The silence was broken only by swaying fields of windswept grass and the sound of rustling leaves. It was a land defined by rolling hills and verdant meadows. Cramped woodlands crowded around slow-moving streams, broken only by the occasional field of wheat soon nearing harvest.
They were peculiar sights and sounds. The distant forest and rising hills, the deep blue sky, even the warmth of the sun: a sense of timelessness could be felt when observing the plains. Birds fluttered from one perch to another. The branches of an ancient oak one moment; the eaves of an old wooden cottage the next.
Clean air and a landscape free from decay and ruin. A far-away refuge, quiet and unchanging, or so it had once appeared. It was difficult to believe, and harder to adjust to the open landscape. Any potential threats would remain unseen, concealed by the hills and forests, until it was too late to respond.
The slow crunch of gravel from behind brought with it a burst of adrenaline, quickly subdued. Racing thoughts, eyes never still, overwhelming urges to keep moving. No change in scenery had ever put an end to those instinctive reactions.
The crunching stopped. "Here again? I never knew you were so interested in trees," a woman said, amiable as ever.
"You're not supposed to be walking," Gail said, immediately turning back to admonish her.
"I'm not. Always so quick to judge."
His scowl faded as readily as it had appeared. Leaning back in a wheelchair, unfazed if her external show was an accurate indicator, which it wasn't, Regina still refused to address anyone without a healthy serving of mockery.
If his smile could be believed the man pushing the wheelchair found that amusing. Calm and composed as ever, Dylan Morton met his eyes with a meaningful glance. That didn't mean much. Morton often appeared, distracted from his duties, whatever they were, by thinly disguised curiosity.
At first Gail had thought he was there to spy on them. The best medical care, comfortable living space on the outskirts of Polostin, an admittedly serene rural city: they'd been given everything they needed and more. All the refugees had received similar treatment. He'd asked for no information they hadn't volunteered, though they'd offered much, and made few requests at all. Now he found it hard to say.
"It's different, isn't it?" Gail asked, suddenly finding the silence unnerving.
"Not being in that city, or not being in the military?"
"Both," he said, turning to leave. He needed to keep moving.
Little more was said. All three of them were uncertain, spoken or not. It would take longer than a week to adjust, especially for Gail.
Fortunately the hospitals had taken in any and all, seemingly unconcerned with payment, and for that he'd been grateful. Her wounds had been severe enough. Infection and exhaustion could easily have killed her had they not arrived when they did. Drastic as it was, she'd been condemned to immobility until walking would do no further damage.
A great deal of upheaval had taken place in the south, he knew, though it seemed peaceful to him, marked by cooperation and an unusual solidarity. He'd seen the price paid for their success, such as it was. Central destroyed, the west marred by civil war and the military occupation, the north little more than a desolate wasteland. It was too familiar for his liking.
They reached a row of terraced houses and approached one on the closest corner. Much of Polostin had been sparsely populated, he'd learned, especially along the outskirts. That had changed. Cobbled and crowded, the street was alive with activity. Immediate work had been undertaken to repair and clean the old housing. There was little else to do, and the pretence of routine seemed a comfort to many.
Seizing the opportunity to leave the wheelchair behind without delay, Regina reached for a crutch by the door and stood up. Neither of them bothered to complain.
"Well, that wasn't so bad. I told you he'd be there," Dylan said, leaning on the doorway. "I need to head off for a while, but I can come back later if you'd like. Work's slow for a military man who can't be in the field." He concealed his bitterness admirably, but Gail knew it was there.
"You might as well. It's not like I'll be going anywhere," Regina said, fumbling at the doorhandle with her maimed hand. Neither of them offered to assist.
"Right. I don't imagine I'll be going far either. See you soon, unless we all go up in a flash of light before then."
Gail gestured for him to wait. "You delivered my message?"
Dylan grimaced, nodding slowly. "Yeah. He didn't seem too interested this time either. I'll ask again." Suddenly eager to leave, Dylan left and threw himself into an old car, waving back at them as he left for the south-west exit. He always drove east, Gail noted, with this one exception.
"What's that all about?" Regina asked, ducking down to fit through the cramped doorway.
"He's avoiding me. Here we are, and not a single question."
Regina turned back as he entered, and rested one hand on his shoulder, as much for balance as comfort. "Is that so strange? Nice as it is here, the confirmation's in. Most of the military took the bait and joined up with Anders. Not just her. Mirzin too, like they're equal partners now, or something. Maybe they are. They have to be pretty busy with the defence."
"That's why it bothers me. We know more than most, especially you. How do they expect to plan a counteroffensive without knowing what we do?"
She shrugged, throwing herself down in a seat near the window. The crutch collapsed against the stone wall with a thud. "I'm just glad I'm not going to prison."
"I wouldn't allow it."
It was a source of shame, Gail thought, that for a slight second she looked surprised. Falsified crimes, acts of necessity: he wasn't so rigid as to ignore the reasons for her actions.
"I never worried too much about that," Regina said, waving his shame away. "It's all history now. Do they even have prisons here? Seemed like Mirzin's new friends favoured executions. I did what Royce asked me to, anyway, and he still left us there. He'd better not complain now."
He took the seat across from her. Asking questions was difficult; refusing the opportunity even more so. "And what did he ask you to do?"
"You don't know? You were friends, I thought. Twenty years, was it?" Regina asked, tapping the wooden table with one finger.
A moment of hesitation; one that didn't go unnoticed. "Eighteen years. We met in Borginia," Gail said, leaving it there.
"Long time. Longer than I've known anyone. You must have been close."
"Once, maybe. We didn't speak much. Toward the end we'd just sit there, silent. Anton never told me the truth, but he didn't like to lie either."
"Funny how that works, isn't it? Some people you can know for years, and there's a sort of distance that never goes away. Others, well, a couple of weeks can do a lot. Never did know why."
That was uncomfortably accurate. The way Anton spoke, his ambitions, his proposed reforms, even the way his speech and manners had changed near the end, grandiose and impersonal. The Ibis Island mission's true purpose had been undeniable. Gail had seen it coming. Seen it and ignored it. Professionalism was a mask, and rarely a comfortable one.
"Kirk refused to continue his work, didn't he? And you were supposed to change his mind."
"Good guess. Didn't happen the way he expected, but I don't think anything did. It all worked out in the end, much to everyone's surprise. You know he was thinking about smashing that generator near the end? Who'd have thought?"
"I'm not as surprised as I should be," Gail said, if hesitantly. "One day you realise you've seen too much. He should understand that better than most."
Regina said nothing for a long moment. One hand slowly wrapped around a lock of red hair, the last of the black dye washed out the day she arrived in Polostin. "When was that day? Recently, or..." She trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.
He wanted to voice his agreement. Abandoning Royce, his only real friend, or the day of the massacre, they were likely choices; a week prior, when all was ruined, an even likelier choice. The lies had lost their appeal.
"Sixteen years ago. We came back from Borginia and they offered us a chance to leave the military. I turned them down," Gail said. He looked at the comforts they'd been given. He couldn't recall the last time he lived in a house, not a base. "I thought I was the only one who'd stay. We didn't discuss it, not once, but the first day back we were all there."
Regina didn't respond, but she didn't look away either. An anxious weight, something he'd barely recognised, lifted from his chest. She knew what they'd done, had likely always known. A comfortable silence overtook them, and they sat there for some time bathed in the afternoon sun.
"It's nice here," she eventually said, tracing a finger over the window. "But you don't look relaxed to me. You never have."
"It's not important," Gail said, waving her concern away.
She hesitated, something rare enough to catch his attention. "It is important," Regina said, almost murmuring the words. "I knew a man who could never relax. Never satisfied, never happy. I don't want to see you become like him."
One hand, out of sight under the table, involuntarily clenched. "Kirk?" he asked, eyes darting around the room, checking the escape routes.
Regina shook her head. "No, not him. He could relax. Didn't happen often, but sometimes. Never when you expected it." She looked aside, a faint smile fading as she did.
Gail faltered, tempted to leave on some pretext. "The northerner?"
"Yeah. Him. His past was no easier to talk about than yours," Regina said. Gail stiffened on the spot. It was the closest they'd ever came to mentioning it. "I don't know what they're doing here or why, but it doesn't seem so bad. Just try to let go, if you can. Finding somebody to blame won't solve anything."
Hesitating again, Gail opened his mouth, exhaled softly, and nodded. He wouldn't argue with her, not on this. The comfortable silence resumed. He still couldn't relax.
It was a quiet afternoon. They didn't speak much, both uncertain without the comfortable familiarity of hierarchy. A week and he'd yet to adjust to skies free of smoke; the absence of gunfire and explosions, even the familiar sounds of a passing convoy. Armed patrols were rare; they had few enough soldiers to spare, most having fallen back to the border with the western district.
Regina adjusted to the change in lifestyle without complaint. She often seemed content to sit outside and read or speak to their various visitors. The weariness he saw in her eyes never faded, and often she would stare into the distance for long periods of time without moving, even after the sun set. She would be awake long into the night, and had taken to sleeping until after midday.
Whether in the military or not, Gail had always felt an unappeasable urge to keep moving. The direction, he'd come to realise, was of lesser importance than simply having something to move towards. An hour passed and he found himself standing atop a raised hill on the outskirts of the city. He wiped the sweat from his brow. The warmth of the southern sun still came as a surprise. Turning aside, he looked out on the view.
To the far west he could see the coast, if only faintly. North and east were defined by farmland, though much in the north had been crushed and burnt. The southern command centre lacked the intimidating height and enormous outer walls of its western counterpart. More administrative than military, it could be seen without difficulty from his position. Once white walls had long since faded to a dull grey, though the Alvernian flag was notably absent.
He was tired of waiting. Regina had seen what he hadn't, and much sooner. She continually overcame the worst adversity, and always had, but for what reward? More was taken each day, and so many endured it without knowing why when all they had done was flee from the inevitable. He was no leader. That much had been proven under Hereson.
Another hour passed and he returned to the house. He wanted to tell Regina something, though he didn't know what, and the thought was forced from his mind when he saw Dylan's car again with another across the street. Personal transport was a luxury in Alvernia, and so its public transit systems were well-developed. No trains were headed for Merestan now.
"Back already? Find anything interesting?" Regina called out as he approached. She sat outside as usual at a table with Dylan. Gail's eyes darted from side to side, examining everything. Dylan's jaw was set, muscles tense and stiff; that caught his attention immediately.
"No. Something wrong?"
She shook her head, gesturing at a cup of coffee with an inquisitive look. The thought of eating or drinking brought with it a wave of nausea. With a raised hand he swiftly declined her offer.
"There is something," Dylan said, unusually hesitant. "In the house. Someone has a message for you, and only you. He wouldn't tell us anything."
"You never introduce me to any of your friends," Regina said, her light tone contrasted by the sudden seriousness of her expression. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, and she looked away after a significant pause.
Gail left without another glance back, pushing a chair aside in his haste. It had been too long. Slipping through the open door he found a man reading through a crumpled pile of documents in the living room. Notable for his unassuming height, greying hair, and poorly fitted but vaguely official clothes, the man looked over his shoulder with a bored smile as Gail entered.
"So you did come back," he said, turning back with his hand outstretched.
Despite his reservations Gail shook it. Making enemies was a poor habit, one he'd grown tired of indulging. The sting of disappointment felt no less bitter. "I wasn't expecting you. Why are you here?"
The man raised an eyebrow. "You don't remember me? I suppose that's only to be expected. I made it to major, but that doesn't mean much now. Delivering messages in person, who'd have thought?"
Gail recalled him from Royce's office, an officer stationed in the west, one of those who'd joined the first wave sent to Ibis Island. "Levin, wasn't it? Michael Levin?"
"Mikhail Levin," he said, correcting Gail with a slight shrug. "Nobody remembers the men behind the scenes. Isn't that right, Gail?" Levin trailed off invitingly, lowering his documents.
"I prefer it that way. Why are you here?"
Levin sighed, resting a hand on the dining table. "Some things never change. I thought your manners might have improved after a few months at the top. Some might have had you locked away for that, you know, but not us."
"Why are you here?"
"To officially extend our courtesies to the newest members of our growing community. No, not really." He laughed, evidently expecting Gail to do the same, and adopted a look of feigned disappointment.
An increasingly uncomfortable silence quickly grew, as did Levin's exasperation. "Unfortunately or not, as you prefer, I'm Anton's new assistant. I'm a military man, and the politics gives me a headache. They don't tell you, but it's all politics."
"Fascinating. Why are you here?"
"I've had better conversations with my reflection," Levin said, not concealing his frustration. "I'll get to it, shall I?"
"You should have done that the moment you saw me."
"I forgot who I was meeting. Excuse me." Levin slapped his documents down on the table and cleared his throat in an uncomfortably grandiose manner.
"Your request for an audience with former colonel Anton Royce has unfortunately been declined. He wishes me to inform you that all future requests are also likely to be declined, that it would be a better use of your time to not bother at all, but to rest and recover in peace. He wishes you, a dear old friend, all the best, and tells you that all your requests, except those for an audience, will be met as best we can," he recited, infusing each word with flamboyant emotion.
"You didn't give a reason. Why won't he see me?"
Levin almost took a step back, overcome with surprise. "Oh, I didn't, did I? Well, I'm sure there's a reason, just let me see." He seized the documents and flipped through them twice before reading an entire page in the centre of the stack.
"Well?"
Levin ran a finger over a line on the centre of the page, nodding, and set the stack down. "He is, ah, busy."
Gail stared blankly at Levin, who suddenly looked the perfect image of a self-serious bureaucrat. "Busy?" he asked, and Levin smiled.
"Busy," he said, nodding again with gravity. A brief and uncomfortable silence overtook them, and his smile widened. "Well, I'm late for an appointment. I suppose we'll meet again. Eventually. Goodbye."
He vanished through the front door with surprising speed, and in the few seconds Gail spent standing there speechless he heard Levin's car sputter to a start.
Free from the arduous realities of conversation Gail leapt into action and ran after him. Mikhail Levin waved out the window as he pulled into the street, leaving Gail to scowl and run back only to find Dylan and Regina laughing at some joke, having replaced the coffee with a bottle of dull liquor.
"Where are...?" Gail began to ask, trailing off when he saw the object of his search and seized the keys from the table. "I'll be back. Stay here. This won't take long."
Dylan stood up in an alarmed rush but Regina, reliable as ever, held him back as Gail took off down the street after Levin. Driving was an unfamiliar task, and it took him a moment to adjust. For a moment he was almost overcome with the urge to accelerate and force Levin off the road.
He kept to a distance, aided by the lack of traffic and the government car's tinted windows. It was entirely possible that Levin simply was late for an appointment. He didn't believe it for half a second.
To his surprise they diverted, heading south-west and away from southern command. Paved roads turned to cobble, then gravel, and back to paved. They passed no checkpoints, few armed guards. Even Levin's driving had flamboyancy to it, as if he wanted everyone he passed to recognise his presence.
He followed, taking every precaution, until Levin's car pulled into a fenced off lot adjacent to a small commercial building, one of many built in a solitary spot by the shore of the sea. There were two armed guards here, though both were disguised as office workers. Both were bored beyond belief, Gail saw, and unfocused.
What was there to lose? Even if Levin wasn't meeting Anton it would be remarkably simple to extract the location from him. It always was. He pulled aside and parked the stolen car on the side of the road. Hesitating, holding back to preserve nothing of worth, had grown more tiring than facing any unknown danger.
He slammed the door closed and approached the open gate. Levin slipped inside a side door without looking back, a careless move, and Gail brushed one hand against his hip. No holstered pistol, no knives; they were unnecessary.
He pulled the iron gate shut behind him and both men jumped up, alarmed, and ran across. One was overweight, heavily perspiring, the other a dour looking man cautiously reaching into his suit jacket.
"You got business here? Private property," the first man said, but his companion sighed.
"Not private. Completely wrong connotations, you idiot," the second snapped, already irritable, but he looked just as insistent as the first. "Look, even if you do, this place shut down a while back. The owners left town, headed east in a real hurry. Sorry."
He sounded casual, even apologetic, if his tone was to be believed. It wasn't. Stunted, cautious, and stiff. They were terrible liars, and worse guardsmen.
"Is that so? I came here to find someone. I hope you can tell me where he is."
"I told you the place is shut," the second man argued. His frown grew, and he glanced at his companion. "What's your name? I'll ask around, see what the records say."
His name wouldn't appear on any record, of that Gail was sure. The fat one's hand slipped into his pocket. Calling for help, or reaching for a weapon? It was too late for either.
"Names are for friends. I don't need one."
"Then you can leave," the other guard said, drawing his pistol.
The slightest opportunity was all Gail needed. Seizing the guard's arm, he bent it back in a single motion, throwing the pistol aside. The resulting scream rang out through the tranquil neighbourhood, but there was no time for thought. He threw the injured guard to the floor and lunged at the other, wrapping a hand around his throat.
"Let's renegotiate. What are you protecting?" Gail spoke calmly, revelling in the rush of adrenaline and the immediacy of his goal. He felt the tiredness lift from his muscles, held the man there effortlessly.
Struggling for a futile moment, gasping and gurgling, the guard fell back, defeated and suddenly limp. "You've got about five minutes to get out of here before it's too late, friend. Go home."
A soft scraping from behind came as an unwanted distraction. Stepping back and pulling the guard with him, Gail crushed the other man's outstretched hand with his boot before he could reach the discarded pistol.
Gail watched, listened, as the guard screamed and scrambled back pathetically clutching his mangled fingers. His grip around the other man's throat tightened, muscles beginning to ache again, shoulder suddenly searing.
"What are you protecting?" he repeated, turning them around to keep the other man in view.
The guard's face was red, eyes bulging. He wouldn't answer. He remained defiant, and Gail hated him for it. Not once in his life had anything worked, each action plagued by doubt and struggle. The guard shook in his hands. One shoe lashed out, striking Gail's knee so feebly he barely felt the impact.
The guard still didn't answer. Could he speak? His face had turned crimson, eyes unfocused. Gail slammed a fist into his stomach and threw him down, breathing heavily. Only the whimpering of the suited guard behind was left to break the silence.
"And you said my methods were poor," a soft voice called from the other end of the lot.
Gail turned aside, leaning down and retrieving the pistol. "They were. Poor methods, and worse results."
Two men had appeared at the office's main door. A sign indicating it was, or had been, an accounting firm had been thrown aside. One leaned against the doorway, looking out on the brutal scene before them with bemusement. Gail's anger remained under the surface, waiting for the slightest excuse to return in full.
The other stood forward, a hand in the pocket of an ill-fitting coat. His unshaven face might as well have been carved from stone, but the emotion in his words was unmistakable. They watched each other, silent and unflinching.
"Looking at you now I think I understand how they see me. We've come a long way, haven't we? Not so far at all, I think."
Gail took a furtive step forward. He hadn't the words to respond, had no interest in debating or discussing. Why had this felt was necessary? He couldn't begin to say.
Anton Royce watched, unmoving, accompanied only by the figure waiting in the shadows of the doorway. There were no guards, no uniformed officials. Neither man was armed. It was as perfect a scenario as he could ever have devised.
"Do you intend to shoot me, Gail?" Anton asked, seemingly undisturbed.
He realised the pistol was at his side. It was a weight he'd grown to accept. To beat a man to the brink of death, order a massacre, send a friend to die. One slight movement, the briefest pressure on a thin piece of metal. It was routine.
It remained at his side. "No," Gail said, continuing his approach. The certainty he'd expected to feel remained as elusive as ever. He was tired of looking for it.
Anton's stony features shifted into a faint smile. "In that case we'd better get those men some help. Mikhail, would you be so kind?" He looked over his shoulder and the man leaning on the doorway straightened himself with a shrug.
"If you say so. Poor bastard's fingers are bent in ways I didn't want to believe were possible," Mikhail Levin said, mumbling under his breath as he fumbled in one pocket. Nonetheless he approached them both, calling for assistance as he examined their wounds.
Anton said nothing, looking between them both and the injured men and rubbing his eyes with one hand. His previously immaculate appearance had declined significantly. Once dark hair quickly greying, stubble on his chin, and dark circles under his eyes marred an otherwise attractive face. His clothes were loose, reflecting a marked loss in weight, and his posture was slack, well below military standards.
"You look terrible," Gail pointed out, expecting a barrage of excuses.
"I do, don't I? You were expecting more. I'd appear with a legion of followers, faceless sycophants on every side, looking down on you from above. Then you could hate me in peace," Anton said, still as calm as he'd ever seen the man.
True as that was, he tried to push it aside. "Even so, you're an Alvernian colonel. There are standards to be met."
A burst of laughter erupted as his immediate response and Anton took a moment to compose himself. "All this, and to think the one institution I couldn't escape was the officers' dress code. I'm no colonel anymore, and don't intend to be one again."
"General, then? Supreme leader? You never did think much of titles, so what is it?"
"Supreme leader, really? And they said you didn't understand humour. No, I don't know what I am now. They ask my advice on everything imaginable, and I offer it freely. I'm no military man, and never had much skill in that department in any case. It's better this way."
"Didn't you tell me just this morning to keep our divisions in the north?" Levin asked, stepping into the sunlight as he returned, still looking over his shoulder at the guards.
"I'll tell you again now. It's the only place for them. Find out what the Borginians are doing, would you? Convince them that there's hope," Anton said, clapping a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Even two more shipments would be invaluable,"
"And leave you alone with him?"
"There's nobody else I'd prefer to be left alone with," Anton replied, retrieving a note from his jacket pocket and handing it to the other man.
Levin raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. His cheerful smile was quickly becoming irritating.
Without argument he left to do exactly that, waiting with the guards until the medical team arrived. Gail considered it for a moment, but he felt no regret. They proceeded into the lobby, a sunny and spacious room that smelled faintly of lavender and worn leather. Uncertainty fell upon him again as the sense of urgency faded, but Anton took a moment to breathe in the warm air and seemed to take some satisfaction from it.
"It's pleasant, isn't it?" Anton asked, as if there were nothing unusual about their situation at all.
"I expected you'd be in southern command. You can't hide. Not anymore."
"Who's hiding? You really mustn't be so confrontational. This office is abandoned, and I needed a break."
Gail held back an immediate retort. It was rarely so simple: that much he'd learned. "How can you run a campaign from an accounting office on the edge of an agricultural city?"
Anton laughed, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "This is why I missed you. So determined. What campaign? My dear friend, you are aware that we lost?"
This time there was no holding back. "You escaped with barely any losses. You don't have the stomach for this, never have. Why did you even bother?"
"What did you expect?" Anton snapped, turning around in a disquieting display of ire. "I was given my orders. Retreat south and we don't get burned off the map. Any further hostilities and all these people, however many think I wake up knowing exactly what to do to save them, are finished. Do you know what that means? Have you ever had to think about anyone other than yourself?
He exhaled softly, looked aside, and then back. "You didn't deserve that. I apologise."
"You can't expect to abandon responsibility now that you've faced a setback. Hiding here won't work. Not for long."
"I don't know what I expect, if you want the truth. It seemed a bit of an adventure to me. Everyone I cared about was with me, everyone I hated against me. A righteous cause. It hurt, you know, when I realised we had to part ways. More than I expected. It's uncomfortable to say even now."
Gail leaned back against the reception desk, slightly wary. "I didn't like it either. Every agent I trained, people I knew for years. They'd be alive if not for you."
"Would they? The life you lived hardly seemed like living to me. Years on the brink of death, fighting for nothing of worth, the ugliness of their work soothed by the occasional lie. That was your method, I remember. Well, poor Rick seemed to like the life I offered him, and if your lovely friend is right he may not even be dead."
"If Regina is right. That doesn't change the rest."
Anton looked taken aback. "You don't believe her? I entertained the idea. Kirk made my life difficult for years, but I did think he'd respond to her. A pretty face, and someone who might sympathise with his alienation. Dmitri insisted she was both."
"You had him investigate her without telling me?"
"Dmitri investigated everyone, even you, probably me. What do you think an assistant does? Make my coffee? You came back from your missions soaked in blood. For us in the office it took some more imagination, but our hands were no less stained," Anton said, a hint of the verbose officer Gail had known beginning to return.
"It's no surprise," Gail said, his scorn undisguised.
Again, Royce looked surprised, even taking half a step back. "It's not? That's not like you at all."
"Your own judgment is clearly unreliable. Of course you'd delegate it to the same man who'd abandon you so soon after. Your assistant and your second-in-command are to blame for this mess. One mistake after another."
"No more, please," Anton said, wincing in mock dismay. "Do you want to know an ugly secret? After that disaster at the foundry, when James told me I'd be leaving the city, I had a choice to make. Were they alive? A week had passed. Kirk, Dmitri, and your Regina had vanished. An unimaginable loss, but then she appeared on the final day in public. You met her, I know."
"You know too much, but you never make a move yourself, Anton. Someone else always has to pull the trigger."
"It's dangerous to talk about that, even here," Anton said, quite softly. He waved the issue aside, almost pleading it be dropped. "In any case, I left them there. If Kirk was dead, well, I didn't care. If he was with your friend all for the better, and with Dmitri there to supervise. If Eliza hadn't lost control of her pet I suspect this would be a very different conversation. I took that risk. Whether the alternative was any better, we'll never know."
Gail didn't bother concealing his distaste. "You speak like you're playing with puppets. I remember when that was beneath you."
"I remember when the same filth was beneath you, but here we are," Anton Royce remarked, as dry a statement as he'd ever uttered. "Let's forget the past for a while, shall we? I'd like to see the view from the rooftop before the day turns ugly. Would you join me?"
Gail's immediate instinct was to turn around and walk out. It might have been satisfying, at least for an hour. Instead the hour passed and they were leaning on the rooftop's ledge. The surrounding streets were quiet. A car passed occasionally, usually headed for the city's centre. The two guards had been taken away and replaced, Gail noticed, but neither of them mentioned it.
The conversation was slow at first. Gail found himself at a loss for words more than once. The uncertainty, even nervousness, he began to hear in Anton's words left its mark. They were too similar, and he preferred not to think of the implications.
"You shouldn't be standing here," Gail commented after a particularly long pause. "One sniper, that's all it'd take."
Anton grimaced, looking intently at him. His pale blue eyes were sunken and watery in the sunlight. "Well, here's their chance." He spread his hands out to each side, leaned further out. "You see? No risk at all. They want me alive. You should know: if they were looking they'd check here."
He leaned even further out, so much so that Gail had to resist the urge to pull him back. Seemingly satisfied, he stepped away from the balcony and looked expectantly back at Gail.
"Am I supposed to ask you why?"
"No, I thought you'd remember," Anton said, more energetic by the minute. "Our fault for taking the sign down, I suppose. My father was one of this firm's founders, and this was his branch. He paid for my education, and look how I used it." He laughed, leaning back on the ledge, and looked up at the cloudless sky. "You don't remember, do you? That's alright." He sounded downright dejected, almost wistful.
"I met him once," Gail said, suddenly quite uncomfortable. "And we went to his funeral. Five years ago."
A grim smile, but still a smile. "Three years ago. Don't worry. I wasn't sure either before today."
"Does it matter?" Gail said, watching his reaction carefully.
Anton hesitated, thinking, and shook his head. "No, not really. He's not going to care, is he?"
"Do you?"
More hesitation. "Not as much as I should. I remember when they asked me who we ought to invite. Business associates, none I knew. No family, few friends. You volunteered to go to put me out of my misery. I never forgot that."
The memory returned with effort, murky and unclear. A quiet ceremony in an affluent area, few guests, several well known in the financial world. A military guard, dressed appropriately, for the visiting officers who'd been given a day's leave. Regina had asked, he remembered, what he'd done to get a day off. He'd lied, of course, and told her it was nothing worth mentioning. Three of them had stood to one side, separate and away from the chatting businessmen.
"She was there too, wasn't she?" Gail asked, looking back over the edge to avoid the other man's heavy stare.
"Yes. It was shortly after the northern campaign came to an end. It seemed odd to me. We barely knew each other, but I didn't refuse. Eliza did, after all, as good as abandon her career to join my office."
"I didn't understand why you said that even at the time."
"Nobody turns down an offer to join the command staff to work with a suspected dissident, Gail. Certainly not when you attract a general's attention, as I'm sure you learned. They only even considered her over in Central after that brutality in the north. The most gifted strategist they'd ever seen." He paused, smiling, and held up a single finger. "Brilliant, intimidating, but a woman nonetheless. Most of them died last week," Anton continued, taking a short pause to think. "All of them, possibly. Well, it was necessary, I don't deny that."
"Was she planning," Gail started, pausing, and failing, to look for the words, "it for that long?"
Letting out a long breath, Anton slumped down against the ledge, resting his head on the stone. "That's the question, isn't it? I don't know. She insisted that it be an armed revolution. Any mention of reform brought a sneer to her face in a second. She was a strategic prodigy, I thought, so that might have been it. We all have our strengths." But he shook his head, exhaling softly. "No, she was right. I think I always knew. I just didn't want to believe..." he said, trailing off in an inaudible murmur.
He looked up at Gail, one hand on his knee. "You've been kinder than I expected. Aren't we enemies, to your mind?"
The satisfying answer, the one that had an unmistakable feeling of righteousness, was undeniably in the affirmative. Gail hesitated, and made no attempt to hide the reality. He didn't know what he thought, and certainly not what he felt.
"Forget the past. That's what you said, so forget it. We've all made mistakes, and I'm tired of remembering them."
The gratitude he saw on Anton's shabby features would never be forgotten. It was a response he'd never seen before. He reconsidered. Regina had looked the same way, even half-dead, when he'd found her the night of their failure in Merestan.
"You have to be one of the most astounding men I've ever met. I should have told you years before," Anton said, standing up with effort. His posture straightened, pale eyes meeting Gail's without hesitation. "I'd say more, but the words don't seem to be there. I still talk too much, certainly. It's my only talent." He shrugged, feigning helplessness.
It was becoming increasingly obvious to Gail, though these things always took time with him, that it was no easier for Anton Royce than it was for him. No easier for anyone, more likely than not.
True to their agreement, neither made the slightest judgment about the others' prior decisions from then on, at least verbally. Gail indulged Anton's desire for small talk for some time. He could see the signs. Stress and helplessness. He felt trapped and was looking for an escape, however small.
From the rooftop Gail could see the fleet waiting in the western sea, and Anton's eyes darted over to it periodically, as if he expected it to vanish at any moment. It wasn't so uncomfortable. He didn't want to admit it, not even to himself. A man who'd always—for reasons Gail found hard to say—greatly appreciated his companionship. One small reprieve from a life of isolation.
Before long the question had to be asked. "What you said earlier was a joke, wasn't it? A TRAT lieutenant, a former major with a respectable career as your assistant: you are still their leader."
But Anton waved his declaration off. "I'm no longer planning strategy," he said, as vague an answer as Gail had ever heard. He let his disapproval be known through a sustained and disdainful frown. An expression that inspired an alarming tirade.
"You expect me to lead a military? Me? The woman I had doing exactly that is the only reason this ploy worked as long as it did. Now she's convinced half the army to do something up there, who knows what," Anton said in a great rush of words. "You want the truth? I hate it. I really do. Who am I to send thousands to die? Because they did die. When that northern division came down from the mountains how many died for my incompetence?"
Breathing heavily and suddenly unable to meet Gail's eyes, Royce turned away and ran a hand through his hair. "One agricultural region, a small city. We'll be left here, powerless, as she punishes me for whatever I've done wrong. You can be sure, so long as we continue as expected we'll be left here. Or I will. You may be at risk, to tell the truth."
Gail expected elaboration on that sour note, but was given none. "You are going to fight them?" he asked, taking care not to sound accusatory.
"How?" Anton asked. It came out as a strained whisper, almost pained.
Gail held in a long breath, waited, but the tension only grew. "You have resources they don't. A fleet, where they have none. Foreign allies. General Hereson said more than once you could take the west, even if you couldn't keep it."
"They want me to do it, don't you see that? We'd break each other down until there was nothing left. I would fall into some trap or other, you can be sure of that. If not for the Third Energy there might have been a chance. Whoever utilised it first would be invincible, Kirk once told me, even before it was much more than an energy generator."
"You took Ibis Island. Use it against them," Gail pointed out, but Anton flinched to hear the name.
"We lost contact two days ago. The entire garrison dead, or as good as dead. Biological weapons are terrible, truly, and Borginia developed them out of fear of us. I told you. Eliza is better at this than I am, and her advisors are better than mine. Mikhail does what he can, and there are plenty more, but they're outmatched. I should know."
Gail closed the distance between in a single step, grasped the other man's shoulder. "What happens when nobody resists? You know as well as I do."
Anton looked aside, unsure, but Gail held him still. It couldn't be left this way: of that he was certain.
"They'll never use the Third Energy without provocation. I know them," the revolutionary leader murmured, still averting his gaze.
"No, they won't. They'll come down from the northern plains. This city," Gail said, his emotion unconcealed, pointing harshly at the pristine city, its terraced houses, nearby forests, quiet streets. "This city will burn until there's nothing left. They'll starve you out. They'll torture you, they'll cut down the people you think you're protecting, burn your crops, hunt down everyone you ever cared for, and every second they'll blame you for its necessity."
"Such a miserable scene you paint for me, Gail," Anton Royce said, still murmuring. He looked up, searching the other man's face. "You're not wrong. Clean, undiscriminating, efficient: the Third Energy is too sterile. Thousands armed with rifles and a sense of purpose. That's how she'll do it. That's how we did it, isn't it?"
"Time to admit it. If you wait, you die."
But Anton's uncertain look vanished, and he stepped back. "It feels like I've been here before." He was still murmuring, almost with a look of revulsion. "Yes, I think I was a lieutenant. Twenty years old. I told myself, no I told you, that one day we'd have a choice. That we wouldn't to tolerate it anymore. But now I'm here and there is no choice. It's all predetermined, as if I were only a spectator."
His eyes unfocused, staring at something that couldn't be seen. Gail had seen this before, in himself and others, and supressed his own fears. Stepping forward, he grasped Royce by both shoulders and shook him back to reality.
"That's an excuse. How are you going to prevent it from happening again?"
"Me? I told you. I would wait," Anton Royce said, almost laughing again. He looked on the edge of despair. "I tried internal subversion and it failed. I tried threatening them for reform and half my officers called me a coward and a traitor. I tried negotiating again, I tried invading, and was forced back under threat of annihilation."
Resting his head against the door leading down to the offices, Royce smiled faintly. "You're right. It's a bad plan, but it's all I've got left."
Gail waited, trying to find the words, to think of an alternative. They watched each other for a long, silent minute, a look of desperation in the former colonel's eyes, searching for a hint of hope.
"It's not even a plan. It's suicide, but you won't admit it" Gail finally said, as pensive as he'd ever been. "It might be three months. It might be twelve. Every division she's enlisted will march south. You know what that means. You'll resist, and you'll fail, and if you ever did drive them back it wouldn't be long before the entire region disappeared in a single night."
For a brief moment it seemed too much, but Gail stepped forward again, forcing Anton to look at him. "In less than a year from that day you'll be crawling through the street. You'll beg for death before—"
"No more. I don't need to hear it," Anton said, almost crying out. "No wonder I told Mikhail to keep you away." He seemed genuinely shaken, and wasn't attempting to hide it.
"I didn't say it out of spite," Gail said, as softly as he could. "There was always one difference between us. Every time I left, I knew there was a chance I wasn't coming back. I was already dead. Start thinking that way for long enough and it becomes a habit, one you need to learn. Don't you see it? Fight or not, everything you have is already gone."
He watched, said no more. Anton's pale hands gripped the railing as he looked over the edge again. "This is why they fought us, isn't it?" he said, voice hoarse, left arm shaking under his weight.
"Who?" Gail said. His legs stiffened, slowed to a stop. He was a terrible liar.
"Don't lie to me, Gail, I couldn't take it from you too. Eliza was right, she was always right." Anton said, inexplicably beginning to laugh. "We're despicable. Mass murderers, war criminals; the most loathsome men you'll ever find. Why not admit it? I tried to save her, can you believe it?"
He laughed again, but it was the least comforting sound Gail had ever heard. "I tried to save her. They returned from the north bathed in gore, and I pretended I was any better. And I did it again, daring to offer peace terms when I should have attacked. I've spent sixteen years recreating myself, and it was all an exercise in deceit, a collection of lies to keep me from shooting Hereson in the head and then myself to follow."
Gail moved to intervene, to pull him back, shake him to his senses, but he continued. "Borginia was real, Gail, and nothing else. Is it any surprise we're so connected? I saw you on those streets. The orders came in, and we checked the corpses, do you remember? Is this one alive? No, on to the next. Oh, she is, a bullet to the brain for her," Anton said, still holding back laughter. He stumbled back, away from the edge. "And again, and again, and I pointed and you pulled the trigger. No need for words then, not between friends."
"We didn't have a choice," Gail said. His own hand was shaking. He saw the stolen pistol, tucked unthinkingly at his side. A wave of revulsion overcame him.
"We didn't have a choice," Anton said in a mocking imitation of his words. "We don't have a choice now either. All that suffering, didn't it make you feel alive? We all came back with a sense of purpose, so sure we'd stop it from happening again."
"And we will. It's not too late."
"But you know what I can't forget? They never stopped fighting. Not until the treaties were signed, and even then. Remember that one town, grim place that it was? Eight weeks in, or eight months, I don't know. That woman jumped out on the road one night, so humid it was, waving her arms and screaming," Anton said, finding a new reserve of energy, speaking almost conspiratorially.
"I don't want to hear it," Gail said, his jaw clenched, head turned.
"And she screamed and cried, bloodied clothes torn apart, that caved-in face staring right through us. I thought, does she want to die? Why isn't she hiding? I hesitated, and she danced around so much I couldn't help but laugh," Anton continued, grinding down Gail's reserves with each word. "Well, I thought, of course she wants to die. Who wouldn't in her place?"
He'd heard too much. "I shot her," Gail said, almost inaudibly.
"And so you did," Anton replied with a limp shrug. "And then we saw it. Running off down the street, darting into the jungle: a girl, perhaps ten, barely clothed, but already out of range. Why would she do that, Gail? Her poor daughter all but certainly came to a gruesome end, but they fought right to the finish."
"What choice did they have? One died so the other could live."
"Even if only for another hour? Risking torture and rape and who knows what else?"
"What choice did they have?" Gail repeated, this time firmly.
Anton's long tirade came to an end. He stared back at Gail, almost glaring, opened his mouth to argue. No words emerged, only a long, defeated breath, his posture slumped down once more.
"We have to be better than that," Gail urged, realising he spoke as if they together in this, too tired to correct himself. "Don't you see anything, even now, that's worth fighting for?"
"I don't see anything now," Anton Royce murmured, looking at one pale hand in the sun. "Only the legions of faceless men, the burning fields, the smell of decaying flesh. Everywhere I go it follows, and I see it in your eyes too, hide it though you do."
Gail could feel the sweat on his brow, the rigid way his muscles lay still, even the dull ache in his shoulder. The urge to fight had always been the strongest sensation he knew, the one feeling he'd never supressed.
"Eliza used to tell me something," Anton said, still murmuring, eyes unfocused once more. "Should I go to work today, or should I kill myself? Anyone who'd never asked, she said, wasn't worth our time." He looked back at Gail, uncertainty replaced by resignation. "She never intended a return to stability. I see that now."
"Even if it means the fighting continues until there's nothing left?" Gail asked. He already knew the answer.
"Especially so. Others feel that way, though who would admit it? Dmitri used to tell me: the revolution would be as violent as it had to be, and only then would it cease. He's fooling himself. It will never end, not until they break themselves in the process."
"Why?" Gail asked. "Do they want to die? That's where they're going, whether they kill us or not."
Anton's only response for a long moment was a grim smile. "The dancing woman, cursed with an absurd desire to die. Only after we killed her did we see the truth. Some pains cannot be seen, Gail. Some wounds never heal, no matter how well they're hidden. Who are we to judge their pain?"
"I don't care," Gail said, and Anton looked up in surprise. "I'll judge their actions. Mass executions, instigating wars, destroying an entire city in a single night. I can see what I have to fight. There's nothing abstract about it. Eliza Anders dies, her supporters die, her ideology dies."
"But you're thinking on too immediate a scale," Anton objected, turning around to face the northern view once more. "We tear them down and the same institutions rise again. The military, the endless quest for profit, the state that held it all together. This isn't so dissimilar. These people will always exist."
"Then what's this?" Gail asked, pointing at the quiet streets below. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? Don't you think it's worth saving?"
Anton hesitated, looking between Gail and the peak of southern command in the distance. "There's no telling whether it'll work or not. We've changed so many things, you see, and there are no guidelines to follow."
"Don't avoid the question. Do you think it's worth saving?"
More hesitation. "I suppose I do. They all trust me, but I'm a fraud. There is no grand plan."
"There never is," Gail said. "I don't think there should be. It's a delusion, and a dangerous one. I lied to my team for years, tried to keep them safe. Away from you, and me."
"They knew you were lying," Anton said, softly. "They still respect you, I know. Even now. She thinks no less of you, does she? It's a precious thing, recognition. Don't ever take it for granted."
Gail couldn't be sure. Regina held no grudge, no animosity that he could see. It was deserved, but she refused to think of it. Sitting in the sun with a friend, looking out on the distance. There was weariness, and pain, but no hatred in her eyes.
"Regina didn't make my mistakes. I won't lie. Being surpassed is nothing to be ashamed of, not for men like us, but it hasn't made much difference. She's caught their attention now."
"Hardly seems fair, does it?"
Gail shook his head. "No, it doesn't. She nearly died making it back to that port. Now I have to tell her it's only a reprieve. She bought herself a few more months, nothing more."
"And you want to prevent this particular injustice?"
"What did you expect? That I'd sit back and wait for somebody else to do it for me?"
"No," Anton said, quiet again. "I suppose not." He hesitated, almost unwilling to continue. "You've seen what they're prepared to do, and we both know: once you've taken that path there's no coming back. They'll be waiting for us."
"I'm counting on it."
An unsure smile, but a peculiarly reassuring one. "I know you are," Anton said. He glanced out at the sea. A tinge of orange had crept into the skyline as they spoke. "Can you see it too, Gail? We've been here before. Such a beautiful place, and it burned while we watched. You were always there." He was murmuring again, completely motionless. "I don't quite remember what I'm fighting for. Isn't that strange?"
"This isn't Borginia. There will never be reason to make that comparison again, not while we're alive. Do you understand?"
He said nothing for a long, painful moment. Gail's anger had faded away, its causes forgotten. A slow nod, an indistinct smile: more was conveyed through those gestures than any words. They sat outside on the rooftop, all but silent, as the impending sunset approached.
The one constant in Gail's life soon returned. He had to keep moving. Looking aside, back at the sky, he moved to stand up, only a weight pulled at his right arm and he glanced down in surprise.
Anton Royce stared back, a faint smile on his tired face. One pale hand, unexpectedly gentle, grasped Gail's arm. "Would you stay with me? It needn't be for long."
Nothing else needed to be said. Settling back against the stone ledge, Gail waited, initially uncertain. He saw the relief in Anton's eyes, didn't look away. The burning need for movement was forgotten, if only for one night, and they remained there until well after sunset.
