In the future, there will be no female leaders. There will just be leaders – Sheryl Sandberg, Lean In: Women, Work, and the Will to Lead
• SECURE PATIENT CARE · HUERTA MEMORIAL HOSPITAL •
Staff Commander Yuán Xiùlán had been sleeping, actually sleeping … no nightmares … when the soft trill of her omnitool roused her. Bringing her arm up to face level, she used her chin to bump the bio-sensitive, red banded onyx cabochon on the platinum bracelet to open the incoming text message. Samantha. Of course … Captain Cody would have informed Sam about the attack by an as yet unknown sniper. She sighed as she read between the lines of the message, detecting the concern for her safety … her well-being.
Looking to the bed next to her, she experienced a moment of anxiousness upon noticing Miranda Lawson was not in the room, until remembering the former Cerberus operative was scheduled for surgery to repair her damaged cheek bones and remove her damaged left eye. The anxiousness was instantly replaced by an almost overwhelming sense of guilt for not being able to find her before she had been abused and beaten nearly to death by members of the Blue Suns. She told herself there was nothing she could have done, but gāisi! … [该死 – damn!] telling herself that did nothing to ease the pain, the horror she felt for Miranda's experience.
Lawson was the reason Xiùlán was lying in this bed with an intensely painful back injury. Corporal Vic had shown her the remnants of her armor—the ceramic hard-shell had been shattered, shield generator destroyed. The weapons docks, despite being damaged, were the only things holding the entire assembly together. That armor had seen her through a lot of missions, including Cartagena Station … she doubted she'd ever be able to afford a replacement of that quality, nor would she be able to easily replace her heavy armored over-shirt or the cross-knit undershirt Doctor Phelps had cut off her. Shénme can tā mā de daoméi! [什麼慘他媽的倒霉！ – What a miserable fucking bad luck!]
Xiùlán smiled grimly, thinking back to her first live-fire training on Luna when Joesiar, a bigoted, misogynistic little jù mó [巨魔 - troll] had shot her in the chest plate with a low impact round. The resulting bruise from that hit had been a real beauty. Doctor Phelps had used his omnitool to project an image of her bare back on a monitor; the bruise there extended from the base of her neck almost to her ass and completely across her shoulder blades to both armpits, providing a colorful background for her dragon tattoo. Had Joesiar been behind the scope and trigger of the sniper rifle? Xiùlán had been the driving force—along with Samantha Traynor—behind getting him kicked out of the special training school; it now appeared he may have gone straight into the arms of the Blue Suns. The investigation by C-Sec was progressing, even if the transfer of all the security organization's turian members away from the embassy level, this wing of Huerta Memorial and the Hong Kong's docking facility was hampering things a bit.
Xiùlán struggled to sit up, something Phelps had encouraged her not to do … well, he hadn't prohibited her from doing so, either. The monitor for her bed could be heard sounding an alarm in the lobby, which meant she had about twenty seconds before an attendant arrived to check on things. With a groan she swung her bare legs over the edge of the bed and braced herself upright with an arm painfully behind her at an angle. Mā de! Tā téng si! [媽的！它疼死！- Oh shit! It hurts!] Right on cue, the door opened to admit not one but two attendants, both male, both massively muscled. Mā de!
"Commander, please, let us help. Where are you going?" the nearest of the pair inquired.
Going? I'm not going anywhere … just want to sit up. Báichī! [白痴 – Moron!] "Need to sit up for a bit is all." Xiùlán said softly, trying her best to keep the pain from creeping into her voice. "Can you find a chair for me to use?"
"First things first, Commander. Where's your robe?"
"Wasn't aware I had one, Mister? …"
"Name's Vinson … Emil Vinson, Ma'am. My mostly silent companion here is O'Brian." Vinson looked around a bit, spotting her robe hanging beside the entry door. Retrieving it, he held it open and reached around behind her to assist. "Let's get your back covered so we don't have to look at your bare butt."
"Are you serious? I've never heard of any male-gendered person that wouldn't take an opportunity to ogle a nicely shaped female tush, especially a bare one," she snarked.
"Maybe inside Purgatory, Ma'am," Vinson replied seriously. "Not in here. Come on …"
She carefully eased her arms one at a time through the sleeves as Vinson and O'Brian steadied her with hands on the front of her shoulders.
"Okay, let us help you down." The pair took positions on either side of her; Vinson gently placed an arm around her at waist level from the left and said, "Place your arm across my shoulders, Ma'am." She did as she was instructed … the pain lessened as soon as her back had a bit of additional support. O'Brian had an arm around her back above Vinson's.
They each placed their other arms under her thighs—haven't had this kind of attention since right after Cartagena Station!—one near her knees, the other just below her butt; O'Brian finally spoke, "Okay Ma'am, we're going to lift you off the bed. We'll help you straighten your legs so you can stand on the floor. We're not going to let go of you until you have all your weight on your feet. Ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
They lifted together, being mindful of the tube attached to the back of her hand and the tube draining her bladder. The arm behind her knees slowly lowered, allowing her legs to straighten until her feet touched the floor; they released her legs as her weight was gradually transferred to her feet. She kept her arms across their shoulders as they straightened up beside her, carefully monitoring her progress. "Looks like you're doing fine, Commander. See if you can pull your arms off our shoulders … we'll steady you."
Xiùlán hadn't realized how weak she was after three days in a hospital bed. Gāisi de! Wo hěn xūruò! [該死的！ 我很虛弱！– Damn it! I am very weak!] "Okay guys, just hold my back." She retrieved her arms one at a time until she was standing beside her bed with the two men applying a bit of pressure to her back from either side. The brace Doctor Phelps had strapped on was alleviating most of the stress, but she knew she needed to start flexing muscles in order to get back to a hundred per cent. "Let me see if I can still walk, okay?"
O'Brian released her and grabbed the two vinyl bags to which her tubes were hooked; Vinson lifted his hand and arm from her back but remained ready to catch her if needed. Xiùlán carefully moved her feet; taking small steps, she made her way to the far wall near the room's entrance, where a chair and a desk were placed. She placed one hand on the table to brace her body as she used her other hand and arm to pull the chair out. Her shoulder muscles were screaming at her, but she refused to give any indication of the amount of pain she was in. When the chair was where she wanted it, she turned her back to the seat, slowly bent her knees until she could grab the armrests, then carefully lowered herself into the chair, feeling gratitude for Vinson as he held her robe and hospital gown next to her butt and thighs so the cloth didn't bunch uncomfortably underneath her. "Xièxiè … mmm, thanks," she murmured. "Can I have some socks and a blanket?"
After hanging the vinyl bags on a stand attached to the chair, O'Brian brought her a pair of boot socks, kneeled down and put them on her feet before bringing a medium size quilt and placing it around her shoulders. Vinson must have understood the security situation … he quietly retrieved her M-11 Suppressor and spare heat sink from her bed, brought them over and laid them on the desk in front of her.
She looked up at them and asked, "You guys military?"
"Mustered out," Vinson replied. "Marines … medics. Thought we could do more good here in the hospital than anywhere else now the war's over. We heard what you did in Vancouver, Ma'am, and then on the shuttle trip here from your ship?" He paused for a moment, then offered his hand. "You'd make a damned fine Marine, Ma'am. It's a privilege to meet a naval officer unafraid to get her hands dirty. You really tell the C-Sec turians to 'go pound sand'?"
Xiùlán looked closely at him as she took his hand and replied, "Xièxiè … ah, thank you. That's high praise indeed. As for the turians … I had to get Lawson into hospital. Didn't have time to pull the sticks outta their asses to beat 'em over their heads." Her expression turned sad as she said, "One of my guys got killed before the Blue Suns turians tried to take us … " she looked down, " … my fault. Didn't see it coming … didn't anticipate … "
Vinson placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Nothing you could have done. Way I hear it, you helped keep the people in the room with you safe. You did your duty." He gave her shoulder the slightest squeeze before releasing her and said, "We'll check back in thirty, Commander." He turned, nodded to O'Brian and they both left.
Xiùlán activated the terminal and sent a message to Asharru; she did not need to wait long for an answer.
›Yuán Xiùlán-Staff Commander. It is good to communicate with you again. How may I assist you?‹
»Asharru, is it possible for you to contact Specialist Samantha Traynor aboard the Normandy? The ship is being carried by Žiuk'Durmah, and should be nearing the Apien Crest. She may be inside Iringù-Eßizkur, also being carried by Žiuk'Durmah. I need to speak with her.«
›It will be done, Yuán-Commander, Asharru replied. Please stand by …‹
• SSV ORIZABA, ADMIRAL HACKETT'S OFFICE · WIDOW SYSTEM •
Fleet Admiral Steven Hackett applied his electronic signature to the statement on the datapad and entered the single 'page' proclamation into the records for the Systems Alliance Parliament. He did not know when a new Parliament would be elected … or when, or even where they would meet next, as most of the major cities on Earth, despite herculean rebuilding efforts by survivors and former enemy machines, still consisted of mostly charred rubble; the previous council had all died when the Reapers cut through Arcturus Station on their way to Earth. The record he had just created would state the following:
On Wednesday, the 19th day of September 2187, I, Steven Hackett, Fleet Admiral and acting Systems Alliance Commander-in-Chief, for the reasons stated below, do hereby present this commendation and Medal of Valor to Staff Commander Yuán Xiùlán, Service number 8257-PVG-09186, currently executive officer assigned to SSV Hong Kong II:
A] Yuán's valiant and selfless actions in leading a team on a clandestine rescue mission for former Cerberus operative Miranda Lawson from Blue Suns captivity on Earth, Sol System;
B] Further: Yuán's actions in preventing Blue Suns operatives from kidnapping, with intent to murder, Miss Lawson during transit by shuttle from Hong Kong II to Huerta Memorial Hospital, Citadel, Widow System;
C] Further: Yuán's actions in preventing the assassination of Miss Lawson in Huerta Memorial Hospital by a suspected Blue Suns' sniper, said actions resulting in severe injuries sustained from the assassin's first shot;
D] Further: even with a grievous injury to her back and suffering from a concussion, Staff Commander Yuán continued to provide leadership in a successful effort to prevent Blue Suns operatives in C-Sec uniform armor from entering the room with the intent of kidnapping and/or murdering Miss Lawson.
Therefore, for the reasons stated above, I place my signature and seal on this commendation and award for Staff Commander Yuán Xiùlán.
Signed: Steven Hackett, Fleet Admiral, Systems Alliance Navy
Hackett forwarded a copy to Hong Kong Captain Bill Cody, along with a message asking him to present the medal and a copy of his commendation to his ship's XO as soon as possible. Least we can do for her after all she's been through, he thought.
He had a non-redacted copy of her service record, along with a copy of Chief Warrant Officer Samantha Traynor's record. After reading through the sections outlining their missions in the Nemean Abyss, he felt he understood the depth of mistrust Traynor had developed for Alliance brass, including—much as it pained him to admit it—himself. Yuán held a more tolerant view, perhaps because of her upbringing … Earth born and raised versus Colony kid from Horizon.
Hackett sighed. Traynor's conclusions regarding the Alliance had some validity, including her opinions—of which he would pretend to not be aware—on the use 'em up-throw 'em away philosophy of some members—thankfully no longer in positions of influence—of the ruling council and military command. Rising from his chair, he left his office for the executive observation lounge. He needed a break, needed to clear his head. Sometimes staring off into space for a bit was a good thing …
• SSV NORMANDY DECK TWO · WAR ROOM •
Specialist Samantha Traynor had been summoned to the War Room by Major Alenko; he had personally escorted her around the darkened display well, pointed her in the direction of the QEC, than quietly left.
Sam activated the console at the railing and waited as Žiuk'Durmah initiated a response to Asharru's request from the Widow System. This would be audio only … the sender did not have a QEC device to generate an outgoing or incoming image. Within a matter of seconds, Sam heard a familiar voice say her name.
"Sà mi? Ni néng tīngdào wo ma?" [薩米？ 你能聽到我嗎？– Sami? Can you hear me?]
"Xiùlán! I was so worried. How're you doing?"
"Wo zhēn de hěn téng, Sà mi! [我真的很疼，薩米！– I really hurt, Sami!] Doctor has my back braced … can't exercise. It's all I can do to sit up from a prone position without assistance." Xiùlán's chuckle was instantly followed by a groan. "Mā de! Even hurts to laugh! At least I have a drain tube inserted … don't think I can perform anything involving a toilet without some help, especially afterwards."
"Must be miserable."
"Tell me about it. Remember the bruise on my chest from live fire, right after we met?" Xiùlán groaned again as she suppressed a giggle thinking about that time. "You could barely take your eyes off my tits when I showed it to you in the showers."
Traynor's attempt at a protest was met with another groan. "Dammit, Sammy, don't make me laugh! I have eyes too, and I can generally see when yours are not looking at mine. Anyway, bruise on my back? If that miserable little bastard was behind the scope on this one, he probably laughed himself sick. My entire back is black'n'blue, Sà mi! … neck-to-butt, armpit-to-armpit. Face is bruised from slamming into the bulkhead. Don't think I've ever looked so damned beat-up."
Sam giggled at the mental picture painted by her lover. "I understand Captain Cody is a little put out regarding your language prank," Traynor said. "He asked me to provide some info that would allow him to properly repay you for scaring hell out of him. Don't suppose you have any suggestions."
"He'll get over it soon enough, wo de baobèi," [我的寶貝 – my darling] Xiùlán replied. "He's been busy researching everything he can find on the Blue Suns, including your commander's mission reports from before the invasion. Do you know if the Shadow Broker has found anything on the whereabouts of Zaeed Massani?"
"We've been told Hackett had the Alliance ships still in Arcturus use the relay to go to Earth. Everyone's looking for Massani … most of their search efforts are centered around London, but it's a huge area to comb through, and unless he's sending up flares or actively doing something to be found, it will probably take a while;" pausing, Samantha added, "not unlike the amount of time it took to find Miranda Lawson … how's she doing, by the way?"
"Getting better … healing. She's in surgery right now, getting her cheek bone and eye socket repaired. They're taking out her left eye … too damaged to save. She'll have a combo artificial/organic replacement in five or six weeks. Nanites in her blood are doing a good job of healing her internal injuries."
"Good to hear," Sam said. "How long are you going to be down?"
"Few more days. Doc Phelps says he'll peel the back brace off a few hours at a time so I can start stretching exercises. Can't come too soon, Sēn měi." Xiùlán continued, "I'm starting to go a bit crazy without a ship to keep running. Bet I'll have to retrain all the command staff once I'm back on board."
"I expect the HK2 is running just fine without you. They're docked, correct? How much trouble can they get into?" Sam paused a few moments. "I have to get going, Luv. Can't tell you how good it is to hear your voice. Normandy should arrive in the turian system in less than a month. I don't know what they'll do with the ship once we're back. If I wind up ashore without a ride when we get to Palavan, I'll give you a call."
"Give me a call regardless, míngbái wo? If need be, I'll send a shuttle to pick you up, hao de?" [好的？– okay?]
"You really have that kind of pull these days?" Sam asked.
"Listen to me, Samantha. Admiral's promised me the Hong Kong as soon as there's a better or newer warship available for Cody to take over. I'm going to need an XO; I'll probably promote Lieutenant Cross out of the CIC, which will leave a hole in the operations and communications position there." Xiùlán paused for several seconds before continuing. "I'm going to need someone I can trust in that position, Sammy … someone that has a flair for analysis and communication. If I can find the right person, perhaps an operations specialist? It'd mean a promotion and a transfer to the Hong Kong II. Think about it, okay?"
Traynor was almost speechless. "The two of us … on the same ship? Sounds like a dream position, but …"
"Nothing is set in stone, Sammy. All I said was think about it. When the time comes, and if I'm allowed to poach you from the Normandy, it will be your choice, but you need to know I won't love you any less if you feel you must turn me down … does that sound fair?"
"More than fair, Luv, more than fair," Traynor replied. "Gotta go. Ni de ài shi wo de shēnghuó wánzhěngle. [你的愛使我的生活完整了 – Your love makes my life complete.] Get healed up! I love you, Xiùlán!"
"Haoyùn yīzhí xiàozhe duì women lia, Sà màn shā, [我對你的愛天長地久，薩曼莎 – My love for you lasts forever, Samantha] Xiùlán responded. Saying, "Wo ài ni!" she cut the connection.
Traynor stood at the railing in the Normandy's QEC compartment for several minutes, savoring the last three words Xiùlán had said, replaying them in her mind. 'I love you!' She sighed as she turned and headed back for the CIC.
• SECURE PATIENT CARE · HUERTA MEMORIAL HOSPITAL •
Commander Yuán sent a short text message to Asharru, thanking him for serving as a QEC relay for her conversation with Traynor. Thinking about her offer to Traynor, she wondered if she was being selfish. She knew she couldn't bring in an outsider for the XO position on the HK2 … Lieutenant Cross would be a perfect fit for the position; she felt Sam would be an excellent replacement for Cross in the CIC, given all her training as an operations specialist and an intelligence specialist. That she had spent the past five or six weeks working with Liara T'Soni was not widely known; the knowledge gained while working as the Shadow Broker's assistant would be a real plus for the Hong Kong.
The sound of the door segments sliding open intruded on her thoughts; without looking she instinctively had her M-11 up and aimed at the noise.
"Commander? It's been thirty minutes … just checking in."
With an embarrassed sigh of relief, Xiùlán lowered the pistol and placed it back on the table. "Dammit, Vinson. You need to knock or ring the bell or something."
"Apologies, Commander. Didn't realize you were still in combat mode." He grinned at her. "Damned fast with that gun."
"Sorry. Still a bit on edge." She looked up at Vinson as her came over to stand beside her. "Do you suppose you can take me for a walk through the halls. I have to get my strength back if I'm to leave here."
"Sure, Commander. Let me find a stand for your bags … maybe find a chair with wheels. We'll take a few steps around outside."
"Do you know … is Miranda still in surgery?"
"We can find out at the nurse's station. I'll be right back." Vinson smiled and left.
• CITY of LONDON, GREAT BRITAIN · EARTH •
Zaeed Massani had been called many things in his twenty-plus years as an independent mercenary; the one description, a one-word appellation that was universally applied by anyone that knew him, hired him or did business with him, or—rarely these days—crossed him, was Survivor. Massani's survival of Vido Santiago's attempt to murder him in 2165 had been nothing short of miraculous … few were those that survived a point blank gunshot to the head; fewer still were those that completely recovered and restarted their careers by hijacking a turian war frigate and insuring its destruction by sending it on a collision course with the turian planet Impera, where a turian defense station blew the ship to hell before it could crash, and surviving to collect the bounty.
There had been many jobs after that one, but none had been as spectacularly successful for him. That Zaeed had survived the Reaper ground war on Earth was simply routine as far as he was concerned.
Since Commander Shepard's implementation of the final solution to put an end to the Reaper war, Massani had been making a bit of a living taking on odd jobs … occasional contracts ordered by the very few human business people left in the London area. Most of the city remained so much broken rubble, despite ongoing reconstruction efforts; bits of commerce were being done down along the river, where people piloting small boats could for the most part come and go as they pleased.
Zaeed had maintained ties with a few of his prewar contacts while managing to avoid the attention of the Alliance military, but he was starting to get restless. He had learned the Reapers were repairing the relays … they had just completed repairs to the Charon relay, allowing a number of Alliance Naval vessels to arrive from Arcturus. He felt he needed to get off-world, see what was left of civilization outside the Sol system; the number of military vessels, along with the Reapers still in system would make it difficult (and expensive) to leave in a private spacecraft, even a broken down old shuttle. With the galactic communications network destroyed … without comm buoys … there had been no reliable news concerning the other races. He caught snippets of supposition, bits of rumors, but never anything he believed to be solid facts … until today.
There were many mercs still in the country … of those, more than a few had indirect ties to the Blue Suns. Zaeed received word that an old … friend … a Malachi Creighton, wanted to meet him in a partially rebuilt pub on the A259, just down the coast from Folkestone. Zaeed knew of the place but had never been there.
Massani's ability to survive was not a product of chance or dumb luck. He always planned meticulously, and always figured that any plan would go straight in the shitter with no warning. He studied the outside of the building cautiously, checking sightlines and possible routes for a hasty retreat. Nothing to the south but the open water of the North Sea. Didn't appear the Reapers had done much damage here. Guess the metal bastards were too busy frying the big cities, he thought as he cautiously entered the building.
As his left eye adjusted to the dim interior light, he glanced around, looking for Creighton. Corner table, back to the wall, nursing a pint. Zaeed didn't see anyone else at the bar or sitting at a table that looked out of place, so he slowly sauntered over to Creighton's table, moved a chair and sat down beside him so he wouldn't have his own back to the room. Getting right to the point, Zaeed asked, "So, what da 'ell is so goddamn important I needed ter come all dis way from London?"
Malachi took a sip of his ale, nervously wiped his lips on the already dirty sleeve of his sweater and answered in a shaky voice, "The 'lliance is lookin' fer you, Massani … yeah, lookin' fer you, they is! Lots o'ships, lots o'flyboys, lots o'Marines. 'ell, they even got them bloody effen machines workin' fer 'em, doin' tha search." Another sip from the glass, sleeve wiping lips, then, "Offering creds, lots of creds, for info. They wants you 'live, they does. No interest in Zaeed dead, no. Needs you alive."
Zaeed reached around, grabbed the front of Malachi's sweater and shook him once. "Why? The Alliance don't waste goddamn resources searchin' fer da likes ov me unless they're bloody desperate. What's their angle, Creighton? What in 'ell ain't yew tellin' me?"
"Don' know, Zaeed, don' know … can't say fer certain like. 'eard a rumor … jus' a rumor, mind ye, Suns 'ad a former Cerberus bitch … operative … in their custody, near old 'lliance HQ in Vancouver. 'lliance M'rines came in, used a big damned machine, killed every last effen Sun in the place, busted 'er out. Four-eyed mercs were most of dead. Nex' day, place crawlin' mit' M'rines. Suns not 'appy, not 'appy 'tall." Another sip of ale.
Zaeed released him and said, "Still don't explain why they're lookin' fer me. Keep talkin'."
Creighton looked into his pint glass, then back at Zaeed. "Throat's a tad dry, Zaeed. Could use a bi' mawer ale," he whined.
Massani took two credits from a side pocket and laid them on the table. Keeping his fingers firmly on each of them, he said, "Keep talkin'."
Malachi drained his glass, scrubbed his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "Suns tried gettin' da bitch back 'tween ship 'n' 'ospital at da Citadel … three more dead, all human. Tried ag'in in 'ospital … officer sent wit' Cerberus bitch? Took a sniper shot in 'er back, then six more dead 'rying ter get in tha damned room, plus doctor they 'ad workin' fer 'em. Even tried killin' ship's captain in the embassy wing. Another Sun dead. Thing is, is this … all them people 'cept doctor an' shuttle crew … turians … turians in C-Sec armor." Malachi looked imploringly at the credits Zaeed was holding on the table.
Massani took Creighton's empty glass, lifted and wiggled it over his head until he caught the attention of the barmaid, then set the glass back on the table.
"Ain't 'eard why any ov dis is my goddamn problem, Malachi, awer why da fuckin' Alliance is trying ter fin' me. Dat all ya got, or is there mawer ter dis wonderful tale?"
"Cap'n they tried ter snuff? Declared war on the Blue Suns, Zaeed. Man 'as the ear of an admiral. This cap'n? He's going after Vido … and he's going after Solem Dal'Serah! Means ter see both o'them dead, and he 'as the backin' of the 'liance military! Word is, he ain't gonna quit until he 'as both dere 'eads … both o'em … on pikes outside 'liance HQ. He wants the entire effen company destroyed, Zaeed."
Zaeed looked up as the barmaid brought a full pint glass and set it on the table. He gave her the credits and slid the pint over in front of Malachi. "Knock yerself out, Creighton." Massani slapped him on the back. "Thanks for the info. You never saw me here, did you?
Malachi nearly choked on the ale he was swallowing; coughing, he answered, "Never did. What was yer name again? Memory's a tad fuzzy these days."
Yeah, right, he thought. Fuzzy until someone fills your pint glass again. "Malachi, it'd be a good idea for you to lay low for a while. The Suns ain't very forgiving … I should know. Be seein' ya around." Zaeed got up and casually, unhurriedly walked out of the little pub.
Pausing outside the door to light a cigarette, he took a deep drag, then blew the smoke out slowly as he looked across the road to the North Sea, then gazed up to the sky, thinking about everything Creighton had said. More of interest to Zaeed was what had been left unsaid. The woman … this ex-Cerberus operative … only name he could think of would be the cause of so bloody much trouble was Lawson … Miranda Lawson. She had always been more trouble than she was worth, back when Zaeed helped Shepard take down the Collectors. What the 'ell could the Suns need Lawson for, or the Alliance, for that matter?
The Alliance, or at least this one angry captain, needed Zaeed to help them hunt down Vido Santiago and Solem Dal'Serah, a hunt in which he would be only too glad to participate … hell, he'd even be first in line to separate Vido's head from his body! But to destroy the Suns, totally wipe them out of the galaxy? That would take a bit of doing, and he didn't think the Alliance had the bollocks to see the job through, nor did he think his inclusion in such an endeavor would be worth the trouble. Taking another drag on his smoke, he looked up and down the road in front of him. Traffic was virtually non-existent; likewise parked cars, on wheels—quite rare—or not. Seeing nothing noteworthy in either direction, he walked across the road to his rented aircar, climbed in, punched in destination coordinates, and sat back to enjoy the ride back to London.