Gail immediately recognised the metallic female voice as that of the facility's automated security system.
"What? We spent weeks dismantling that ruined generator, this shouldn't be happening," Royce said, his fist curling from frustration.
Gail watched the security screens for input, but they were only limited to the second underground floor. He tried to change that until he felt the barrel of a pistol pressed to his stomach.
"So, you kept us talking for long enough to do what, Gail?" Anders whispered in his ear, her soft voice filled with eagerness. "Perhaps you're working with Harper? No, he'd have killed you. You're too stubborn for someone like him to manipulate, you see. Tell me now and you-"
"I said enough," Royce said, crossing the room within a second and pulling the two of them apart as if they were made of paper. For the briefest second Gail saw a flash of something like disgust on the Colonel's face. Anders held the pistol at her side, the look in her eyes enough to tell him she likely hadn't even believed he was the cause of the leak.
"Warning: sealing elevator access to floor B3. Contamination origin: main generator. All remaining personnel, evacuate immediately"
The doors burst open and she held the pistol at the procession of people who stormed in for a second before lowering it. Morton was back, as was Miranda and a woman in a medic's uniform. Another woman with dark hair and foreign features waited at the back with… well, he couldn't say he was surprised. At the sight of each other he and Rick stopped, both unable to speak or move, before the younger man shook his head and saluted.
"Well, what's the situation?" the Colonel asked, looking at Rick for answers.
"I'm unsure, sir," Rick said. The technical expert was having an incredibly difficult time keeping his gaze away from Gail, and it seemed as if everyone in the room knew it. "Floor B3 was unstaffed except for two guards at the port. Neither have evacuated."
"So get the hazmat teams down there before this gets any worse."
"That's not it, sir. Shortly after arriving here I updated the security systems to report when certain areas of the facility were accessed." The Borginian woman put a laptop on the desk and opened it. A map of the entire facility was shown, with every door opening logged. Royce watched for a moment until the door from the generator room to the control area was logged as unsealed.
"A fuel leak would kill anyone in that area, but someone's down there," Rick pointed out. As difficult as it was, Gail felt a distinct amount of pride that at least someone he'd trained had found a place for himself.
"We can't bring in support from the upper levels,' Anders pointed out. "I'll handle this personally, sir." The door to the backup generator was opened, and Rick's program blasted a sharp alert when the door to the weapons storage was opened.
Royce looked at them. "It seems we have no choice. I'll coordinate our security above from here; this may be more than a mere intrusion. Morton, Rick, and Weaver: you're with her. I'll send the B2 guards after you. Take every precaution. Ms Pretsin, you'll stay with me. We'll keep you safe, you have my word." She sank down against the wall by the door, but seemed undisturbed by his words.
"I'd like to go with them," Gail said. If not Borginia, the only person who knew what was hidden down there was… but Kirk would never risk capture. Not like this. Could she be there?
"I can't afford to refuse. You know why as well as I do, Gail. No weapons, just observation."
It felt better than he'd ever imagined, running down those cavernous halls once more. To have purpose, and a goal, and something to hunt down and attack. They descended the stairs and used the transport passages at the rear to bypass the generator and its supposed fuel leak. It was a critical design flaw, they all realised, to not include a stair from the ground floor to the lowest level.
"Orders, sir?" asked Morton as they approached the thick steel shutter outside the weapons storage area.
"Approach with caution. Any sign of a fuel leak and you fall back immediately. Priority is the special weapons storage. Capture or kill, I'll leave that to you. Move out," Anders ordered, her soft tone replaced by the harsh voice of an experienced commander.
"Lieutenant Colonel," Rick said, attracting her attention with a portable screen. "We're cut off from the upper floors. All elevators disabled." She grimaced at the news but remained silent.
Rick approached the shutter's control panel, the same woman following every move he made. Both of them had pistols, and as he pulled the activation lever they made full eye contact for the first time. The shutter on the opposite side was rolling down and two men sprinted through, narrowly avoiding a burst of shots from Anders and Morton. One was carrying a thick black case.
Gail sprinted through the opening first and took cover behind the same ruined truck he'd seen on his first visit, but the rest of them were determined to follow before the shutter sealed their targets on the other side.
Without the time to make a full assessment he rolled under the shutter moments before it closed. As expected the controls had been sabotaged. "Take them out," Anders shouted as one of the men slipped into the control room. She seized the rifle from Morton's back and fired at the other one, catching his upper thigh and forcing him to leap to safety. Again, the door sealed behind them.
"Hold on," Rick shouted, running up to an access panel on its side. Within moments their path was clear, as he knew was inevitable. He stayed at the back, feeling all but naked without a weapon. There was something else, a warning in the back of his mind, that pursing armed targets in this manner was incredibly dangerous.
Morton cleared the small control room, but they'd already left for the cavernous hall on the other side, as proved by the trail of blood from the wounded man's leg.
He pulled Rick aside by the shoulder. It was so much easier to speak when working. "Rick, you saw that case?"
The younger man nodded, his expression grim. "It's got to be the Stabilizer. We're going to have to work together, even if this is the last time."
They entered the cargo hall beyond with all precautions taken, but it made no difference. A veritable mountain of broken parts and sheet metal, the remains of the facility's main generator, had turned the warehouse into a maze. They'd no sooner seen the trail of blood leading into one section than four men ambushed them, each from a different direction. It was a skilful manoeuvre, one that he would've been impressed to observe from an experienced operative. Morton was the only one to respond in time, firing a burst to his right. A single return shot tore through his upper body and the man fell to the floor gasping for breath, hands held to a spot below his left shoulder.
It was over within ten seconds. He even counted to be sure. They were all disarmed and thrown to the floor. Their captors worth facemasks to cover their mouths and each wore a distinctive grey jacket. There was something to be said, he thought, for the fact that after all his struggles to remain true to the rightful authorities he was still going to die fighting with Anton Royce and his forces.
The silence was broken by a mocking clap from the man standing in front. One of his comrades in the back fell to his knees, blood seeping from a bullet wound in his thigh. "I was expecting this to be a gunfight, if you must know. That you actually fell for it? Absolutely pitiful." His voice was seething with undisguised contempt.
Anders rose to her feet, undisturbed by the submachine gun aimed at her chest. Gail did the same, unafraid to die. The lone woman in their captor's force pulled their weapons away with her boot and the wounded man threw them toward the broken cargo elevator's entry shutter. The black case lay by the back wall.
"There's no need to hide yourself from me. Not anymore." Anders took a step closer and the leader raised his pistol, a slight movement away from ending half their rebellion's leadership. The woman in grey visibly scowled at her presence.
His grey eyes looked between them. Rick and his Borginian friend, Morton as he slowly bled out on the floor, the lieutenant colonel, and Gail himself, before he shrugged.
"How could I refuse an opportunity as promising as this?" his left hand reached up and removed the mask, revealing a harsh face that Gail had seen only in print. The spite communicated by his slight smirk was highlighted by the intensity of his stare, fixed on the woman in front of him.
Both Rick and his companion gasped with shock and Harper looked over, as if he'd only just remembered them. "Well, I certainly didn't see this coming. Not only didn't you kill her, you actually befriended her?" He burst into laughter. "We've got more in common than you think, Rick." More laughter followed, as he were unable to believe his luck. Notably, Gail thought, two of his accomplices glanced at each other. Concern? Morton was coughing, a spreading pool of blood surrounding the young officer.
Harper finally stopped laughing and stared again at all of them. "I've already won, you know, and I'm not the type to say that lightly."
Anders snorted. "What have you won? The only thing you could ever do was destroy. People, lives, places."
The smirk was replaced by an expression filled with hate; Harper smashed the base of her jaw with his pistol, faltered a moment, and slammed his forehead into hers with a sharp crack. Anders spat out a broken tooth, her face smeared with blood, and he threw her to the floor. "If I ever have to hear you condescend to me again I'll cut out your tongue," he snarled, kicking her ribs with his boot to emphasise his words and the contempt in them.
Rick jumped to his feet in such a rage that he ignored the woman holding a submachine gun to his chest. "That's enough," he shouted, the indignation in his voice echoing throughout the hall.
Harper turned and stared. "It'll never be enough. If you knew what I did you'd cut her throat on the spot."
But Rick ignored that. He was too angry for debate, too disgusted for compromise. "What do you even want? Just take it and go. What have we done to you? Can't you see Dylan's going to die if you don't let us help him?" His voice was frantic, hands shaking.
"Of course he's going to die. Everyone I meet dies," Harper replied. All signs of the uncontrollable rage he'd shown while beating Anders had vanished behind his mask of a smile.
"Is that what happened to Regina?" Gail finally asked. He refused to sit there and listen a moment longer without knowing.
Harper slammed a boot into Anders' back when she tried to rise. "Oh, no, I didn't kill her. Why would I do that? We're such good friends, and friends don't just kill each other. " He was barely holding in more laughter.
"Then tell me. Why you? What do you want? What could you possibly have said to make her help you?" It was difficult not to lunge forward and snap his neck, even knowing he'd be killed instantly.
"Why not me? I was the first person to ever go out of my way to do something for her, you know. That means a great deal more than you ever realised, clearly. Leaving your friend and prodigy to be arrested? Beaten and tortured and raped and who knows what else they'd have done. You ought to get on your knees and thank me. Or perhaps she wasn't receptive to your charms, so you thought there was an easier way? But you're not that type, are you?" Harper sneered, his piercing grey eyes locked onto his adversary.
Gail was saved from a quick death at the hands of Harper's gunners by the heavy slam of a door. An older man in a suit was staring at them from the entrance to the backup generator. Upon realising his allies were in control he ran across at a slow pace, but was forced to the floor by a burst of gunfire from the far entrance.
In hindsight the moments that followed remained a blur to all involved. Gail distinctly remembered a TRAT soldier turning the corner only to be shot in the head. The three that followed took cover, gunning down the wounded insurgent instantly and entering a protracted firefight with the other three. He recalled seeing Weaver pull Rick to the floor, the two of them holding each other as each side traded shots overhead. Lieutenant Morton was beginning to slow, his movements weaker each minute. The sight of his blonde hair soaked in his own blood as he lay there helpless was particularly poignant.
Ultimately the pitiful reinforcements proved themselves a poor match for Harper's experienced professionals. The effectiveness of his team, limited as they were by numbers, showed they'd been working together for years.
When the shooting stopped only two fighters remained. Harper himself and the young woman in the grey jacket.
And yet instead of turning back to laugh at them, his first thoughts were the older man in the suit. He'd been shot in the arm before falling and their adversary almost seemed panicked. "It's done, you don't need to worry about me, you need to leave," he heard the older man murmur.
Anders stood up, one hand on her knee for leverage, the other holding a bloodstained piece of metal. If she was in any pain from Harper's assault it didn't show. His companion watched her with the submachine gun, growing visibly more anxious by the minute. "So Kosirim's here too?" she muttered, spitting out more blood.
She made eye contact, and for the first time without disdain or malice, before her gaze shifted to the gunner, and then to Harper. He glanced at Rick and saw him desperately trying to stop the bleeding from Morton's wound, his friend at his side the entire time.
Harper turned back, the tall man in the suit at his side with a firm hand wrapped around his injured arm. "That's our cue to leave. I wanted more time to play with you the way you did me, Anders, but this is going to have to do." He raised the pistol, a maniacal smirk on his face at the prospect of killing the woman, but it faltered, and the hand holding the pistol twitched as if uncertain. And Gail followed his gaze, and when he saw what he'd done he realised he was, in every way, an irredeemable failure of a man. The miserable woman he'd allowed to come with him was standing before them, the bodies of the TRAT soldiers on either side of her and her parents' murderer glaring at her with a pistol in his hand.
He turned back to Gail in a frenzy, his controlled facade showing itself for the mask it was. "You think this changes anything?" he shouted, eyes burning with hatred.
With his back turned even for a second Anders slammed the shard of metal into his back with as much force as her injured body could generate and pulled the pistol from his hands. His ally turned and fired, but her burst was redirected at the ground when she saw their proximity. The window of opportunity was less than a second and it was more than enough. Gail's fist hit her skull with a sickening crunch and she collapsed to the floor with a scream of pain. His second priority was the black case, which he seized and threw to Rick with a single motion.
"Still think I'm spineless?"
Anders turned back, the gun pressed to Harper's head and grinned at him. "That's for you to decide." Her dark blue uniform was stained with blood and her eyes were wild with exhilaration. Gail held the submachine gun to the injured woman's back, his hand on the trigger. They were all watching. Rick was leaning against the back wall, a hand shrouding his face from the outside world. Weaver stood at his side, her expression grim. And there she was. Miranda Pretsin was staring into Harper's eyes, and Gail lowered the gun again.
"You're the one, aren't you?" she said. No tears, no accusing tone, just curiosity.
"I am. I murdered your mother. I lured your father into a trap and shot him in the back of the head."
"Why?" Her voice cracked, but only barely.
He laughed again, without the slightest hint of humour. "Because they were in my way. If they didn't die we would have, and I couldn't allow that before our work is complete. It was a selfish choice, but it had to be done."
"That's enough, Harper," Gail said. His words echoed around the hall, silencing them both. Anders pressed the gun harder into the back of his head. Miranda shrank back, pressing herself against the wall.
"Oh, but it's not. You think I'm a monster? All it took was ten minutes and your precious Regina was right there with me. We killed them, just as much as you've killed me when this loathsome cunt finally puts the bullet in my head." He spat the words, but Anders showed no reaction to the insult.
"I don't believe it. Regina wouldn't do that," Rick said, almost in a whisper. The troubling thing was, Gail did believe it.
"Why? What do you think she exists for? A soldier, a scientist, a mother? At the end of the day, they're not so different, all meat. But you know what I like? She knows what she is and she hates it. She doesn't want to be a murderer, but what else could she be? I admire that more than you'll ever know."
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her she was going to be arrested. That she'd been abandoned. I said we had to stop Pretsin or we'd all die, and it was true. He was going to put a bullet in Kirk's head, and do you know how much effort it took to get him alone?"
Gail wanted to respond; Harper didn't give him an opportunity. "But she needed me, you understand? Someone who understood how it works and was willing to share. Someone who wasn't you. She didn't ever think you were on her side, you know? Knew you were in on Hereson's arrest plot all along. Even Kirk has more appeal than you. " He laughed, using his last opportunity to hit every weak spot he could. "Since I'm about to expire why not be honest? She wants nothing to do with you, or with Royce, or with Hereson. Only me. I fucked her too, did you know that? I know from experience, it feels great to wake up after a lifetime of lies. Perhaps she wanted to celebrate her freedom, what do you think?" It was too much. He had to be lying.
"You've said enough," Anders stated, pulling him aside. "Do you know, I thought pulling you – and you", she said, with a glance at Kosirim, "from the internment camps and putting your skills to better use was so generous, and look at the trouble you've caused."
She pushed him aside. "Evidently you'll have to be punished, and I'm not quite ready to kill you." She turned around and shot Kosirim in the leg. He fell to the floor and looked up at Harper with a tired smile. Only then did Gail see the small black box in his hand: far too late to prevent his thumb from flipping a small switch on its side. Anders looked back at Harper with a sneer and pulled the trigger again, firing a single shot through the old man's head.
Harper fell silent the moment his friend died. His grey eyes were fixed on the corpse; the slowly spreading pool of blood; the pieces of skull and brain littering the floor beneath him.
Gail was a veteran soldier; death was something he'd come to expect. Even so, what she'd done felt undeniably perverse. Executing a man not for his crimes, not because he was a danger, not even to further a plan: she did it because she knew it would make someone suffer.
"Not a bad response, if underwhelming," Anders said, deep in thought. "I expect we'll have to work on that. Was it fifteen years you'd known each other? Something of a father figure, I recall." Her hand shifted, aiming at the injured woman laying by Gail's boot, her long brown hair caked in blood from the impact. "Does this make you feel anything? A dear friend? You know pretending not to care won't make any difference, but still you insist on this act?" She sighed as if he were an utter disappointment.
The injured woman looked up at Anders, clearly terrified, and tried to crawl toward the corpse of one of her allies and the pistol by his side, but the lieutenant colonel shot her outstretched arm and looked back at Harper, ignoring the woman's scream entirely. His hands were shaking, but he refused to speak. "Still nothing? No pleading this time? Well, if that's-"
Gail saw Rick stand up and gestured at him to remain still. Even he couldn't watch any more. "What do you think you're doing, Anders? Kill him or take them as captives. This is beneath you." How could someone so sadistic ever hope to change the world for the better? Even his own hatred for the man was souring in the face of her brutality. Anders stared at him for a long moment. "You should know better than to interfere in the affairs of others by now, Gail."
Harper suddenly looked up. "Do you understand now?" He was staring directly at Gail as if the rest of them were utterly inconsequential. Gail met his stare but remained silent until the captive looked away. "We'll be parting ways now. I'm afraid there will be more orphans by the time this is done," Harper said in a much softer, almost apologetic tone. Gail looked back, but his grey eyes were fixed on Miranda Pretsin, leaning against the back wall with her head in her hands and a look of shock etched into her eyes.
He realised a second too late. "Get down," he shouted, falling to the floor as the entire building began to shake. The proximity of the blast replaced every noise with a sharp ringing in his ears, but they were all thrown to the ground by the violence of the blast. The lights flickered off and on before failing entirely, though he was sure he heard someone firing a pistol in the darkness.
By the time the shaking stopped it was over. They sat there in darkness for some time, unwilling to break the silence. They all knew he was gone.
After perhaps an hour the emergency lighting was restored, filling the hall with a dull red light that only served to highlight the butchery.
"He got away," Rick whispered. His eyes were filled with tears, his hands grasping the black case. Weaver's hand was on the dying lieutenant's chest, but there was nothing else they could do for him.
"Of course he ran. That's all he can ever do," Anders said, pushing Kosirim's corpse aside with her boot. Her blonde hair was loose and stained with blood, but her mannerisms were cold and polite once more.
Anton Royce was watching from the control room entrance. How much he'd seen Gail didn't know, and he didn't bother asking. He didn't want to know.
The woman he'd knocked to the floor had also vanished. Gail knew the facility too well; they'd have used the underground port, and his suspicions were confirmed he found the port guards dead at their posts and a log showing an allied cargo ship had left within the last hour. He took the opportunity to stare at the calm water and make sense of what he'd just witnessed, enjoying a rare hour entirely alone.
"Gail," a soft voice said from behind.
He turned to face the man as an equal. "I'm to blame. For you, and for her."
"Stubborn as ever, I see," Rick replied, attempting a smile and failing. "I joined Royce because I believe in what he's doing. You stayed behind for the same reason. We've got to have enough faith in Regina to say she must've done the same, right?"
"How could she ever choose him over us?" The question had come over him like a spell of paralysis. Even during Harper's taunts, all he could do was listen, the accusations repeating themselves over and over. He'd never had a personal enemy. Not one of the men he'd fought had done so out of personal malice. Harper's voice was like a weapon in itself, twisting inside his thoughts and drawing out every fear, every worry, and exposing them in the guise of truth.
"That's what we'll have to ask her. Regina's always made the right call in the past, and I don't know about you, but there was something else going on in there so I'm going to reserve judgement. I don't want to fight you, Gail, but we have to follow our ideals, and so does she. We're all at risk now."
He still knew what he ought to ask. "Your friend. The lieutenant. Did he..." he trailed off, leaving it unsaid.
Rick shook his head. "They're operating now, but I don't know. He lost a lot of blood even if the bullet didn't hit his lung."
"I'd tell you not to give up on him yet, but I know you too well." He nodded. "As for Regina, I'll have to trust you this time."
Rick smiled in earnest this time. The gratitude he felt for Gail's words showed in his eyes. "And I'll have to trust you. You're going back to Merestan first, right? So you've got the chance to find her before I do."
"Um, excuse me," a quiet woman said from the port's entrance. Miranda and Weaver were watching them from the entrance.
"I never should have brought you here. I apologise," he said, lowering his head in shame.
"I needed to meet him, and I did." Miranda said. "I... he wasn't what I expected him to be," she added in a near whisper. His first priority upon return would be her safety. The general owed him that much. Nobody who'd witnessed what she just had, least of all someone in her condition, could be left alone after their first exposure to violence on that level; even if their adversary hadn't threatened her, her appearance had certainly caused an erratic shift in his behaviour.
"Oh, Gail, this is Melissa Weaver. We tried to kill each other; now we're friends. And she's our Borginian Ambassador." He couldn't help but smile while saying it and Gail knew he was getting far too attached as usual. "Harper was there when we met," he added in a far less cheerful tone. "He saved me from her during the first attack, and I saved him. I never would have guessed he would do this."
Gail raised an eyebrow, but the ambassador wasn't interested. "Strange how these things turn out, isn't it? Still, before we start celebrating isn't this," she said, holding up the black case, "supposed to have something in it?" The case was entirely empty, hanging off her finger while she stared at them in utter confusion.
Nothing was said for a moment. Both of them had to process the enormity of the mistake they'd made and the unending sequence of potential consequences. After all the effort they put into that trap he'd been so sure that was their plan, but...
"If the Stabilizer's not in there…" Rick whispered, staring at Gail in the vain hope that the older man would have a solution.
He didn't. "He tricked us. Even if we'd killed him, he'd already sent the devices back to the ship."
"And does that mean what I think it means?"
"If it does, it's not going to matter how large an army you find. We're all finished."