January 12th, 1990

Ted heard as much as felt his jaw crack as he yawned over his breakfast. While it hadn't been a raucous evening, it had been a long one, and he had stayed up later than he had intended, mostly working alone on their strategy plans and finishing his latest reports for Headquarters so he could send them on before they potentially got cut off from home again. He tried not to think of them as stuck up here. They had gotten in, he was sure they could get out again if necessary, but there was something honorable and heroic about staying. Whatever the official word was, Ted would bet his uncle wanted to hold on to their good ties with Drachma if possible, and that meant putting the less-sadistic, less-murderous leadership back in power. No one wanted to go back to the days that had led up to—and during—the Drachman War. It occurred to him, that he had never asked the Drachmans what they called their invasion of his homeland. It had seemed inappropriate to ask, though he suspected Anika would be willing to tell him.

It hadn't come up last night, though having her working with him had certainly made the evening far more pleasant. She had been able to help include some useful strategic information of the area they had covered, for Fischer's use, and information that the Amestrian government might find useful in aiding civilians and avoiding conflict with the wrong people if they did have to send in more soldiers to back up Whitewater's unit.

Someday, maybe when this mess was all over, he really needed to ask Anika out on a date.

Movement drew his attention, and he tried not to smile too smugly as his cousin walked into the room, dressed for the day, but still in house-slippers, and her hair damp from the baths. "Sleep well?" he asked unobtrusively. He was dying to ask more—he had seen Alexei slipping out of her door in the wee hours of the morning—but it would have been beyond inappropriate to ask his cousin straight out about her romantic encounters with her fiancé. Curiosity was not worth rudeness.

Gloria looked at him, and after a moment the general sleepy expression turned mildly suspicious. "I did. Why are you smiling like that?"

"Oh, no reason."

Her face infused with pink. "I don't like what you're implying, Edward."

"I'm not implying anything," Ted assured her, though he decided it was best to be a little more straightforward, and back off a bit at the same time, if he could manage it. "I just happened to see a certain journalist coming out of a particular doorway this morning." He shrugged. "You can do what you want, Gloria. I'm not going to judge."

She looked like she wanted to hit him as she poured herself a glass of water and took fruit and a breakfast pastry. "I don't owe you any explanations, so you're not getting one." Then she sat down a few seats down, and began to eat.

Well that was… fair. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I shouldn't have asked. It's not my business." He looked back down at the Drachman newspaper on the table he had been slowly trying to work his way through. The staff had been kindly delivering any news that came into the city to the sitting rooms of all the different groups currently staying in the estate. It made it much easier to stay up on what was going on, as well as the spin the opposition was putting on it. Not that anything was coming in from outside the city by way of the roads, but radio and television were still sending enough out that the local paper was collecting it all and publishing anything they could even remotely verify. Ted was amused that almost anything attributed to Savahin was under the "editorial and opinions" section.

"Anything new or useful?" Gloria asked when she had finished her breakfast.

Ted shook his head regretfully. "Not really. It's pretty much repeating everything we already know, plus rumors of who is actually in control of which military bases, but it's less detailed than what we're getting from what remains of Drachman intelligence and Gurina's personal spy network, which don't seem to mind answering to Mihalov at all.

Family loyalty is apparently a useful thing, even here." He grinned at her across the table.

Gloria gave him a small smile back, but nodded briskly. "Then I'll look at it later. I've got a lot to get done this morning. See you later." She stood and was gone without another word of explanation.

Ted was contemplating a second cup of coffee when he heard Gloria speak indistinctly to someone in the hallway. A moment later, Alexei walked in, looking nearly as bleary and also freshly showered; notebook and camera in hand. He set them down at the end of the table and started filling his own plate. Unlike Gloria, he opted for black coffee, and hot cereal loaded with fruit, nuts, and honey. Then he sat down across from Ted. "Anything good?" he asked, looking at the newspaper first.

Ted was beginning to wonder if either of them thought about anything other than journalism and each other. Possibly not. He repeated what he had told Gloria earlier, which elicited a grunt and a nod from Alexei, as if that had been all he was expecting.

Alexei ate without conversation, and finished two cups of coffee before he stretched. Ted could hear his back popping all the way up, and tried not to wince. "You'd think with beds this nice it'd be easier not to get stiff."

"Didn't sleep well?" Ted asked, trying to sound casual.

Alexei chuckled and shrugged. "Nope, slept like house cat. Everything has been so busy lately and the schedule has been so weird I'm out as soon as I hit the pillow. I'm just used to a firmer mattress. These thick, fluffy things are too soft for my taste, honestly."

"After spending a week in a truck with five other people, I like them," Ted countered but he nodded. Alexei was taller and had bulkier muscle mass than Ted's leaner frame. The mattress probably didn't support him as well.

Alexei grinned. "Well, I can't complain about how spacious they are." He stretched again, then stood, collecting his equipment and supplies. "If you'll excuse me, I've got places to be and people to interview." With that, he was gone too.

Ted decided it was time to leave before Rex showed up. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what his fellow alchemist had been up to all night and Rex was not shy about over-sharing.

I requested this, Sara reminded herself as she tried willing her heart to relax, and her muscles to stop tensing up. Lying in her hospital bed, which was cranked up into a sitting position, she found herself facing the debriefing team she had requested which, lacking her last direct superior officer since Cal Fischer was in Drachma, consisted of General Anastas, head of Investigations, Tore Closson, as the highest ranking State Alchemist available—in Cal's stead—and the appropriate member of the Assembly with the right clearance. In this case, it was a middle-aged woman Sara had only met once or twice, by the name of Ruthe Cantaola. She seemed pleasant enough. When Sara had gone missing, Ruthe had been a junior member of the Assembly, only in her second term.

Behind them, in chairs along the wall, sat Franz and her father. It was a stretch even letting him be there, and only because rules never seem to apply to the Fullmetal Alchemist had no one insisted he could not be present. Not that Sara suspected her father would have left the room willingly, and no one could have removed him against his will, even at his age.

She really wanted them to know what she had gone through, because she wanted them to know why she hadn't come home to them, but that didn't make it easier to face the fact that she had to admit to how many times she had failed to escape. Not that she actually knew what questions she would be asked for this particular session.

"I'm ready," she told them once her brother was out of the room.

It was Anastas who started. "Please tell us what you remember of the night of the explosion in West City."

Well, they were going to take it all the way to the beginning. So be it then. "I went into the warehouse with Colonel Wexman. Almost as soon as the lights came on, I heard gunshot, and Wexman fell over—shot in the head. I turned to face whoever it was, but instead of being shot at, the end of the building exploded, and I dove behind a pile of crates to avoid the shrapnel." As she spoke, the memories resurfaced, clearer than they had been in years. "Everything was on fire. That's when they attacked me. I didn't know who it was at the time; I just tried to fight them off. I didn't have time to draw a circle, so I was using close-quarters combat training. The building started to come down around us, and I had knocked out two of them when something cracked me across the back of the head, and I blacked out." It had hurt furiously, she remembered that much.

"What happened then?"

"I was unconscious for days. When I woke up I was in a Hashman base, in a cell. It took me a few days to figure out we were somewhere in the Aerugean Jungle. I could hear the wildlife outside through the vents. They just left me there, other than to slide food into my cell, and twice-a-day visits to the bathroom." Funny how that seemed almost luxurious after her later experiences. "I tried counting the days based on the sounds I heard from outside, and I figured I was there for about six weeks before they tied me up, drugged me again, and hauled me to Drachma. That took a couple of weeks of sneaking around in backwaters and wild, uninhabited places. I'm not even sure whether we went through Creta or Amestris. I tried to escape, but they kept me too drugged to see straight, let alone get anywhere or do alchemy." It was embarrassing to admit, even now.

Now, she was getting to the part she needed to tell them. Well, the first. "It was there that they tortured me for information. It went on for weeks, using most of the usual interrogation techniques… the ones we don't use," she clarified, purposefully not meeting her father's eyes. "Hot pokers, drugs, stretching, knives, whatever they thought might get them information without killing me."

Anastas nodded thoughtfully. Tore looked disgusted and furious. Ruthe Cantaola's face had gone pale and slightly green. "What did you tell them?"

"My name, rank, and to go stuff their own fecal matter up their noses mostly," Sara replied. She hadn't broken then, which she was still proud of. "They wanted to know about our State Alchemists, and our lab facilities, and our training methods, and what artifacts or alchemical objects we had in military control, all sorts of things. I didn't give them anything at all useful, and finally they gave up. Or something else happened, I'm not really sure, but they just tossed me in a Drachman high security prison and that was the last time I saw a member of the Hashman Syndicate."

"They just stopped?" Even Tore looked skeptical, which he had every right to be.

"I know it doesn't make sense," Sara admitted with a shrug. "Maybe they just needed to dump me somewhere no one could get a hold of me. It didn't seem like they thought they were getting rid of me entirely. From what I could glean from conversations I was never supposed to hear, they were working with someone in Drachma."

There were several nods in the room. "We have other corroborating evidence that puts Valhov in that group," Tore told her. "They've got a hold of technology developed by the Syndicate that we thought we had destroyed along with the Syndicate in Xing."

They had gone to Xing. Well, that might be a reason to leave her in a Drachman prison instead of dragging her halfway across the continent. Sara had never made it easy to move her. "Well, whatever their reasons, they left me there."

"Did anyone question you?" Anastas asked.

"No. Not about Amestris anyway. The guards never asked anything, and no one tried to interrogate me. The rest of the prisoners didn't really care who I was. Many of them were political prisoners, not all violent offenders."

"But some of your injuries come from that time," Ruthe spoke up then. Clearly she had paid attention to her father and Kane's preliminary reports.

Sara nodded. "Yes, though they were the result of disciplinary measures on the prison's part. I… led a few revolts while I was there."

"A few?" her father blurted out.

"Seven or eight," she offered a more specific number, though his proud grin made her feel a little more sure of herself. "We got past the fence twice before they brought us down again, usually with sharpshooters. I got hit in the leg the second time," she waved at her left leg. "So they stuck me in Solitary Confinement a few times, and then they got tired of it all, so they tried to cripple me by breaking my leg." Again, she motioned to the left, where her knee was still a mess underneath sheets and bandages. "That's also when they finally got smart and branded me with that anti-alchemy circle. I got a private room in the special wing then too, with a really tiny yard. Then they started questioning me again, as much for punishment as anything else I think. They didn't feel like they were in a hurry. Same questions. I didn't tell them anything."

Her mouth was running dry. Sara paused to drink from the water glass at her elbow. Franz looked concerned, but he didn't move from his spot.

"So, what happened next?" Tore prompted when she finished.

"They abandoned me." Sara still wished she had a full comprehension of all the things she had missed, locked away. "It was only much later that I got enough scraps of information to put together that it happened around the same time as the coup in Xing. So I suspect they shoveled me off to the labor camp when the Hashman Syndicate blew up. I wasn't any use to them, since they were all dead or captured or disbanded… but I wasn't really any use to the Drachmans then either. I think they always meant to use me as a hostage, but the timing never worked out. Well, until recently." Though it had definitely not turned out the way Yegor had anticipated, and she was grateful for that. "Anyway, they shipped me so far north I lost count of miles, until they dumped me in a forced labor camp with security even tighter than the prison in the highest, coldest, crappiest mountains I've ever seen. They'd never treated my leg really, except to keep it from getting infected, and I was effectively crippled at that point. I could hardly walk, and I couldn't do alchemy, so they put me to work braiding hundreds of lengths of rope. That's all I did, every day. They wouldn't even give me a knife; they precut the pieces. I worked in my cell, and they let me out twice a day for bathroom and fed me twice a day, like the Syndicate had. Based on the sounds and the lack of windows, I think my cell may have been underground." She had almost never seen natural light, even though she knew that there were parts of the labor camp that were outside.

"And they didn't ask you questions?" Anastas continued to prod.

"They had little interest in me at all, as long as I worked and kept my mouth shut." Sara had found that part ironic after years of on-and-off questioning and being a valuable hostage and prisoner. "They made it quite clear when I was left there that I shouldn't expect to be rescued. They told me 'Your usefulness is over. If you do not wish to die, you will work.' I decided it was best not to test their resolve."

"How long were you there?"

That was another question it had taken her a long time to find an answer to. "It was at least three years before I tried to break out."

"You tried to escape again?" Apparently she was really impressing Ruthe.

"I was going nuts, locked up all day, writing letters to people in my head just to keep myself sane. After almost three years, they started letting me outside a couple of times a week, just to hobble around and get a little fresh air. I was too weak and injured to be much of a threat, and they knew it. That didn't stop them from lining the place with guards though." Her reputation had preceded her. "I'd heard little snippets from guard conversations, fragments that let me put together things, like the fact that my husband was President of Amestris. So, in the spring—I'm pretty sure now that it was '87—I decided I had to make a break for it. The frost never went away in the ground up there, but that was when there was the least snow, and I'd been hoarding dry crumbs from the bread they fed me in my mattress, so I could store it and maybe take it with me. I knew how to hunt, so I thought it would be better to escape than to just stay and take it until I died in obscurity."

Tore looked like he had expected as much from his foster-sister. "How did they stop you that time?"

"They caught up with me," she admitted. It hadn't been that difficult. "I got out through the ventilation shaft in the tiny bathroom, and made it out into the yard on a dark, cloudy night, while it was pouring rain and sleet—you know, a typical balmly Drachman evening." The rain had been a lucky break, actually. It had hidden her longer than she would have made it otherwise. "I made it to the garage where the vehicles were parked, but then the alarms went off, and they locked everything down. They tracked me down with dogs, dragged me back in, and beat me until I blacked out again. When I woke up my knee was even more swollen and broken and unrecognizable than before, and they had tossed me into a solitary cell so deep in the prison I couldn't hear anything but dripping water and footsteps when someone came all the way to my cell."
It had been a long, dark, lonely, painful, miserable existence. Sara shuddered again, and Franz twitched in his seat. Sara wondered how he would react to the real stories, the detailed ones, instead of this more efficient report summary. "They stopped letting me out then, completely. I had a bed pan to pee in, and they brought me cold water and soap to bathe with once a week. There was no way to tell time down there either, except for the bringing of my food. It was the only thing that happened consistently, and I had no way to mark it down or count the days. It was later, when Yegor pulled me out, that I found out how long it had been since I was kidnapped, and what was going on back here at home."

"Yegor—Valhov—what did he do with you?"

"He ordered me moved, and took me to his family's old estate, way up in some other remote part of the mountains. I was drugged unconscious again when they moved me, and when I woke up, I was on a real bed, in a nice room, with rugs and curtains and big windows for the first time in so long I wondered for a moment if I was dead. Of course, the pain told me otherwise. I looked around, and there wasn't anything I could use as a weapon, but there was a tub full of fresh hot water."

"So, you bathed." Tore actually looked a little amused, as well as sympathetic.

"I nearly scrubbed myself raw," she admitted with a soft chuckle. It had felt so good to scrub everything with real soap in warm water, to shampoo the ragged remains of her hair. "Then I put on the spare clothes they'd left on the bed and waited. He sent me food first in the room and then had guards escort me to his study…..

She was escorted down the hall of a very expensive building. Yes, this had to be one of the old Drachman family estates, somewhere up in the mountains, like most of them. She was led into a very well appointed study, with huge, dark wooden furniture, shelves of books, and a collection of heirlooms and knickknacks. There was a fireplace with a warm, roaring fire, and a chair, sitting in the middle of the floor. Behind the desk was the man she had seen in the prison, now dressed much more handsomely. Clearly he was wealthy. Perhaps there had been some kind of deal for her rescue after all? She didn't dare to hope. Given no commands, she sat, getting off of her swollen, aching knee. They hadn't given her so much as a crutch to limp down the hallway. For several long seconds, no one spoke. Finally, she took charge. ::To whom do I give my thanks for the meal and the bath?:: she asked, meeting the man's eyes with all the strength she could muster.

::Someone who can help you… for the right price,:: the man replied enigmatically. He was older-her own age really-balding, and stout.

A price. ::What do you want from me?::

He steepled his hands, and smiled. ::Information.::

So, this was just another form of interrogation. Still, if she played along, maybe she would be able to get information out of him. Sara wished desperately that her negotiation skills weren't so rusty. ::What kind of information?::

::A variety of things,:: he replied. ::You tell me what I want to know, and you don't have to go back to that hideous work camp, and your scenic, rat-infested cell.::

Her mind screamed no, absolutely not. She hadn't broken for her tormentors, for the men who had tortured her, so why should she know? But part of here still wanted desperately to survive. It was possible, however slim, that what he was looking for would not automatically require betraying Amestris. ::There are worse things than rats,::

Sara replied. ::I will not betray my country, but if your questions do not require that, I may answer them.::

The guards scowled, but the man behind the desk laughed in delight. ::Such bite! Even after all this time. Usually by now they are groveling, or spilling everything they've ever known about everyone they ever met.:: He shrugged. ::It is interesting that you are not afraid.::

::Should I be?::

::That is up to you.:: He sat up straighter. ::If you answer my questions satisfactorily, you may be spared the suffering you have endured at the hands of the clods who have handled you. I do know who you are, and I do know that they have been idiots.::

Meaning he knew that she wouldn't break easily. ::How do I know I can trust you?::

::You may ask me questions first,:: he offered. ::If I can answer them, I will.::

Sara knew what she wanted to ask about, but should she? Would she seem weak, or would she surprise him? He also hadn't said how many questions she could ask. Still, she decided to start safe. ::How do you know who I am?::

::I know many things. You, I know because some of my former associates were behind the admittedly brilliant plan that captured you, thinking to use you as leverage against Amestris. That was, of course, before their unfortunate demise.::

So he had been one of the Drachmans helping to fund the Hashman Syndicate. There had been rumors. Demise? That meant that at least some of the Syndicate, if not all of them, were dead or disbanded. Something she had suspected when she had been told she was useless. ::Why haven't I been ransomed? Why leave a pawn rotting for so long?:: She still didn't know exactly how long it had been. Weekends and holidays were not a thing where she had been.

::Bad management on the part of others,:: he replied bluntly. ::Partially to make you see sense. You should know that they still believe you to be dead, in your country. No rescue attempts have been made. You are dead. A dead person is only of use in very specific circumstances, and we have seen fit to leave you in the grave.::

::Then why speak to me now?::

::I believe you might still be useful, and that civility will get me where brute force tactics failed. You are an intelligent woman, and clearly not one easily broken. I've read your prison record.::

::And if I do refuse?::

::Then I may need to get the information I need by other methods.:: He did not say what other methods, but Sara suspected they would involve other forms of torture again, or perhaps drugs.

::What can you tell me about my family?::

He blinked, startled by her sudden change of tac. Then he smiled again. ::Concern for their well-being above your own? Very well. I admit, I know little. My operatives work mostly elsewhere at the moment, but I can give you a few details. They are all alive as far as I know, for certain this includes your more publically known relatives: the Fullmetal Alchemist and his wife, and brother. Your nephew the actor is apparently popular, even with the youth of Drachma, particularly the women.:: At that, he looked slightly annoyed and amused all together. ::Your children live, as does your husband, the President of the Military. Still single, too, if you'd like to know.::

Franz really was President. She had heard that correctly. Sara could only imagine how they had talked him into it. It also explained one more reason, even if this man didn't think so, as to why she might still be useful in the future. This, she suspected, might be why they had never just killed her outright. Yet she couldn't dwell, or he would think she was done and might get impatient. ::What day is it?:: she blurted out next.

::The first of October. The year is nineteen-eighty-seven.::

Five years...Sara's head spun at the figure. It had felt like so much longer, especially up in this world of never-ending winter, whether the seasonal changes were variant and subtle. Five years dead. ::Is there any chance that if I cooperate you will let me go?::

Now he looked disappointed. ::No. If you prove yourself valuable to me, you may remain here, under guard. Not a terrible prison at all I should think. You would be given more comforts, and something to do besides rot, or work your hands bloody. I would allow you access to my library. You could read, and write. I would have a physician tend you properly. That leg of yours is in terrible shape. But you would remain here. There is nowhere nearby to try to run to. My guards would be told to shoot on sight if you try to escape. And they never miss.:: There was nothing veiled about the threat in those words, despite his pleasant tone.

Still a prison, but a gilded one. He knew what she craved: information, mental exercise, a chance to regain her physical health. No one else in that death trap would likely ever be lucky enough to receive such an offer. But the price… ::How long may I have to consider my decision?::

::Two days, if that seems fair,:: he suggested as if it were of no consequence. ::Rest, eat, think. You may even explore the house and grounds, as long as you take Eli with you,:: he gestured to the larger guard, the one with several scars. ::You will find that the perimeter here is bound by a twelve-foot brick wall, topped with shards of stone and glass. Ostensibly, it was put in to keep out bears. There are many bears in this part of the mountains, and wolves. They have been known to kill the unwary. I recommend you do not attempt to leave.::

Another not-so-veiled threat. Sara nodded. ::Thank you.:: She responded to his brief wave of dismissal by standing, and following her guard out of the room.

"So, he made you an offer," Anastas looked at his notes, then met her eyes with a hard, cool stare. "Did you accept?"

"I agreed to listen to his questions," Sara replied specifically. This was where her own ability to judge objectively seemed a scattered mess. "I did not promise him answers. The first thing he did was ask me about the Hashman Syndicate. I couldn't tell him anything past when they dumped me, but he did confirm they were no longer a threat." She smiled briefly at Franz. It had been his command.

"Then he started asking questions about Amestris' future plans in regards to Drachma, and political dealings with the current administration. I told him everything I could that was in the publically accessible documents regarding the treaty, since none of that was secret. He seemed to know all of it, which makes sense now that I know he used to be an Ambassador." At least she had proven herself to him as someone reasonably honest. "I told him that since I just trained alchemists, and Franz was only an aide in the President's office before I "died" I couldn't help him with anything more recent."

"That circle of questioning went on for months, and I strung him out as long as possible with as much useless public information as I could drag out of my memories. I was getting three meals a day, hot baths, and a good bed. He even brought in a physician to treat my injuries that were infected and treat my vitamin deficiencies. I had crutches, so I could exercise. I figured if I could use him while I recovered, I might still have a shot at getting the hell out of there. I also wanted to see if I could find out what he was up to, and why he wanted the information he was asking for."

"What did you discover?"

"Not a whole lot. The third subject we went around about for weeks was Drachman alchemists. So I told him everything I knew there that wasn't classified information. It was no secret how often our family has been involved in dealing with Drachman alchemists on the official level. I did figure out he did not know about the times we've been there less officially. We being Amestrian alchemists in general." More specifically, her family… repeatedly. "So I talked about what we knew from the Drachman War, and from when Mom and Aunt Elicia and Riza Hawkeye were kidnapped."

"I assumed Yegor liked what he was hearing, because I was still being treated well. Not that I thought for a moment that would continue if I stopped pretending to be cooperative. Then he started leaving every so often on business, which was all I could ever get out of the butler about where he was. Then, when he came back, he started asking me what I knew about Drachman politics. Given how little I do know, I didn't feel like I needed to lie to him there. Most of what I knew I had picked up in the prison system anyway. I didn't tell him everything, but I gave him enough to satisfy him that I didn't know everything. Still, things changed. In March of '88 he started to be more preoccupied. The newspapers that used to be available for me to read vanished." She paused, and drank the last bit of water in her glass to give herself a moment to collect herself and her thoughts.

She appreciated that they waited patiently.

"That's when he started asking me the hard questions."

One afternoon, during their usual "interrogation" time, the axe fell. ::Tell me what Amestrian policy is regarding a government insurgency in a foreign bordering nation.::

::Why?::

::Because I asked it of you.::

This was what he had been working around towards. All this time. Sara had to bite her tongue not to lash out and undo everything she had worked for months to establish. He believed her honest. Now, she had to see how well she could still play the game. ::It's complicated,:: she began. ::It depends a lot on the individual situation. Amestris has to have a reason to get involved.:: To be fair, that reason was sometimes 'you're being a jerk' or historically, 'we don't like you' but it was still technically true. They had gone into Aerugo because the deposed government had been less violent to the people and less corrupt however slightly. In the end, they had helped restructure the entire government into something more beneficial.

::What kind of reasons?:: Yegor pushed.

::They would need to feel directly threatened,:: she replied without hesitation.

::In what ways?:: he pressed. ::Why did Amestris go into Aerugo when their government was deposed?::

::They threatened our borders.:: A half-truth at best. They had been concerned about border security. ::Attempts to negotiate continued peace went poorly and they refused to let Amestrian citizens return home from Havah.:: There, that was true. ::They held internationals from several countries against their will, you might recall.:: Surely Drachmans vacationed in Havah too?

Yegor nodded. ::So direct threat to Amestrian citizens.::

Sara nodded.

::What is their policy on hostage negotiations?::

Shit. ::Amestris does not negotiate with terrorists.::

::I mean foreign governments,:: He clarified, a little sharply.

::If you are asking if Amestris would negotiate to get me back. I do not believe they would. One woman is not worth the price you would ask.::

His smile was genuine, but not pleasant. ::Now you see. But I am not asking about your government alone. What would your husband agree to in order to get you back?::

Franz. Her heart plummeted. In a reverse situation, what would she have done to get her husband back? Would she have even believed he was alive if she had watched him be buried in the cemetery? She could not know his heart anymore, or even claim to. Not after several years. ::He would not risk Amestris for one woman. No matter who that might be.:: It might get her killed, but she would not risk them for her. ::Besides, I am dead, remember?::

That was not the answer he wanted, apparently. The smile faded. ::Tell me how to keep Amestris from meddling in Drachman affairs.::

::Last I checked, they haven't been and you have a very nice trade agreement off of which Drachma is making a good profit,:: Sara pointed out. She had seen the figures in the last paper, actually. An idea started to form in her head. Maybe, maybe, this could work. She looked exasperated. ::If you don't tell me what you're looking for, specifically, I really can't help you, Yegor. From what you're inferring, there is likely to be another movement to change or overthrow the government in Drachma, and you're part of it. I have no love for the Drachman government either way, so you'll forgive me if I don't show more excitement. Am I your prisoner or your consultant? If you want my advice, than stop acting like we're having a friendly little interrogation and trust me a little. Has anything I've said to you in the past few months been proven untrue?::

He was quiet for several very long seconds. ::No,:: he finally admitted thoughtfully. ::I suppose not. Besides, you're not going anywhere, are you? Fine. Yes, I am part of a group devoted to purging the Drachman government of certain, subversive forces. Despite certain setbacks, our time will come. When it does, I want to see it occur with minimal bloodshed. In order to do that, I need to be certain that we can do so without inciting a war that extends outside our borders.::

She found it interesting that he did not include inside Drachman borders. Clearly, he was anticipating some conflict, if not an outright civil war. ::You want to minimize body counts.::

:: Drachman changes in government have never been bloodless,:: he pointed out. ::But left as internal affairs, they have always happened quickly. The faster a new government solidifies its hold, the better it is for everyone. Also the more likely it is that, if Amestris accepts us without question, the existing peace will remain. If you tell me how to keep Amestris out of Drachma.::

Sara did not believe for a moment that his motives were as altruistic as they sounded. However, keeping Amestris out of Drachma would be better for everyone in her country. The question was, how much could she say without stepping over the line into state secrets?

When Sara finished summarizing the subtle song-and-dance around his questions she had engaged in for weeks, she fell quiet for some time. For a couple of minutes, her questioners simply sat, madly scribbling as she waited for them to catch up.

Finally, Anastas continued the questioning. "Did you learn anything else?"

"I learned how involved he was in something, and that he was fairly high up in the chain of command. Given how deep the anti-government sentiment was running in Drachma, from what he was saying, I wasn't too surprised. I was beginning to be sure I would never escape, and that he intended to use me as a hostage, so I probably wasn't going to survive, but it occurred to me that if I could take him out, I might manage to save a lot of people a lot of trouble and heartache."

"So what did you do?"

"I tried to poison him. Unfortunately, without alchemy, all I could use was some local plants that I recognized. He invited me to dinner, when he wasn't paying attention I managed to spike his drink with a bit of a compound that should have killed him. Without the ability to really make it potent though, it just made him very sick. I tried to flee, but they caught me, and that was that. He sent hunting dogs after me, and they shot me, again. Then everything was a blur, except for moments when I would start to come out of it, and they'd drug me again, or torture me. Not for information, just because he wanted revenge for the pain I'd caused him. I was locked up in that cell, with no idea where I was, and then it's all a horrible blur until the plane. By my estimate, I was there for almost a year-and-a-half."

There, that was it. At least, the relevant parts. She stopped and waited for any further questions, and while they had a few, none of them were as complicated or heart-wrenching as what she had just related. When it was over, the committee left, leaving Sara alone with just Franz and her father. Her husband looked like he wanted to go on a rampage in Drachma and destroy anyone who ever hurt her. Her father, however, just looked proud as he sat down on the side of the bed opposite Franz.

"So, what do you think?" Sara finally asked them both. "Did I betray my country to stay alive?"

"No," her father emphatically shook his head. "You said it yourself, you never thought you'd get out of there. Everything you did was to try and protect Amestris. I certainly didn't hear you repeat any classified information in here today. Did you?" he glanced up at Franz.

Franz looked stricken and a little ill himself. "Of course not," he stated flatly, as if daring anyone to argue. "I always knew you were incredible, Belle, but putting all this together… I'm amazed."

"All I did was keep living," Sara objected. Day to day, mouthful to mouthful, moment to moment and taking advantage where she could. "Nothing I tried worked. It just caused me pain, and suffering, and dragged out my ordeal."

"Until we could save you," her father interrupted her. "Which means you stalled long enough. It's too bad you didn't take Valhov out, but someone else took care of that on your behalf, and you gave him the opportunity." He glanced at Franz.

Sara couldn't find it in herself to be upset that Franz had killed Yegor, or his subordinates. They were cruel people, whatever ideology they were espousing. "They deserved what they got. I just hope the rest of Amestris decides I didn't sell out." She knew that her reported death had brought her to near-legend hero status in her absence, but that didn't mean people would still feel that way when she showed up alive and broken and used as a Drachman political ploy.

"They wouldn't dare," her father assured her, patting the blankets beside her. "Well, some of them might, but they won't be the majority, and the rest will shut them up and shut them down in time. What you did was brave, and more than most people could do in that situation. Enough of this depressing line of thought though. How about some ice cream?"

Now there were words she hadn't heard in years. Sara smiled. "Will Doctor Baby Brother let me?"

"He told me before we had this meeting that it was okay. He suggested you'd probably need it when they were done with you."

Now that sounded like her brother. Sara chuckled. "He was right."

Anika Marskaya had taken to spending most of her free time not spent in the city, high on the balcony she and Ted Elric had discovered made such a great surveillance spot, where she could see most of the small city, and more importantly the majority of the Zinovek soldiers beyond.

It was a warm day for winter, with an unusually clear sky, and temperatures that were crawling up towards freezing. Bundled in her usual favorite winter wear, and holding a thermos of hot tea with lemon, she leaned against the railing, her rifle beside her at the ready out of habit. Outside of the unexpected skirmishes at her family's home, it had been years since she had used it for more than target practice. Though she had supplemented dinner on the way here with a couple of snow hares. Her family had never hunted for sport, only for meat, and they had always used the fur and hides and anything else they could, out of respect for the wildlife. As she had grown to want to work with animals, she had hunted less, but kept in practice because even in a zoo, there was the possibility of an animal getting loose, and if they could not contain it and return it to its enclosure, that security measure might save lives.

Anika played it cool, but part of her was uncomfortable with the fact that, like a couple of weeks ago, when this turned violent, she would be wounding people, and probably taking lives. Though she was good enough, she preferred to shoot to injure in this case if possible. The necessity she understood. That did not mean she liked it.

It reassured her, however, that her unexpected compatriots were not at all the murders old "Amestrian Alchemist" tales would have had her believe. Not that her family had ever entirely believed them. Her father had spoken of them as worthy adversaries in combat, but never in his stories were they monsters or cruel and inhuman. Running into Ted Elric and his team had been unexpected and bizarre, but she was glad she had made her decision to come with them, even though it had meant an awkward radio conversation with her brothers a couple of days ago. She was grateful they hadn't been foolish enough to try and make demands. That had never worked, and worried as they were, they agreed she had made a reasonable decision. She was far more likely to find information on their father from here, and do more good in protecting Mihalov and the exiled government. Her brothers could handle the estate, and she was reassured by the fact that, since none of them had chosen to go into the military, none of them were in any more imminent danger than she; and really now it was far less.

The explosion that shook her out of her reverie did not come from inside the walls, but it still made her jump. Looking up, she saw smoke coming from outside the walls. She grabbed the binoculars she almost didn't need and stared through the smoke and haze. Was it fire? Had they blown up the wall?

Water. As the smoke cleared, she saw water jetting up out of the ground, and she felt a moment of dread. They weren't going to attack directly just yet, apparently. No, instead, they had blown up a building that was not inside the walls… because it was the primary building of the water treatment plant for the city of Karmatsk, and several nearby smaller villages. She knew that most everyone in the city had been storing bottles, gallons, and whatever other containers of water they could for days, some of them for weeks. It wasn't unusual anyway, given you never knew when the pipes might freeze for days at a time. Though they had been storing more than usual, ever since the soldiers arrived. Damaging the local water supply was a military tactic going back centuries. The town had a few old wells, but it would only be a matter of time before they had to ration water, or get desperate. Not just the people currently on the Gurina estate, but all of the innocent population of Karmatsk.

That was clearly the idea.